#I've been here for a week and the days all blend together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merakiui · 1 year

Note

YOUR DISCORD MOD SCARA...I am thinking about him so hard. I've never even considered becoming someone's discord kitten before but I'd do it for him (even if he's terrible). SO... could I get a layered cake and sweet lollipops (him and his kitten not long post-abduction) from the miscellaneous menu, along with lemon squares and sea salt caramels from the midnight menu, all with my babygirl discord mod scara?

yandere!scaramouche x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, modern au, nsfw, dub-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping/captivity, restraints, drugging, obsession, loss of virginity, alcohol/intoxication, force-feeding, brief use & threat of knife, coercion, scaramouche calls you kitten a few times, implied stockholm syndrome note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

There’s a warm meal waiting for you on the foldable table, its delectable aroma enticing you to eat despite your apprehensions. You lift your head from where it once rested on your knees, staring at it from where you remain huddled in the corner on a certain someone’s bed. A metal cuff clings to your ankle, and from it a chain extends to connect to one of the metal bed frame poles, only going far enough to let you walk into the adjacent bathroom. You’ve tried to squeeze your foot out, but doing so has only succeeded in chafing and tearing your skin; and so now you sit against the wall and sulk in defeat.

Scaramouche—at least that’s his Teyvatcord alias; he’s yet to tell you his real name—plops down in his gaming chair, running his hand through his hair and exhaling a slow, measured breath. His kitchen apron matches the color scheme in his room, making him seem like a chameleon in a space composed of reds and violets. His three monitors are alight behind him, framing his face in a halo of light. One of them is open to Teyvatcord, displaying the chat log of a server you were once part of—and still are if you haven’t yet been kicked for prolonged inactivity. You think it’s been a few weeks since your kidnapping, but at this point time doesn’t serve any purpose here. It’s all the same within this room, blending together like pastel watercolors on canvas.

“I didn’t know you could cook. You’ve only ever served me the bare minimum, so this is new. Feels fancy.”

“Shocker, right? Be grateful I’ve gone to the trouble.” You peer at the meal that sits before you, brows furrowed. Scaramouche rolls his eyes, scoffing noisily. “Don’t tell me you actually thought I eat all that gross instant shit.”

You shrug. “Dunno. It suits you. Shitty diet for a shitty person.”

“You…” His eye twitches and his hands curl into fists. “Whatever. Either eat or starve.” He swivels around in his chair with a huff. “Not like I care either way.”

But you do, you think, looking back towards the food, steam rising in wispy curls. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have spent so much money on me. You wouldn’t have told me to go to sleep early, to eat three meals every day, to drink enough water, to continue living.

“This isn’t going to kill me if I eat it, right?”

“Relax. I’m not a murderer.”

“Oh, so you draw the line there?”

Scaramouche whirls to face you, his pierced features twisted in a nasty scowl. Your eyes are drawn to the snake bite piercing on his bottom lip, and for a minute it stuns you that such a pretty face could be so vile both online and offline. Perhaps it would be best if he didn’t talk at all. Maybe then you could appreciate him from afar, never having to confront all of the bitter hatred he seems to harbor.

“You’re even more unbearable in person. I can’t believe I let someone like you kick my ass one-hundred-something times during every game we’ve ever played.”

“One-hundred and sixty-eight to be exact,” you correct, scooting closer towards the tray to inspect the rice dish one final time. “Someone had to humble you. For a mod, you’re awfully full of yourself. They don’t pay you to collect kittens and police VCs, you know.”

“Well, they should.”

You fail to contain your laughter. “That was…actually kind of funny.”

A thought flutters into your head: I’m losing my mind. Since when was he ever funny?

His stare is fixated on you when you gather a bite on your spoon and bring it to your lips. As criminal as he is, he’s been surprisingly tame in the time following your captivity. You suppose you just haven’t seen the worst of him yet and that these civil moments are merely the result of his desire to connect with you. Before you found yourself on the sixth floor, tucked away in his apartment, you spent most weekends talking to him through games. You’d chat about your character builds, swap tips on strategies for certain FPS games, spend hours constructing towns in creative open-world games, and even laugh about the placements in the tier lists you’d compile.

You could call what the two of you had a competitive companionship (or if you wanted to get technical: a Teyvatcord mod who was spoiling his kitten outside of the competitions), where both of you were constantly trying to best the other. If it was a matter of money, Scaramouche always had you beat; he’d emptied plenty of that into his favorite games to amass a vast collection of rare gear and resources so that he could claw his way to the top of the weekly leaderboards.

If anything, you admired his determination. Beyond games, you only knew that he lived alone and had a few piercings and liked to wear chains and rings. He’d talked about it before when the both of you had strayed from gaming and had discussed fashion styles and aesthetics late into the night. He appeared normal beyond the bratty attitude he often displayed during rematches. You even found yourself wanting to know more when he’d divulge little facts about himself on occasion.

But now that you’re sitting in front of him, entirely against your will, you realize this relationship should have remained in Teyvatcord.

Underneath your artfully crafted bravado and sarcasm, you’re absolutely horrified that he had found your address so easily and had been able to pull off such a clean kidnapping. He’d pulled you into the darkness of his car while you were on your way home, pressing a knife to your throat and insisting you stay perfectly quiet otherwise your neck would be mired in red. At the time you were too overwhelmed with raw panic to even consider the familiar intonation of the man who had so suddenly stolen you from your peaceful life. But it became clear when he’d forced you into his apartment after a long drive, and you’d finally gotten a look at him in the light when he shed his disguise.

An introduction wasn’t necessary; you recognized him, and he seemed to know everything about you.

Now it’s almost humorous to consider that a Teyvatcord mod actually went outside, touched grass, and collected a captive all in one night. And you never suspected a thing, completely oblivious to his mounting obsession. Although how could you have ever noticed it when he was so intent on masking infatuation with hatred?

You wonder if things would have transpired differently if you hadn’t been living within the same city. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been tempted to take you away from your life and confine you to a single room where the sun never breaks through the curtains and you’re constantly bathed in the sensual hues from the LED lights that border the room. Maybe he would have lost interest and you could have continued your one-sided rivalry without any unhealthy attachments.

Those what-ifs don’t quite matter anymore, though, do they?

Flavor explodes on your tongue when you sample his cooking, and you hastily gather a second bite and then a third. Scaramouche watches from his chair, looking quite satisfied with your submission. Foregoing etiquette altogether, you eat as if this is the last meal you’ll ever have the pleasure of enjoying, so fulfilled by the fluffy rice and bitter tea that tears gather in your eyes. You stop halfway to wipe at your glassy eyes, sniffling pitifully.

You’ve forgotten the joy that accompanies homemade meals.

“It’s okay,” you mutter around another mouthful. “Better than convenience store snacks.”

Scaramouche chuckles. “For something that was just ‘okay,’ you had no problem getting your tears in the bowl.”

You bark out a laugh, but it comes out strained and sad. “Lay off, will you? I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in forever. It was a little nostalgic, even if it’s coming from you.”

Scaramouche stares at you, his cheeks tinged the softest shade of pink, before he turns in his chair. “Whatever. Don’t get used to it.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

You set the now empty bowl back on the tray and retreat to your corner, observing Scaramouche as he clicks through various tabs before he returns to Teyvatcord. His fingers, adorned with sterling silver rings, fly across the keyboard to respond to some user you can’t quite see from where you sit. Noisy click-clacks fill the air, and it’s a sound that pulls you closer towards sleep. By the time Scaramouche has swapped to his second monitor to play a game—the very game that got you into this nightmare to begin with—you’re already falling into the void of unconsciousness, tugged under by drowsy tendrils.

It’s the soft thump that alerts Scaramouche, who turns slowly in his chair to see you slumped over on his bed. He rises to his feet, crossing the distance to gather the bowl and accompanying utensils. Before he departs from his bedroom, he leans over to press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“Dummy,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at you. “Never eating proper meals… Honestly, what would you do without me?”

Though he told you not to get accustomed to homemade meals, Scaramouche has presented you with breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day, all prepared by his generous hand. It’s a luxury to be served food that has been assembled out of some form of crooked love—Scaramouche claims he’s only keeping you well-fed so you won’t die and rot away on his bed; the smell would be horrendous, so he claims. There’s one meal that always manages to put you to sleep. Whether it’s just the result of a satisfied stomach or your own frazzled nerves in desperate need of sleep, you always slip away shortly after finishing it. As childish as it sounds, you often wonder if he’s put a spell on it.

Or maybe you’re just always hungry, craving his cooking because he’s the only one capable of feeding you when you’re stuck in chains. And luckily for you he’s memorized all of your gastronomic preferences.

You’re not sure if you’ve surpassed a month’s time, but when you wake up one morning to Scaramouche slamming his cat ear headphones down on his desk, which is followed by a foul tirade of grumbled curses, you feel as if it’s already been a year spent in his room. To think that you’re starting to find it normal, as if waking up to him is to be expected in this situation.

You must be losing your mind.

“Rough match?”

Okay, you’re really losing your mind if you can be so casual with your kidnapper.

Scaramouche deflates in his seat, groaning at the ceiling. “More like a rough team. None of these idiots know how to play! I’d have better luck digging through the dirt and assembling a team of worms than continuing to rely on these guys.”

“Then just leave and join a new lobby.”

“‘Just leave and join a new lobby,’” he mocks in a high voice. “I can’t. These teams are locked in for the upcoming tournament. I’m stuck playing with a bunch of losers.”

I’m more stuck than you, you almost blurt, but you hold your tongue.

“Like?”

“Like Tartaglia, Dottore, Signora… They suck. I hate them. And they expect me to tolerate them for a bunch of rounds? That’s not even a good joke. We’ll just look like fools trying to force teamwork.”

You peer at his monitor. He’s muted himself, so they have no idea of the complaints he’s launching at you as if you’re a suitable outlet.

“Sounds tough.”

“Believe me, it is.”

“Have you tried reworking your strategy?”

“You’re asking me to kiss ass here.”

“Never said that.”

“You’re implying it.”

“Oh my—” You flop back onto his bed with a groan. “It’s not that serious!”

“It is when it’s a competition. You think I want to look stupid in front of the other teams? We’re up against some lame group that calls themselves the Knights of Favonius. I am not about to lose to them.”

“And what’s your group called?”

“The Harbingers.”

“You honestly think that sounds any better?”

He turns in his chair to glare at you. Before he can retort, he’s fit his headphones back over his ears and unmuted himself to address the VC. “Can you stop spamming the chat for five seconds, Tartaglia? Damn!” There’s a brief silence and then he adds, in a low hiss, “I’m not running away! I muted for one minute! Come off it, Signora.”

Absorbed in the conversation, which sounds more like an argument that’s quickly boiling over, Scaramouche exhales slowly and resolves to try again through grit teeth. You can’t hear his teammates, but you think they all reach a mutual agreement because within the next few seconds you’re watching another practice match on his monitor. Your gaze slides away from him and centers on the posters and tapestries that adorn his walls. Some days, if you ignore the metal cuff on your ankle, you forget you’re a prisoner and he’s your warden. Some days, if you really force optimism, you picture him as a friend and a roommate.

Most days you wonder if you’ll ever get outside. You miss the sun and the wind, lively aspects of nature that are nonexistent in this stifling cave of a bedroom. And, as odd as it may seem, you miss your old life, struggles and all. You miss ranting to your friends about finances or an empty refrigerator. You miss staying up late into the night playing games, laughing about casual enjoyments, and indulging in a freedom you took for granted. When you were struggling, you could be comforted knowing that there would be better days, even if those days only consisted of small joys—like feeding a stray cat or feeling the sun’s rays smile upon you with bright warmth. Now you live your days in a loop, waking and eating and sleeping, and this sort of cyclical madness is more entrapping than Scaramouche’s infatuation with you.

Although perhaps it isn’t right to call it an infatuation when it feels so far from one. Aside from meal times, he hardly acknowledges you during the day, too swept up in a game to pay you any attention, and when he does speak to you you’ve already submitted to your dreams. He never touches you (at least not when you’re awake). In fact, he treats you more like an annoying pest rather than the person he supposedly loved enough to kidnap. Perhaps, instead of an infatuation, it is an obsession driven by greed and the twisted desire to control every inch of you, down to the very foods you ingest.

You know one thing is certain: He is the kidnapper and you are the kidnapped.

You’ve sorted through all possible means of rebellion. You’d refused to eat anything the first week, which was why he chose to feed you cheap convenience store snacks out of pettiness, and by the end of the second week you were beyond starved. You’ve thought about destroying his monitors out of spiteful anger, but that wouldn’t accomplish much aside from satiating your hunger for revenge. You would remain shackled no matter how many things you trashed, which makes destruction a useless venture. All you can really do is feign friendship, if only to keep your current predicament peaceful.

But lately you’ve wondered if there are other ways to get Scaramouche to trust you. It’s obvious he still has some level of distrust for you, evidenced by the terrible cuff attached to your ankle and the fact that he never leaves you alone in his room for more than five minutes. Perhaps there’s an easier way to shatter his defenses.

After all, the reason you’re here is because he likes you so much. And if it really is a hidden infatuation, you plan to poke at it until it’s no longer his little secret veiled within manufactured hatred.

Scaramouche is scolding Tartaglia for his “stupid, shitty aim” when you slither off of his bed, standing behind him with an expression so pensive it’s as if you’re considering life or death. Although perhaps this idea of yours really is akin to that.

Briefly, while eyeing the headphones that rest on top of a head of midnight-hued hair, you wonder if you’d have the confidence to attack him while he’s distracted. Your arms reach out, readying to tear his headphones off and coil around his neck in a chokehold, but then it occurs to you that if you really do hurt him no one will be around to feed you. You’ll shrivel in his room, alone, cuffed, and cold.

You decide, with mounting unease, that your original plan is much better (and safer) than murder. And so you lower your hands with a muted sigh. Even if he’s the worst person you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting—even if he’s taken you from your life and forced you into his—you still couldn’t bring yourself to fatally injure him.

But you can bring yourself to your knees, swallowing shame in order to survive.

If Scaramouche realizes you’ve slipped under his desk, he doesn’t immediately acknowledge you, his eyes tracking his screen as he shouts into his mic for Dottore to cover him. You peer up at him from where you sit, studying his facial features as they morph into various expressions, all centered on frustration, impatience, and the occasional glare-frown. It’s your hand on his thigh that momentarily strays his focus, his eyes flitting down to you for a mere second, glazing over with an emotion you can’t quite place. Your lips quirk up in the beginnings of a sly smile, and he huffs, nudges your side with his foot, and returns to shouting orders at his teammates.

Slowly, as if moving with weights attached to your wrist, you reach out to palm his flaccid cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. Scaramouche nearly flinches out of his chair, his head snapping down to look at you.

“W-What the hell are you—” He’s silenced when you squeeze just slightly, gazing up at him through your lashes. “N-Nothing. Just…talking to my cat. Shut up and focus on the match, losers,” he grumbles, not to you but to his teammates.

You intend to draw away, thoroughly pleased after having gauged such an amusing reaction, but his fingers pursue your wrist, pinning your hand in place. He’s not looking at you, but his cheeks are warming considerably.

“I’ll kill you if we lose,” he mutters, and this time you know the threat is meant for you.

But, as you’ve come to learn, this is his own version of acceptance, however frigid it may have sounded. Scaramouche likes a good competition; that much is apparent from how engrossed he becomes when playing any type of game. Most importantly, you think he just enjoys the prideful satisfaction that comes with being labeled a winner. If you look at it from a gaming perspective, this is just another challenge—another rematch the both of you have agreed upon in order to determine who’s the best.

And, like always, you’re certain victory will be yours.

His hand slides away from yours, returning to its rightful place on his desktop, and it gives you the opportunity to continue your teasing touches. His stare hardens into something deadly when he attempts to retain his focus, his fingers mashing the keys in a loud cacophony of clacks, but within just a few minutes of experimental squeezes his cock is straining against his pants. You admire the outline for a brief moment, considering an approximation of his size just from the bulge alone. He’s definitely larger than any of the beginner dildos you’ve browsed online out of sheer boredom and curiosity, and the idea that you’re about to willingly subject yourself to this is enough to cow you into premature defeat.

I won’t make any progress if he doesn’t trust me, you tell yourself, steeling your electrified nerves and reaching out to slide the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers down to free his cock. It springs out, pre-cum beading at the tip, and your eyes follow the curvature. For such an aggressively high-strung moderator, he’s surprisingly well-groomed. You wonder if he’s always lived a life so nicely assembled. Perhaps you’ve misjudged him entirely and he’s never been the stereotypical gross, smelly, hermit of a Teyvatcord mod everyone likes to think he is. Maybe it’s just his personality that’s so foul.

You were confident before, but then he’s passing you a bottle of lube and now what little courage you could muster is beginning to ebb away, squeezed out of you much like the dollop of lubricant pushed from the tube. Your eyes flick to his. He holds your gaze for a minute before a sly smirk crawls across his face.

Hope you like swallowing, he mouths, indigo irises flashing with arousal, because if you get a single drop on the floor I’ll end you.

Arrogant brat, you mouth back.

You roll your eyes and wrap your slick fingers around the length of his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath at the contact, chewing his bottom lip bloody to muffle any suspicious sounds that are eager to slip out. You’ve only ever viewed handjobs in erotic films, and you’ve never given one to another person before. So you slide your fist up and down, mirroring the movements from memory, in hopes that the experimental pace you’ve set isn’t too awkwardly inexperienced. Scaramouche seems to pay it no mind, for his shoulders shudder with every exhalation, and he’s bent forwards, his elbows resting on his desk.

There’s no way he’s this easy, but that thought quickly evaporates when you squeeze just a little tighter, and he whines through grit teeth. Your eyes snap up to find his foggy hues, which are clouded with lust and peering right through you rather than at you, and it becomes abundantly clear that perhaps he truly is simple to seduce. Or, at the very least, it’s only easy because he’s stressed and needs release; or maybe it’s because this is the first time you’re touching him of your own volition, stringing him along with every graceful pump of your hand.

I’ll never understand him, you think, halting your movements once he’s been brought to the very edge, his cock flushed pink and leaking.

The vicious, disapproving scowl he sends you is such a sight to behold! When you’re viewing him from below, it’s almost as if he’s a vindictive deity sitting pretty and untouchable on his throne and you’re the mere mortal granted permission to kneel before him, an amusing comparison considering he has, in a way, proven to be your saving grace on many occasions. Even riddled with impatience, he’s pleasant on the eyes. If only the same could be said for when he opens his mouth.

“Did I give you permission to stop?” he hisses, humping into your hand to force friction.

Your gaze strays to the cat ears on his headphones; you wonder if his teammates can pick up either of your hushed whispers. “What happened to your oh-so-important practice match?”

He narrows his eyes at you and reaches to seize your chin in a vise-like hold, forcing you in close proximity with his cock. “You can do much better things than sit there and run your mouth, so finish what you started.”

“Anything for His Royal Highness,” you mutter and close your mouth around his tip.

Scaramouche inhales sharply, his fingers ghosting over your head as if he intends to grip your hair and force you to take more of his size, but then you hear obnoxious keyboard clacks. He’s back to berating his teammates, albeit in a louder, higher voice than before, leaving you to your own pace. You pull away, tasting flavorless lubricant and pre-cum all at once, and lick a stripe up the underside, which has him humming through a clenched jaw. With your confidence restored, you lean in once more and, fingers wrapping around his length, slowly fit him in your mouth, only stopping at where your hand rests halfway.

Despite your initial unease, you manage to settle into the rhythm as naturally as you possibly can, bobbing your head back and forth in slow, even motions. Your other hand slithers up his leg, fingers creeping like spiders, and rests between his legs to fondle his balls, squeezing ever so slightly while your mouth works him towards the edge of ecstasy. It prompts a guttural groan from him, and your lips twitch around him, as if attempting to rise in an amused smile. He’s falling apart in his chair, shivering through every salacious sigh and curse, all produced in barely restrained hisses. He mutters something to his teammates, but the words hardly reach your ears when you’re so hyper-focused on pleasing him.

You continue your careful ministrations, hollowing your cheeks in the same manner you’ve witnessed actors in films do, and at some point you’ve shut your eyes and have resigned yourself to the moment, relishing in every lewd sound. His reactions bolster your pride, feeding it as though it’s a ravenous monster, and you muster enough bravery, courtesy of your inflated ego, to peek at him through lidded eyes.

Scaramouche is peering down at you once more, but this time his headphones are off and he seems to have ceased playing altogether. You attempt to pull off of him to ask, but his hand rests atop your head, mapping lazy patterns in your scalp in a way that’s almost reminiscent of petting, and that’s enough of a response for you.

“I thought you’d be terrible at this, but it looks like you’re good at something after all,” he remarks with a mean smirk. “Or maybe...” He moans lowly. “Maybe you’ve had practice.”

Or maybe your standards are low because no one’s ever touched your dick before, you think, closing your hand in a tight fist just to draw another pathetically desperate whimper from him.

His fingers curl into your hair and he tugs you up to meet his haughty countenance. The head of his cock prods impatiently at the inside of your cheek and you narrow your eyes at him, drool running down your chin. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, running over the piercings that reside there like twinkling stars. With a breathy chuckle, his other hand traces the bulge in your cheek and his lips only seem to widen with exhilaration. There’s a near-manic glint in his eyes now—an unhinged sort of sparkle that could only shine so brightly in the midst of pleasure. He’s a frightening sight, but then of course he’d be when he had so callously held you at knifepoint all those weeks—or has it been months?—ago.

Now it makes sense—all of the mean jeers and insults. Scaramouche likes to see just how small he can make others when they’re caught in his shadow like vulnerable butterflies in a spider’s wicked web. And aren’t you just the most unlucky butterfly?

“This is a—haah—a good look for you.”

You’d bite him if you were feeling particularly masochistic, but there’s no telling what he would do in retaliation. So instead you continue your pace, idly stroking him in time with the movements of your hollowed mouth, holding eye contact for the entirety of it. He keeps his hands on you the entire time, locking you in place between his legs, and your warm, wet mouth and tongue send delectable bolts of pleasure racing through him. It causes more delicious sounds to spill in plentiful amounts from his parted lips, enticing you to work more vigorously. He gasps through backhanded praises, each one meant to chisel you into something weak and self-conscious, but all it does is prove your previous observations.

“Hey.” His knuckle is on your cheek again, and you blink tears away to look at him more clearly. “You haven’t done this with anyone else before, have you?”

You know it’s a trick question. No matter what answer you give, it’s going to prompt a visceral reaction either way. Rather than a clear, concise response—not that you could possibly give one when he’s stuffing your mouth full—you hum lowly, and the vibration has him twitching on your tongue.

Scaramouche scoffs and attempts a glower, but it crumbles when he arches in his chair. “What… Whatever,” he manages through grit teeth, swallowing yet another sweet love cry. “Consider yourself lucky I’m here, otherwise—hah… Otherwise you’d have no one to practice your lousy, little technique on.”

This time, you’re afforded the chance to detach yourself and your mouth comes off of him with a wet smack, strands of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock. He peers at you, studying your face for a moment, and if it weren’t for the dim lighting in his room you’re certain his blush would be brighter than the sun.

“You seem to enjoy my lousy, little technique,” you purr, leaning in to press your puckered lips to his tip. Your hand slows its once quick pace, and you watch miserable frustration stretch across his features. “If you’re going to be ungrateful, I’ll just stop and—”

But the rest of that sentence is shoved down your throat when he catches your head in resolute hands and forces you to take all of him in a rough thrust. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you choke on it with a gagging cough. Your hands grasp his wrists in an attempt to steady yourself, but he pays it no mind as he continues to pound into your mouth, a string of filth falling from his parted lips like torrential rain. Tears prick your eyes, obscuring your vision and blurring reds and purples into a haze.

It only takes a minute, but it feels like many when he eventually halts his erratic pace, his cock lodged in your mouth, and shoots his load down your throat. You have no choice but to force yourself to swallow, your eyes squeezed shut as you choke through the deed. Scaramouche laughs at you, a short, sudden sort of sound that’s more grating than nails on a chalkboard. And only after he’s shuddered through the aftermath of his ecstasy, heaving soft breaths as he settles from his orgasmic high, does he finally release you.

You pull away with the residue of his spend sitting heavy on your tastebuds, sticky and bitter, and you’re only allowed a moment to catch your breath before he’s gripping your face with one strong hand, the cool metals of his rings digging into your cheeks. You stare at his sickly sweet smile and narrowed eyes, two indigo pools reflecting haughty victory, and your heart sinks with his next words.

“Oh, and nice try.” His finger flicks your forehead, and a taunting smile darkens his features. “But I’m not taking the chains off, kitten.”

It was worth a try, you think, swallowing a scoff and resolving to try again next time. You are nothing if not stubbornly resilient.

It’s a dangerous game, waiting and watching, hoping for a moment in which you can execute your plan. When Scaramouche isn’t glued to his monitors, when he isn’t feeding you meals that immediately send you to sleep, and when you aren’t on your knees satisfying him in the most carnal of ways, you’re wrapped in your thoughts like a mummy perfectly preserved. For a while you weren’t sure if it was worth the risk, nor were you sure if he could even come to trust you, if only slightly, but by some miracle you’ve sacrificed so much time tending to him and it has paid off handsomely.

Though the cuff remains, he’s grown to exercise some leniency, allowing you to sit on his lap while he browses online, his chin resting comfortably on your shoulder. Sometimes the two of you watch a movie; other times you play a game, gambling your dignity in exchange for a chance at victory. Lately Scaramouche has been on a winning streak—though you’re certain he’s just cheating, even if he claims it’s pure skill—and more than once have you found yourself at his mercy, submitting to wandering hands and lips, dutifully playing the role of his obedient prize. He always gloats, flashing his teeth at you in a cruel taunt, and you have no choice but to accept it. Everything you do is for the sake of survival; you’ve reminded yourself of this fact when you wrap your arms around him at night, pressing yourself against him and slowly slipping into sleep just as he cautiously returns your embrace.

You usually fall unconscious after you’ve had lunch, condemned to sudden sleepy spells that are beginning to seem more drug-induced than natural, and this unfortunate happening leaves you completely gone for many hours into the afternoon and early evening. You’ve narrowed your options down after observing Scaramouche for so long, committing his cyclical ways to memory. Either you force yourself to wake at the crack of dawn and hope he isn’t still gaming, or you wait until he’s left the room to prepare your lunch. You’ve deliberated over both, almost acting on one when the opportunity presents itself, but you’re always stopped by the uncertainty. Will this work? Will you be fast enough?

And if you aren’t successful, what will happen to you? Will he truly kill you like he claimed he would all those months ago when you first started living with him? You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

There’s a specific person you have in mind while you lie curled and comfortable in Scaramouche’s bed, feigning sleep to ward off the jittery sensation in your nerves. If he still exists within the server—and you’re hoping he does because your escape plan hinges on his presence within it—he will be your ticket to freedom.

You almost flinch out of your skin when Scaramouche’s hand rests atop your head, stroking your skull so fondly. “I’ll wake you up for lunch,” he whispers to you, pressing his lips to your cheek. And then his hand is drawing away, and your pulse settles once more. You can feel his eyes pinned on you, and you picture him standing at the bedside, casting a terrifying shadow over your slumbering form.

“It’s too quiet when you sleep so many hours,” he mutters, and you strain to hear the rest of his complaint. You think he might be in the doorway because you can’t sense him near you anymore, and his voice is distant and soft, a strange contrast to the harshness in his usual intonation. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re here.”

He says something else that doesn’t quite reach your ears, and you listen to his footsteps as he retreats to the hall and then the kitchen. You wait until you hear movement before slowly sitting up. Even though you’re alone and he’s a good distance from you, you fear he might hear your quick heartbeat. It pounds inside your rib cage, on and on like the loudest war drum, and you clutch at your chest with trembling hands.

Without wasting another second, you slide off of the bed as carefully as possible, mindful of the noisy chain at your feet, and creep over to his desk. All of his monitors are on, each luminescent screen displaying something highly contrasting from the previous one. The screen on your left showcases an online shopping site (the page he’s currently on is new microphones, each more high-quality and expensive than the last). The screen on your right blinks back at you, and you spy a photo album of pictures screencapped from every social media connected to you.

You’re not surprised, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t disgusted. Gross, you think, biting back a shiver. If he touched me with the same hand he used to—

But then your attention is stolen by the middle monitor and before you know it your fingers are gingerly tapping out keys one at a time, so agonizingly slow that you think your rapid pulse might give you away before the clacks do.

Alatus, you’re thinking, eyes skimming the member list. Alatus. Come on, Alatus. Where are you?

Miraculously, you spot his profile picture before his name—a cute, mint-colored bird with fluffy plumage and narrowed eyes. For such an adorable image, the one behind it is so silent and intimidating. You wonder how you even managed to befriend him when he’d been so terse in the early stages of your online friendship, but you’re glad to have this connection.

Relief floods through your system when you notice the tell-tale green circle near his profile. He’s online! And with that, you pull up a private chat and begin to write to him, your heart skipping a beat with every word added to your desperate SOS message.

this is gonna sound crazy but this is (name) from server need u to help me out ive been kidnapped by scaramouche call the authorities or someone just let them know i’m missing please believe me

You don’t have time to proofread it, nor can you even consider adding anything else in your frenzied panic, and so you hasten to send it. Your finger just brushes the Enter key when two arms coil around your waist, yanking you away from the desk with so much force that the horrified gasp sticks in your throat. Before you can register the danger, you’re on the floor, the chain rattling with the movement, as if foretelling of the threat that’s about to descend upon you like the Grim Reaper coming to capture a wayward soul, and Scaramouche stands over you, a kitchen knife held in a trembling fist. There is a foul tempest raging within those ominous eyes of his, each dilated pupil darkened with thick, syrupy betrayal.

You attempt to sit up on your elbows, readying yourself to reason with him before he can slice your throat to ribbons, but then he’s pointing the knife directly at you, his face contorted into a glower so monstrous it has you flinching away.

“You’re a special kind of stupid,” he snaps, and you press yourself into the floor as if you intend to melt into it. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think I was so foolish that I wouldn’t suspect the motive behind your little game?”

You open your mouth to profess faux innocence, but the words won’t come. They’ve dried up on your tongue, leaving you to wallow in silence. You’ve never been so obviously, painfully guilty before, and the evidence of your disobedience is printed blindingly bright on a screen for his perusal. Scaramouche gazes at his monitor, cold, cruel eyes taking in every word. Ice crackles through your veins, crystallizing your blood, and for a brief second you consider what might happen if you seize the knife while he’s distracted. Perhaps it works in your head and your attempt to force him to his knees with the threat of death is successful. But realistically you know it wouldn’t be that easy and he certainly wouldn’t give you the chance to one-up him like this, especially not when so much is at stake.

For once, this has nothing to do with the childish concept of pride.

“Alatus, huh?” he muses with a monosyllabic hum. “Is that your friend? Well, it’s not like it matters. You don’t need friends.”

With a sunken heart, you watch as he deletes the message you mustered the courage to draft. Within seconds the faulty plan you’ve considered for months crumbles before your despairing stare.

“I hate you,” you whisper. Brimming tears are on the verge of overflowing and you will them away with quick blinks.

“Yeah? Not the first time someone’s told me that.” He turns to face you, and you follow the knife as it’s set delicately on his desktop. It’s an obvious trap, but even so your hand still tenses as if you intend to lunge for it. He bends down to where you remain on the floor, his elbows propped on his knees. “I should commend you for your bravery. Were you working yourself up to this? Were you counting down the days until the moment for rebellion arrived? I’m not sure I should even call it a rebellion. You’re not very smart. I mean, you had access to the internet! You had so many resources at your disposal and yet you chose to message some loser on Teyvatcord! Just how moronic can you possibly be?”

What irks you more than the degradation is the fact that, unfortunately, he’s right.

He clicks his tongue at you, laughter in his tone. “I would’ve been in trouble if you actually used a sliver of your puny brain. Lucky me, huh?” His fingers cling to your chin, pulling your face closer to his. “I have the cutest, stupidest kitten.”

You narrow your eyes at him and, gathering your mounting revulsion, spit at him. It spatters on his cheek and he seems to pause momentarily, a tense beat stretching taut between the both of you, before he releases you with a huff. The next thing you feel is the harsh sting of his slap as it comes down upon your cheek. It’s more so the shock that has your head turning in time with the impact rather than the dull ache, and you lift your hand to feel raw skin beneath burning fingertips. The tears are now falling in silent streaks.

It’s hopeless. You’re stuck here forever.

Scaramouche swipes his thumb along his cheek and scrutinizes the saliva coating his finger with a frown. “Not fond of ‘kitten,’ huh?”

“Of course not, you freak.”

“Ouch. That smarts.” Feigning offense, he dries his thumb on his kitchen apron. “A shame. ‘Kitten’ suits you. They’re soft and clumsy and weak. Just like you.”

He retrieves the knife and, after admiring the red-and-purple lights that reflect off the silver blade, offers you a smile so sweet it contrasts his sour threats.

“But as cute as you are on the ground, looking oh-so-terrified, it’s not going to save you from your punishment.”

You watch him carefully, awaiting a catastrophic change in temperament. Despite how cheerily nonchalant he appears, you’re certain there is anger swelling within. It’s clear in his eyes; his glee stems from sadism.

“Should I even ask what your idea of a punishment is?” you venture. You intend to sound bold with your inquiry, but your heart is still stuttering with the aftermath of your failure and it causes you to trip over your tongue. “L-Living with you is punishment enough…”

Scaramouche hums, unfazed. “If you were in my position, what punishment would be most fitting?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not answering that. You just want me to list the worst possible things.”

“Perhaps,” he drawls, tapping a fingernail along the blade. His gaze strays to his desk drawer and he opens it and withdraws something you can’t yet see. The jarring jangle of handcuffs alerts your keen ears, and your expression must have twisted into something akin to potent odium because he chuckles. “Wandering hands ought to be properly restrained, don’t you think?”

You hold his gaze for a long minute. “Why? What’re you going to do?” When he doesn’t reply, merely continuing to watch you with that deceptive smile of his, fear sizzles within your electrified nerves. He takes a step towards you and you scoot away instinctively. “Seriously, what is it? Don’t you dare put those cuffs on me.”

“And allow you to misbehave again? As if.” He stands over you, peering down at you with a mixture of disgust and distrust. His foot is pressing on your stomach before you can even think to grab at his ankles and force him to the floor. “In case you’ve forgotten, kitten, you’re mine from now on. So unless you’d like me to tear you a few extra holes with this knife, you’d better shut your mouth and let me put these cuffs on you.”

He seizes your forearm, yanking you up with surprising strength, and you squirm in his unyielding hold, kicking out uselessly. It does nothing to deter him, but it does spark a wrestling match between the both of you, in which you fight desperately to grab hold of the cuffs or the knife before either can find themselves on your person.

“Let go of me! You can’t put those on me!” You elbow him in his ribs and he responds by shoving you down onto his bed, slotting his knee between your legs. His fingers dig into your arms with a harshness that has you wincing.

“Should’ve thought twice before you decided to act like a brat!” he hisses, squeezing tightly.

The discomfort soon becomes the least of your worries when he pins your wrist to one of the metal bed frame posts, readying it for one of the cuffs.

“No! Let go of—”

The knife is at your throat next, promptly silencing your terrified protests, and you don’t dare open your mouth.

“Try again.”

It’s spoken like a demand or a particularly harsh dare, the ice in his voice a perfect match for his scary expression. For however long his eyes bore into yours, you return his ogling with the same amount of ferocity, challenging his overbearing aura despite the blade poised at your jugular. You’re not sure how sharp it is, but you aren’t intending to find out with misplaced disobedience.

Eventually, the first cuff clicks around your wrist, and you watch warily as the next cuff attaches to the bedpost. Your arm hangs limply from where it’s been restrained, and the other receives the same attention shortly after he’s retrieved the second handcuff pair. While he’s fumbling one-handed with it, the knife is held in place in his white-knuckled grip. The cool metal kisses feverish skin; you can already smell the river of iron that will drool from a precise slice. After it’s closed around your wrist and the bedpost like its predecessor, you yank arms to test the resistance. Your wrists have been secured tightly, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Rather, it’s the uncertainty that settles under your skin, lighting your senses with raw anxiety.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper, gazing at the handle of the knife. It’s close—too close.

You think he lives to torment. He must, otherwise there would be no plausible explanation for why he presses the sharpened edge deeper into your neck, applying just enough pressure to break skin.

“I’ll make one thing clear, so listen and listen well.” His voice drops a few octaves, a perilous murmur. “Don’t ever touch things that aren’t yours again.”

You think he says something else along the lines of, “And don’t ever think you’ve earned a shred of leniency just because we’ve been intimate,” but the words sound far-off and muffled like they’ve been processed through a jar of cotton or an unfathomable depth of sea. Registering them doesn’t seem so important, though, not when the sting in your throat worsens and a thin rivulet of something slick trails its way down your neck, staining your T-shirt—Scaramouche’s shirt (but you refuse to dwell on that distinction). And this time you don’t need any laced meals to slip away. This time it’s the stressful threat of near-death that puts you to sleep.

With the world having slithered away, narrowed down to a singular point devoid of terror, you fall into a familiar darkness.

At first you think you’ve woken enshrouded in muddy earth, buried alive in some forsaken place, but then the haze of LEDs is piercing through your eyelids and you know you’re not resting amongst soil. With an exhausted groan, you peel your eyes open, searching the room for a figure who is oddly absent. Intending to sit up, you’re stopped short when your wrists catch on the cuffs, the metal digging into sensitive skin, and there is a spreading stiffness in your outstretched arms that’s becoming more unbearable with every passing second.

Something soft and scratchy is wrapped snugly around your throat. A bandage, you think, and it brings forth the not-so-distant memory of the knife and the blood and the dazed look in Scaramouche’s stare. As if he was not entirely there when he was pushing, pushing, pushing the blade into your jugular

As if he intended to carefully saw through sinew as if cutting slices from a block of cheese.

Inhaling a steadying breath, you consider your options. Escape has become a daunting challenge—an impossibility if you’ve ever known one—and with the way you’re so tightly restrained you’re certain you won’t get close to freedom anytime soon. After all you’ve endured, you’re not sure you want to fly close to that sun again.

Is it even worth it? you catch yourself pondering. I’m under a roof. I’m fed. I’m washed. This isn’t any different from my usual routine, only I have a housemate now and I’m living here permanently. Right. He’s a housemate. A housemate. A housemate.

He’s not a housemate. He’s a horror wound into human anatomy—a perfect shell for what you assumed was a normal person. But does the distinction truly matter now? Kidnapper. Housemate. The latter sounds much nicer, but then the latter is also a lie sweeter than caramel and it’s easier to swallow a delusion than confront the looming truth.

You sigh, your gaze sliding towards the monitors. They’re off this time, three dark voids silenced in the corner in which they’re kept. You tug at your restraints even though you’re aware they won’t come off no matter how much you struggle. For however long it takes Scaramouche to return, you lie on your back, watching the ceiling and counting the tiny bulbs in the strand of LEDs. Finally, there’s movement beyond the room. He pushes the door open with his foot, carrying a tray of food and bringing with him all manner of kitchen scents.

“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead,” he teases, and you muster your meanest scowl. He laughs. “You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Scaramouche sets the tray on his desk, picks up the bowl of ochazuke, and gathers a bite between wooden chopsticks. “Don’t drag this out just to be a pain in the ass. Sit up and eat.”

Slowly, you manage to sit up, your wrists still confined. “I’m not eating unless you remove these cuffs.”

“Hm. Let me think about that.” Scaramouche drums his fingers along the ceramic bowl, considering. “Not a chance.”

“Looks like I’m going hungry.”

“You are so insufferable. You had no trouble eating yesterday.” He narrows his eyes. “Licked the bowl clean and everything.”

“That was before you decided to nearly kill me!”

“But I didn’t.”

“You say that as if you’re proud! Eat your own food. I don’t want it.”

“Alas, I made it just for you,” he says with a dramatic sort of flair that does not fit the smug pride that drapes itself over him like a linen shroud. “With love and everything.”

Your lip curls into a hostile sneer. “Let me think about that. Yeah, no. Not a chance.”

“You do realize you’ll starve if not for me.”

“I look forward to that.”

“You little—”

Scaramouche covers the distance with graceful strides. He sets the bowl on the bedside table and, much to your dismay, you can’t reach it with the position you’re stuck in, unable to swipe or kick at it. After pulling his gaming chair up to the bed, he lowers into it and takes the bowl in his hands, chopsticks poised. You turn your head away when he tries to feed you and the bite he’s gathered misses its mark, poking your cheek instead. Grains of sticky rice adhere to your skin like glitter. Despite your obvious refusal, Scaramouche persists, pushing another bite of ochazuke at your lips. He’s calm for all of three seconds before the thread of restraint snaps and he grabs your chin, yanking your head in his direction.

“If you don’t want me to shove these chopsticks so far down your throat, then stop being difficult and open your mouth.”

Still, your lips remain sealed and he huffs indignantly, digging his nails into your skin in hopes of eliciting a reaction. You swallow the wince and frown instead. The next bite prods against your lips and you narrow your eyes, silently daring him to try again. And he does, his fingers tracing along your jaw to find your cheek. He pinches—ruthlessly, unforgivingly rough—and you open your mouth to snap at him. Knock it off, you intend to say, but the words never leave your mouth because the next thing you know you’re tasting a mouthful of fluffy rice flavored with bitter tea, strips of nori, and salmon flakes.

You almost spit it out, but you’re already chewing, relieved to taste gastronomical goodness. Scaramouche smirks at you, his thumb rubbing circles against your cheek.

“I win.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, turning away, mouth ajar for another bite.

He feeds you with a hum. “That wasn't so hard, was it? It’s almost as if acting like an annoying baby made this entire thing more unbearable than it should be.”

You scoff around a mouthful. “You’re the unbearable one.”

“And yet here we are.”

You don’t protest at that. What else can possibly be said? Instead, you resign yourself to the meal, finishing every bite he offers and clearing out the leftovers in the bowl. And, as usual, it’s delicious.

Scaramouche pats your head when you’ve finished, a smile sharpening on his lips. “Good job.”

You roll your eyes. “You could’ve been nicer about it.”

“I was very nice,” he says, his tone clipped, as he sets the bowl down and lifts a glass from the table. “See? I even brought you a drink. Aren’t I a portrait of magnanimity?”

He’s a pain in the ass, you conclude, but you allow him to bring the glass to your lips so you can drink. You expect a mouthful of water; what you don’t expect is the sheer burn that comes with swallowing, and your noise of surprise comes out as a cough. Scaramouche sits back in his seat while you stare at him, searching for any indication that he’s joking.

“Scaramouche—”

“You’ll be a good kitten and drink it all, won’t you? I’d hate to waste something special I picked just for you.”

Your lip curls in abhorrence at his utterance of that dreadful name. “Maybe if you stop calling me ‘kitten.’”

“Not a chance.”

He takes a sip from the glass and leans in until his face is centimeters from yours. Your eyes find his, and for a moment you’re connected only by this contact. But then, within the next second, he’s closing what little distance remains, pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy, sake-tinged kiss. His hand cradles the back of your head so that you’re pinned on his mouth as it molds against yours. His snake bite piercing pushes against your lips and when he licks into your mouth to savor the alcoholic notes on your tongue you think you taste the cold sterling silver of his tongue piercing. With mounting unease, you realize it’s not a terrible sensation. And though saliva and sake drip down your chin in a thin, sticky rivulet, it’s not the worst kiss you’ve ever had.

It’s over before you can even think of reciprocating. Thankfully—otherwise you’re certain doing so would have been more sickening than a simple teasing nickname.

He pulls away to observe your dazed expression, his dark eyes alight with manic glee. His laugh comes out breathless, almost like a gasp, and he touches two fingers to his lips. “Your lips are softer than I thought…” he mumbles, curling his fingers against his chin.

Before you can retort, the glass is poised at your mouth again, enticing you to drink, and you struggle to swallow the amount that’s tipped onto your tongue. You taste tropical citrus this time, flavors reminiscent of sunny days and palm trees and sparkling seas, each one so out of reach in your current predicament. Things you might never see again. Scaramouche climbs onto the bed and sits between your legs, preventing you from shutting them. With your back pressed against the bed, wrists still bound, you have no choice but to remain where you are, entirely at his mercy.

“That’s a good expression,” he purrs, reaching out to pet your cheek. You turn your head away with a scoff. “To think you could be so cute when you’re terrified of the unknown.”

“Not funny. Take off these cuffs and get me some water. My wrists hurt.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. Cry me an ocean.” His free hand splays across your stomach, applying just enough pressure to your pelvic bone, and a devious smirk twists his lips. “That’s not the only place that’ll hurt.”

The reality of his intentions—of why he has you restrained—dawns on you like a sun risen from the grave, blindingly, searingly hot.

“You can’t be serious.”

You intend to squirm, to kick out at him with your legs, and push him as far from you as possible, but your legs just won’t move. It’s as if you’re attempting to tug yourself free from a pit of molasses, crushed under a new weight. You manage to lift your foot a mere centimeter from the bed before Scaramouche gingerly lowers it back onto the mattress, all the while clicking his tongue at you.

“No need to panic. I’ll take good care of you.” He glances at you, spidery digits tracing tantalizing lines along the length of your leg. “I always have.”

The grogginess spreads throughout the rest of your body like the thorny tendrils of vindictive vines, stifling all possible movements and replacing your usual taut, alert muscles with a sleepiness that's awfully familiar. It doesn’t take long for you to reach a harrowing conclusion: He’s drugged you. Again. You blink rapidly to gain your bearings, and it takes you a moment to recognize the glass that’s at your lips. Foolishly, you drink because he’s already tilting it and you’re not sure how many more sips you take, but by the end of it the glass is empty and your head is spinning, nerves buzzing with static.

Scaramouche slips off the bed with graceful steps, practically floating about his room, to retrieve a bottle of lube and a pair of scissors. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, coming to you in nonsensical clumps as the alcohol thins your rationality, numbing you to the encroaching unease that so desperately wishes to fill your veins. Rather, you’re overwhelmed with a very pleasant, dizzying warmth. You peer at him from where you’re slumped against the headboard, and the red-and-purple lighting in his room paints him in hues so alluring you find yourself at a momentary loss, staring blankly at him like he’s a fascination you’ve only just fallen for. And then you’re reflecting on the way his lips fit against yours, soft and sweet and metallic…

The scissors run up the fabric of your shirt in a flawless snip. When the tattered material is pulled from you and you feel the rush of cold air upon bare skin, prickly realization manages to sober you.

“W-Wait…” You shake your head slowly, tongue heavy and clumsy just like the rest of your limbs. “I’ve never… N-Never done this before…”

He gazes at you, searching for a lie. Finding no such thing, he chuckles and leans in until you’re practically breathing him in. “I would’ve thought otherwise.”

“And I…” You try to narrow your eyes at him, but he’s placed his hands on your hips and so your gaze is inevitably drawn downwards. “And I would’ve thought you were letting me win all those times.”

“Not this time,” he promises, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “If it means having you all to myself like this, I’ll gladly indulge in the pity prize.”

If your wrists weren’t bound to the bed, you may have pushed him away. Or perhaps you would have embraced him, tugging him closer against your chest so that you could feel his heartbeat, taste it on your lips, allow it to thrum between the both of you. The sake muddles your mind, aiding the muscle relaxant in soothing pre-sex jitters. As Scaramouche’s hands wander, fingers tracking up and down your waist, sliding across your bare stomach, climbing further upwards to pinch your nipples between dexterous digits, someone starts to whine, each faint gasp just barely slipping past lips that have been chewed bloody.

You realize, when he pulls away to grab at the waistband of your sweatpants, that you’re the one producing such sinful sounds.

“Wait,” you whisper when he’s yanked it down to your knees. He peers at you with glazed eyes, and you’re certain you’re looking back with the same amount of lustful ferocity. “S-Scara, I don’t know if… Don’t know if we should…”

You shake your head, utter a frustrated curse, and squeeze your eyes shut. What do you truly wish to tell him? You wonder if it even matters anymore. He has you right where he wants you and, frighteningly enough, this is exactly where you’d like to stay. You have to remind yourself it’s the alcohol and the drugs and the sensual lighting that twist your reasonable senses. Even so, your fear trumps any lust that might have been simmering under heated skin.

But before you can verbalize these anxieties, he’s tugged your sweatpants down with ease. Your underwear goes next, leaving you utterly, humanly bare. Scaramouche stares for a moment, taking in the sight of you, and his licentious ogling is enough to send a bolt of embarrassment rushing through you. Avoiding his eyes, you manage to shut your legs, which earns you a breathy chuckle from him. Scaramouche lifts his shirt over his head next, casting it aside without hesitation. You’re treated to the view of his chest, porcelain-pale, creamy skin aglow under the dimmed lights, and upon noting your wide-eyed stare an easy smirk sprawls across his pierced lips. When he cocks his head to the side, you follow the way the tiny chains on his ear cuffs tilt with the movement, star and moon charms jingling faintly. He’s touched by the very cosmos above, shaded in light so beauteous he’s seraphic.

“There’s no need to be so nervous,” he whispers, drumming his fingers along your knees. “You’re in good hands.”

You open your mouth to object—I don’t want this; I’ve never done this before—but his hands part your legs, spreading them agonizingly slowly as if the universe has benevolently graced him with all the hours in the world. You watch him consider your nude form splayed before him, and the temporary stillness is interrupted when he reaches for the bottle of lube sitting so patiently on his bedside table.

It’s a chore to follow his hands as they uncap the bottle and squeeze a generous amount onto his fingers. Everything spins and blurs into a messy portrait of colors and shapes. You taste the raw acidity of bile in your throat and promptly swallow it and the rest of your apprehensions, forcing yourself to turn off what’s left of logical thinking and submit to the moment—to allow yourself to be fondled by such good hands.

The slick index prodding curiously at your unrelenting hole tightens the tangle of nerves in your stomach and has you squirming once more.

“W-Wait! Wait, wait…”

“It’s only my finger, scaredy-cat.” He laughs and lies beside you, one hand between your legs and the other curled under your chin. He moves your head until you’re looking right at him, and he’s already moving in, lips ghosting over yours. “Unless you’d rather take it raw without any prep. That can be arranged…”

With a half-lidded stare, you spy his lips rather than his eyes as they capture yours in a sloppy smooch. He chases after your breath, swallowing reedy, needy gasps, and traces a circle along your hole before sinking his finger inside. You choke on a whine and wriggle your hips in discomfort. He pulls away only for a brief respite, soon reclaiming your mouth in his greedy pursuit, experimentally curling the lone finger inside you. You’re on fire, burning up with sheer desire and shame and a dizzying intoxication, and everything tangles into a mess fueled only by mounting lust. Fears shrugged away like worthless fabrics, you melt into the mattress’s cushiony embrace, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, as Scaramouche draws little gasps and groans from you, each one spilling out in between kisses.

The hand on your chin falls away to grasp your nipple between cold fingers, and the chill slithers through your flushed form. You whine a pitiful sound.

“Look at you, falling apart on one measly finger.” His voice, hushed and husky, wraps around your head like the softest scarf. “Am I the first to touch you down here?”

Foolishly, you try to nod and shake your head all at once, but he seems to catch the truth veiled in your response, for he hums into your mouth again. You kiss back with more desperation this time, chasing his tongue with a delightful fervor. He pushes a second finger in, slick enough as to not cause discomfort, and it soon finds residence with the other digit curled within.

“No wonder why you’re so easy. It’s almost cute.” Scaramouche lazily works you open with the two digits thrust up inside you. Lewd squelching permeates the otherwise quiet room, and it spurs you into submission. Instinctively, you arch your back when he pinches your nipple harder than before, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. “See? Isn’t it better when you’re enjoying yourself? And all it takes is a little reciprocation.”

“I… I’d never—mmh—never reciprocate,” you mumble, but the words are spoken in a gasp.

“It’s a little too late for delusions and denial, kitten,” he says, practically singing the sardonically spoken pet name.

You grit your teeth in an effort to stifle your sounds, turning your head away when he tries to steal a quick kiss. “Hate you,” you mutter, jaw clenched.

Scaramouche barks out a disbelieving laugh. The finger that had been toying with your puffy nipple traces an invisible pattern along the expanse of your chest, sliding further down under he’s gracing your privates with feather-light touches. A moan hums low in your throat, betraying your poor attempt at defiance.

“That’s not what your body’s telling me.”

He scissors his fingers, stretching you wide enough so he can slide a third in. You hardly feel the pain when you dig your nails into your palms. It’s so fierce you think you might break skin, and if you do the muscle relaxant prevents you from truly feeling it. You peer at his sly smirk, but the disgust melts away when, combined with the fingers working you open and the hand petting your sex, you find yourself shuddering through a sudden climax. Scaramouche marvels at the way you clench around his fingers, and before you can even try to avoid him he’s pressing a fleeting kiss to your temple.

“Look at you, cumming from three fingers.” He removes each finger one by one just to watch you writhe bonelessly beneath him. He presses two slick fingers against your lips, tilting his head as if you’re a morbid curiosity he spies through the bars of an invisible cage. “My cute, pathetic, virgin kitten. I quite like that dazed look in your eyes. Perhaps you should look at me like that more often…”

You manage to roll your eyes, unamused. “You had your fun. Now take the cuffs off.” You fix him with a pout. “Please?”

“I couldn’t possibly when we’re just getting started.”

There’s a playful lilt in his voice, and your eyes follow his hands as they grasp the waistband of his boxers. It’s only then when you realize he’s painfully hard in his underwear, his cock outlined so starkly against the constrictive material, and your heart plummets into your stomach.

“Hold on. Wait. H-Hold on…” You try to shut your legs, but the sedative in your system has you reacting as if you’re pulling your limbs through unforgiving tar. Every inch of you craves the comforting release of a long slumber, but the alcohol keeps your nerves sparking with a fiery need that greatly outweighs any languor. “N-Not inside…”

“Why not? We’ll be closer this way.” He wipes the cold sweat from your forehead before placing a gentle kiss upon it. The look in his indigo hues is lionizing, and when he cradles your cheek in a warm hand he is uncharacteristically fond. But then of course he’d be; he likes you, after all. For all of the cruelty, you forget he does this out of love. “Don’t you want to be closer—to find all of the right spots together? We’ll fit together so perfectly…”

He’s already squirted lube onto his hand, and he runs it up the length of his erection, all the while holding smoldering eye contact with you. You swallow dread so thick it almost lodges itself in your throat, mumbling a slew of slurred protests that fall upon deaf ears.

Scaramouche forces you to look at him next, his hand still on your face, and you lean into it out of emotional instinct. He smiles—it’s tender this time, almost welcoming—and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “You’re okay,” he whispers, sincerity weaved into the promise. You blink tears away and your breath hitches when the soft, fleshy head of his cock kisses your puckered hole. His fingers trail along the bandage secured around your throat, and his eyes glaze over with an unknown emotion. “You’ll be okay.”

And hearing it twice has you believing it with a mindless nod of your head.

If your hands were free, you’d reach out to touch him, run your fingers along his porcelain chest, loop your arms around his neck to pull him into you so that your puzzle could be complete. Instead, you look up at him with pleading eyes as he cages you between his arms.

“Please be gentle.”

He noses the crook of your neck. “We’ll see.”

But his words are warm and inviting. And—oh. Oh, he cares for you! Scaramouche, the one who’d ensure you were always fed, who’d go out of his way to check in at night after a long day, who’d entertain you with an argumentative back-and-forth regarding his favorite games, who’d let you win every single match just to be able to spend more quality time with you...

Who loves you more than he loves himself, relying entirely on you in order to fill the cavernous void in his heart with sugar and sincerity and serenity.

He cares for you, and no one has ever quite cared for you in the way he does, as sickly obsessive as he may be. Knowing that someone likes you enough to look after you is more saccharine than honey.

Illuminated in red-and-purple luminosities, you shimmer beneath him, a lone star plucked from a dark, desolate sky. His hand falls from your face, finding your hip instead, and he rubs soothing circles into it as he presses in, the head of his cock pushing past rings of tight, lubricated muscle. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as you thought it would, but then the relaxant and the alcohol have you at ease. His brows are knit in concentration, breath hot and wet on your bare skin, as he slots himself inside inch by inch.

A shaky groan spills from his lips. “(Name)...” Your name is candied ambrosia in his mouth, the sweetest song. “(Name), (Name), (Name)...”

He exhales slowly, tears glimmering in glassy eyes, and locates your lips in the gloom, drawn in like a fool blinded by the deceptive light of an anglerfish. You kiss back as if this is the last time you’ll ever have the chance to do so, pursuing his whimpers in the same fashion he seeks your keening cries. And when he snaps his hips forwards to fill you completely, joining your bodies in unholy communion, you throw your head back and sob like you’ve never sobbed before. It’s a wonderful fit, snug and tight, and he rocks in experimentally. You shiver under him, crying out a string of incoherent phrases.

“Scara… Scaraaa,” you sigh dreamily, and his hands brace themselves on either side of you so that he won’t crumple when he thrusts in, settling into the rhythm, following the thrum of your conjoined heartbeats. “Aah… Don’t stop. Please, Scara, I want it deeper… Haah… Please don’t stop.”

“Kuni,” he corrects, breathing it into you in an open-mouthed kiss. “My name. Kunikuzushi.”

It’s lovely. It’s everything. It’s your own heavenly delicacy.

“Kuni. Kuni. Oh, Kuni…” you parrot, voice thick with need.

He’s moving in and out gradually, savoring each time he thrusts up into you and your bodies meet in a perfect connection, slowly rolling his hips into you as if he’s too fearful to destroy something so fragile. Or perhaps he wishes to keep himself intact—to prevent himself from crumbling into a love-drunk mess. When he kisses you, it’s flavorful passion, and the both of you exchange saliva and breath as if you’re each other’s lifelines. You’re not sure what you’re saying anymore, or whether any of it makes sense, but then he’s murmuring all manner of things into your skin as if every admission will tattoo itself upon your very being, engraved into your soul.

Though it’s spoken in a voice barely above a whisper, you catch it. Faintly, like flickering candlelight, admitted like prayer, he says, “I love you.”

And with that you fall, vision whiting out as your orgasm seizes you, and you whine your relief when he fucks you through the highs and lows of it. Your chest is heaving when you return, and you bury your face in his shoulder, wanting to feel all of him, to have his warmth affixed to you.

In that moment, there is no such thing as hatred or revulsion. There are no drug- and alcohol-induced feelings. No handcuffs or shackles. There is only love. Lots of it—all of it—filling you to the brim entirely.

The shadowed space you’ve been confined to is slightly brighter now that you’ve found a star for yourself, and he is a celestial comfort crafted by the threads of fate—for it’s handcrafted destiny that brought the two of you together in a virtual world. Regardless of what awaits you when you’re shaken from this inebriated fantasy, you hope it is just as bewitchingly dazzling as the puzzle you make with Scaramouche.

“I love you… Kuni, I love you.”

He’s crying then, tears falling in twin rivulets, and in response he drives his cock in so deeply it has you arching your back, the motions coaxing precious love cries from the depths of your very heart. Sealing what’s left unsaid in a final kiss—every other emotion, all of the twisted obsession and the horrors of the past month—he empties his load inside, moaning into your mouth. Like a lotus at midnight, you open so obediently for him, your legs wrapped around his waist to pin his body to yours like butterflies spread on an entomologist’s board.

Of course you love him. After all, there’s no one else for you to adore in this vast, lonesome outer space.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #lunar love hotel 2023 #tw: drugging #tw: dubcon #n/sfw

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buckys-little-belle · 6 months

Text

Chapter Two - Backpack, Backpack

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

Warnings - Mentions of Bucky’s ‘Old Life’, talks about slight “Violence” (Bucky’s past), talks of a first aid kit, feeling “scared” about being a little, fluff! Obviously!

Word Count - 2164

Note - I've finished all of Bub and Buck's story now, and I have to say it's been crazy going back and blending chapters/blurbs together to create a more cohesive story. It's been fun, and crazy, and honestly I missed this little place that I loved so much. Cafe BigNSmall is the beginning of so much, not just this account. It was the first little writing thing I put out that really got traction and that led me to where I am now. Going to school in January for creative writing, beginning the process of writing my own book. This little fic that has brough comfort to so many, myself included, is so much bigger than just a fanfiction or just a writing process and I'm so thankful for everyone who has stuck by my side, who has liked, reblogged, and sent asks about it. I love every one of you, I love who you've helped me become, and I've loved every minute of re-writing this series and I hope you love re-reading, or even reading it for the first time. I just have so so so much love in my heart for this and for you <3

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Bucky sat at his same table for the umpteenth time, but this time he sat with a smile knowing someone was on their way to sit with him. For the first time in a while Bucky wasn’t sitting and watching everyone while feeling jealous, instead he watched as a Caregiver hugged their Little and felt hopeful that he might get to have that one day.

“MR!” Y/n yelled from the entrance like she couldn’t believe he was there, sitting at their table ready for whatever she wished to do. “Hi!” She smiled at him when she got to the table, her usual overalls and t-shirt combo covered by a heavy sweater. He was happy she had covered up more than yesterday, the sky grey instead of blue, and the colder.

“Hi.” He smiled back, Bucky was sure he looked goofy with how big his smile was but he didn’t care. “Chilly?” He asks as he watches them shiver slightly when the finally sit down.

“Yeah.” Y/n tilts her head to the side as she seems to contemplate something. “I think ‘m gonna get a hot chocolate.” She rummages around her bag before finding her wallet and pulling out a five dollar bill. Bucky was quicker though, already on his feet and in the line. “What are you gonna get?” Y/n asks as she joins him in the line.

“Well, I think I’m going to get a hot chocolate too.” He looks down at her, a silly grin on her face as she nods her head. “Their cake pops look good too.” Bucky points to the glass case full of baked goods and premade sandwiches.

“I know!” Y/n practically jumps. “I had one once.” They frown. “But I never have enough moneys for one, maybe next week I’ll get one.” They nod their head, agreeing with their idea.

Bucky already planned on buying Y/n a cake pop, but wanted to make sure she actually did like them. Finding out she’s only had one because she can’t afford them has him vowing to always buy her one whenever she’s here.

The money Bucky got from the government after his treatment went public often sits in his bank account unused, he has what he needs, and most of what he wants, and he hates spending the money on useless things. Yet as he watches Y/n’s eyes flicker to the case full of sweet treats with a frown on their face he’s happy to know he finally has something, someone worth spending money on.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” The barista smiles at Bucky, giving an extra sweet grin and a wave to Y/n.

“Can I get two medium hot chocolates, please?” Bucky places his hand on Y/n’s shoulder to get her attention before asking. “What kind of cake pop do you want Bub?”

“I can’t.” They shrug their shoulders, clearly not aware that Bucky’s already ordering for her.

“I’m buying you one. Which one do you want, Bub?” He adds some clarification, leaning down slightly to be at Y/n’s height, pointing to the cake pops in the case. “I love vanilla, I think I’ll get a vanilla one.” He says, hoping that him getting one will make Y/n feel less nervous.

She begins playing with her hands, twisting her fingers together, something Bucky’s noticed she does when anxious. “Um, I like chocolate.” She whispers, looking back at Bucky with weary eyes. “But I don’ wan’ you to buy it, I -” Bucky doesn’t let her finish her sentence, instead he stands and orders both cake pops before paying.

With both hands on Bub’s shoulders he moves them over to the wait station. “When you’re with me I’ll be the one buying things, okay?” His tone is sweet but also somehow firm, hoping his words make sense and are final, but also hoping he doesn’t seem too overbearing.

“Like a, like when.” Bub stumbled over her words before turning around to face Bucky, his hands dropping from her shoulders only for her to grab his left, glove covered, hand to fidget with it like she does hers. “Like a caregiver?” She asks, finally meeting Bucky’s glance.

“Exactly like that.” Bucky nods. “I’ll act like your caregiver when we’re together, okay?” He regrets using the word ‘act’ the moment he says it, Y/n somberly nodding at his words. He wants to be her caregiver all the time, he doesn’t want to just act as one while around her, but he met her yesterday. Neither of them know each other well enough for that kind of trust, yet Bucky seems to feel like they both are on the same wavelength. Like they’ve waited long enough for someone to be their other, why wait a little longer.

“I’d like tha’.” Y/n nods, turning back around in Bucky’s arms to wait for their cake pop and hot chocolate.

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For a whole week Bucky and Bub met up everyday, getting hot chocolate and cake pops. Y/n kept giving Bucky colouring pages to take home with her signature at the bottom, his fridge now covered in them after a frantic late night trip to buy magnets. Walking into his house and seeing the fridge coloured in pictures made him love the fact that he bought a huge fridge able to store at least another week's worth of pictures without having to remove anymore of the ones he’s already been given.

“Hi, Mr!” Y/n smiled as she sat down on her booth seat, her backpack placed on the table as she got comfortable. “I made you something.”

“You did?” Bucky unpackaged her cake pop and placed it on a napkin, sliding it over to her along with her hot chocolate. “Careful it’s hot.” Bucky warned as Bub went straight for her drink the moment it was in her line of sight.

“Otay.” She blew a breath onto the cup, though Bucky wasn’t sure how helpful her hot puff of air would be in cooling it down, instead pulling it back to himself and blowing cold air on it for her. “Here.” She placed a piece of paper onto the table.

This picture wasn’t one from a colouring book, but one on regular plain paper, drawn by Y/n and coloured by her to. Two figures stood hand in hand with a box of crayons in the middle. One person was obviously Bucky, the other Y/n. Even if he couldn’t tell Bub had written their names “Mr” and “Bub” below each of their persons. “I love it.” Bucky smiled, sliding the, now less hot, hot chocolate back to Y/n, her taking a sip immediately and humming in content. “I’ll have to put in on my fridge.” He said aloud, though he meant to keep the words to himself, not sure if it was wrong to admit he had grown attached to Y/n enough to want her pictures on his fridge.

“Really?” Her usually playful voice grew serious, her eyes filled with tears. “My drawing?”

“Yeah, Bub.” He smiled, glad she seemed happy over the idea. “I have a few of your drawings on my fridge already.” He admitted. Before he could place it in his bag Y/n was up and out of her seat sliding into Bucky’s booth before wrapping her arms around him in a hug. “Oh.” Bucky lets out a surprised sigh.

“I like you, you nice.” Y/n said as she pulled away, though didn’t leave the booth.

“You’re nice too, Bub.” Bucky said in disbelief. He knew the two of them were making good steps towards fully being comfortable around one another, Y/n seemed to slip further and further into regression, showing she felt safe around Bucky, and she had even asked him if he was the Winter Soldier and hadn't run when he said yes. But he hadn’t expected her to feel comfortable enough to hug him, yet he wasn’t going to argue or complain.

Y/n eyed his bag for a minute or so before asking a question. “Wha’s in your bag?” She asked, this being the first time she had truly seen it.

“I’ll show you what’s in my bag, if you show me what’s in yours?” He offered, having been wondering what she brought with her to the cafe everyday. “Deal?” He asked, and she perked up, agreeing before sliding out and back onto her seat, something Bucky frowned at.

“Otay!” Bub squealed, opening her green backpack before digging around a little bit. The first thing she pulled out was a small zipper pouch, the fabric printed with frogs and plants. “This has m’ keys, an’ my phone.” She pulled both out, her phone being secured in a bag inside her bag making sense as to why it took her so long to find it when her alarm went off. “An’ it has my tic tacs in it! D’ you wan’ one?” She asked with a smile, holding out tropical tic tacs to Bucky.

“I’m okay, but thank you Bub.” He smiled, proud of her manners and willingness to share her things. He knew he couldn't take credit for her good behaviour, or her manners. She was a sweet girl even if he didn’t remind her here and there of her manners, yet he was still extremely proud of her.

“M’kay.” Bub nodded her head, popping a few tic tacs in her mouth before moving on. “Dis, um, dis is my frog.” Bub’s once very confident attitude dulled slightly as she brought the frog stuffie out, like she was waiting for someone to say something rude.

“He’s very cute.” Bucky reassured her, his hand brushing against the stuffed animal's foot, his fur in perfect condition. “What’s his name?”

Y/n still seemed on alert, but opened up a little more. “I call him Green Bean.” She pats his head.

“That’s a perfect name.” Bucky chuckles, loving how creative his Bub is. “Where did you get his outfit?” He asks, referring to the knitted overalls and t-shirt, identical to Y/n’s everyday outfit.

“I made dem!” Bucky was happy to see her peppy spark come back as she spoke about her stuffy. Giving him the rundown on how she made them, and made clothing for all her other stuffies at home. Then she gave him the rundown on a bunny stuffie she really wanted that was identical to the one she has at home. Though “He’s no’ the same Mr! He’s a different colour!” something Bucky quickly made a mental note of.

Bub only had her wallet and a sweater stuffed at the bottom of her bag, and a small bag of long forgotten goldfish that Bucky immediately threw out left to show. “Your turn.” Y/n reminded Bucky, gesturing to his backpack.

“Well.” He started, opening his bag, pulling out his wallet, keys and phone. “These are the things I have on me at all times.” He said, watching Y/n pick up his keys and fiddle with them, clearly loving his accumulated keychain and key combo from the last 100 years. “Then I have a First Aid Kit.” He pulls out a bulky box, a few things banging around inside.

“In case someone ge’s hurt?” Y/n asks, concern dripping from her expressions.

“Exactly.” Bucky answers, though he doesn’t admit that he mainly carries it out of fear that he’ll hurt someone and need to patch them up, but he hopes that Y/n’s just thinking about scrapes and small cuts and not the carnage he’s left behind.

“Do you have princess bandaids?” She asks with all seriousness.

“I have princess ones, paw patrol, and starwars.” He playful one ups her, the two of them laughing before he continues. “Then I have extra crayons, colouring pages, and a couple water bottles.” He pulls out the extra things, Y/n’s hands immediately going to the colouring pages.

“Can I do this one, please?” She asks, bouncing in her seat, her frog underneath her arm.

“Of course, Bub.” He smiles, the frog page she chose the one he printed off last night in the hopes to give it to her.

After the small show and tell the two of them sat together eating their cake pops and drinking their hot chocolate. Everytime he looked up Bucky realised just how lucky he was, to have found a Little who was as chill as Bub was, and as sweet as she was too. He realised that while he wished he could have met her sooner, he was happy he waited.

“Why don’t we go to the park tomorrow?” He asked, thinking it could be good for them to get out somewhere other than just the cafe.

“Yes!” Y/n practically jumped out of her seat at the idea, the two of them chatting about how excited they were for their adventure tomorrow.

#buckys little belle #age regression fic #age regression #little!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x little!reader #bucky barnes x little!reader #bucky #cafe bignsmall #bignsmall #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes age regression #little fic

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from-now-on-im-switzerland · 6 months

Note

Oh mah God, your jasper fanfics are so stinking cute! A continuation of the baseball one would be perfect!

Like maybe after hanging out with her the feelings get stronger and he decides to distance himself in worry, and the reader, albeit confused, respects him and is a little heartbroken. Maybe at one point he worries about her for a moment when Emmett tells her she didn't look well (she's sleep deprived from stressing about him but trying to keep it to herself) so he pulls a creepy (can't find a better word) Edward and shows up outside her room and senses her heartbroken ness and feels like he has it too but brushes it off thinking it's just hers instead of his own. She starts getting closer to the wolfs and he tries acting like it doesn't bother him and pretends he could care less when she starts sitting with them in the cafeteria after he shows back up at school. And it's not until Alice has a vision of her getting discovered by volturi and "ended" that he starts keeping an eye on her again, and when a guard of the volturi blends in at the school and he notices does things begin and yeah....or something like that lol take the idea into your jar of boredom writing or something 😂

I feel like you'd write this perfectly! And spot on with the jasper and his accent..

Uhm...YES!? You're so creative this is such a good idea. I should be doing my college coursework right now, but this is all I'll think about so I'm doing it right now!! Also forgive the gammer 🥲😫

Okay, it won't be a DIRECT continuation of the Baseball one-shot bc it's already part of of a different fic I'm writing. I'm just gonna take out Y/n's friends but the baseball game still happened okay?

(sorry 🙏) (I don't know if that made sense.)

>I just like the cold.

>Jasperxf¡reader

>As I said, not a direct continuation but instead the start of a new series? (lmk)

>could be a tad longer that what I'd usually write 🥲

>TW, Panic Attack

°Jasper's POV°

When I saw her eyes for the first time, in that cramped hallway, I melted inside. My icey veins (filled with the venom that could end her life in an instant) were fueled with warmth as they must've once been long before. And that all too familiar burning sensation at the back of my throat hasn't left me alone since I caught her scent for the first time.

I thought it was just me being hungry. I hadn't eaten that day and it could've been that she just had tasty smelling blood. But knowing my luck, that obviously wasn't it. I can't put my family through this again, I just can't. I've tried to maintain a friendship with her for the fair few weeks she's been here but it's getting harder and harder.

I can't believe I was once angry or annoyed with Edward for falling for a human. I guess karma's a bitch huh? Y/n has no clue about my feelings, I hope. Why would I tell her? So I think it's best, for her safety if I just stop being friends with her. It'll keep her so much safer I know it will.

"I thought that too" Edward said, appearing in the corner of my room.

I didn't jump, I heard him race up the stairs.

"What?" I asked, annoyed I was interrupted by Mr Thought Police himself.

"About Bella. Remember when we left for half a year? And I left her? I thought it'd make her happy. Safe. But it took us both almost dying for me to realise we were safer together.." Edward said, reminding me of the very thing I wanted to try and avoid.

"But that's you, Eddie. You and Bella, by then she already loved you, by then she knew the risk and by then it was too late for stupid mistakes. I'm in a grey area right now, where she doesn't know a damn thing and I just want to keep her safe." I said, sighing as I heard Emmett approach my room aswell.

"Bro, she really likes us.." Emmett said, racing over to the other corner of my room. "I mean for some reason you specifically, but she's told me! We're actually like best friends now so if you want me to be the middle man..just let me know." He said, winking.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I've seen you together before, walking around the school. You've been especially close ever since you almost abliterated her head with a baseball...but oh well."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Jasper?" Emmett teased. Edward laughed as he joined our brother over at his side of my room.

"No Emmett you don't, because I have no right to be jealous in the first place, she's not mine to be jealous over." I said, not meeting thier eyes.

"But you want her to be." Edward said.

This drew my attention as I looked up and saw his face. Care and amusement radiating off of him.

"I'm glad you find my dilemma so amusing, none of us ever laughed at you, you moody asshole" I said, throwing a pillow full force in his direction.

He caught it. "It's just funny to see how much of a little boy you're being about something that is so crystal clear" he said, tossing back the pillow.

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" I asked, fed up now.

"She's your singer. Just like Bella was mine. I've heard your thoughts, they're too loud to ignore. That feeling? that burning? It's nothing you've felt around anyone else is it?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, but I don't want to have to go through the same old debate of “do we turn her or not” and that's even if she feels the same way.." I said.

"Dude, you're literally an empath. You can find out yourself" Emmett said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I hate using my gift on her as it is. The thought of manipulating her in any way makes my skin crawl, alright? If it's to help her then I can deal with it but I won't just use it to be nosy, that's not fair" I said. "you can still be friends with her if you want Emmett but I can't do it. I won't let myself drag her into this life. I know you wanted the same thing for Bella, Edward but maybe I can make it happen for Y/n. If anyone deserves a blessed life, it's her." I said, walking out my room, speeding out the house and into the forest to clear my head.

I just need to keep away from her. I'll keep her safe that way.

°Reader's POV°

This week had been..strange. Emmett had been even more friendly then he usually was; it was perhaps due to the fact that he could've killed me the other week with that baseball, but y'know, life goes on. And at no point had I even had a chance to speak to Jasper. Even in class, he'd moved seats. Of course, that was his last resort after they wouldn't let him change his lesson plan.

It ached my heart a little because, I really liked him and for some reason it's like a flip had been switched in his brain and he no longer wanted anything to do with me. It was Friday, and I was determined to atleast get a conversation with him.

While Emmett was babbling on about something to do with gorillas, I interrupted him. "Emmett when did you..uh...see Jasper last?" I asked.

"last I saw he was with Rose and Bella in the cafeteria.." I saw a small glint in his eye as he answered. "But..i don't think he wants to talk to you.." he said just as I began to walk off.

"Have I done something wrong? Did I say something? Is he..is he mad at me for something? Why won't he speak to me?" I rattled off a few of the questions I'd kept to myself all week.

"Woah, calm down. It's..." he hesitated. "it's not my place to say but I think he might just be trying to avoid talking to you because he knows if he does, he won't be able to not talk to you. " he said, in a really confusing tone.

"You've complicated this way too much than you needed to. Is he still there now?" I asked reffering to where he said he saw him.

"Pretty sure, yeah."

I took off without a thank you, which I felt bad about, but I was too focused on getting that conversation with Jasper.

I was almost running to the cafeteria, as I knew the bell was going to ring at any moment. I made it in the cafeteria and spotted him immediately, and he saw me too. His eyes met mine for less than half a second, before he looked to the floor.

He left his conversation with his sisters and went to walk out the opposite way that I was coming in. I ran this time, and caught up to him.

"Hey! What's going on? Have I done something?" I asked, needing answers.

He audibly sighed and closed his eyes, breathing in. "No, you haven't. You haven't done a thing, I promise." He said, and began to walk away again. I moved infront of him to stop him from walking away.

"Don't walk away from me, I wasn't finished. If I haven't done anything then what's the issue? Why can't you talk to me I want to be here for you." I tried to take a hold of his hands but he wouldn't let me touch him. And he didn't meet my eyes, he refused to even look at my face.

"Because...Y/n" I heard his voice shaking. "I just can't be around you, it's not your fault, you're not the reason why I just-" he paused, and bit his inner lip. "I just can't okay?" he said, pushing past me. He sped off down the hall not looking back, leaving me behind.

The bell rang through the halls, louder than I'd ever heard it before. It started to hurt my ears but my eyes couldn't pull away from his figure.

Tears swirled in my eyes as I watched him walk off, and my breath quickened. Then, what I feared, that feeling tightened up in my chest. No. Not a panic attack. I can't, not at school. I took one last look at Jasper walking off before racing back out of the cafeteria and into the school parking lot.

The cold air hit me like a kind wave, and the small droplets of rain coated my face as I looked up at the sky, desperaty wanting it to swallow me whole. It was a small sense of relief before the feeling washed back in like the tide. I ditched my backpack and jacket, throwing them on the floor, needing the coldness on my skin. I tried to slow my breathing down but it wasn't working. I made my way down the steps, now in a short sleeve t-shirt, tripping slightly on the last step as I made my way across the lot. My breathing wasn't slowing and I couldn't stop it, I guess I'd just have to ride it out.

"..Y/n?" I heard from the trees.

I span around, my breath not halting and my panic increasing. As my heart rate was about to rocket even more, Seth Clearwater stumbled out from the trees. I had met him a few times, he and his friends all the way down at the Reservation were good friends with the Cullens.

"Seth?" I aksed, I didn't want to start hallucinating people. That would be a whole new area for me that I wouldn't be able to keep up with.

He made his way over to me. "Yeah, it's me. It's Seth. What's going on? Hey...hey" he was inches away from me now. I tied to move away but he stepped closer in fear I was going to somehow hurt myself. My tears wouldn't stop and my head was looking very which way "Y/n. Look at me."

His order sent a small shockwave into me for a second and I snapped my eyes up, his face blurred due to the tears streaming from my eyes. He took his thumbs and wiped under my eyes, but new tears replaced the stains he wiped away.

"Breathe with me okay?" he asked.

I wanted to try, there's nothing I hate more than this shit. But sometimes you can't help but just ride out the attack until it's done. I nodded my head vigorously and he began to breathe, waiting for me to follow suit.

"Okay in..." he took a breath in and let it out softly. "..and out.."

I tried my best to follow suit but my throat needed as much air as it could get. And it kept speeding up the pattern.

"No Y/n with me, c'mon you got this.." he said, holding my hands.

"In.." he breathed in once again and I followed suit. "and out" he breathed out again.

Slowly but surely my breathing returned to a somewhat normal pace but my shaking didn't stop.

"there you go.." he continued the pattern as he slowly walked me over to a stone wall, and sat me down.

"You're freezing, Y/n." he said, touching my cheek after wiping yet another tear..

"I'll be fine..I like the cold when these things happen.." I laughed slightly, to ease the awkwardness, if there was any.

"I know, it helps a lot doesn't it?" he said, sitting down next to me.

"wait, you've-"

"yep" he cut me off, with a sheepish smile. "I get it. You're inside somewhere when that ugly feeling hits. You beeline it for the nearest exist and the air just gives you something else to feel. It doesn't stop it, but it definitely helps. The cold, it..it helps you feel something different other than that thing in your chest.." he said, describing what it was like for him.

I nodded along as he said so. "yeah..that's...exactly it." I smiled.

He looked up from staring at his feet and smiled back at me, before frowning. "Y/n your lips are slowly going blue, I know how much the cold helps but I won't let you catch hypothermia.." Seth said, pulling me into his chest and offering me a hug.

He was so so warm. It wasn't a stuffy warm either, the kind of warm where you feel sticky. It was that cozy warmth. That homely warmth on a winter morning.

I shivered in his arms at the contact. "Oh..jeez your pretty hot. Are you ill or something?" I asked.

He chuckled slightly. "No Y/n, I'm just a warm person.." he admitted.

"C'mon, let's get you back inside.." he said, rising us up to our feet.

"No!" I wriggled out of his grip, my heart fluttering again, in slight panic. I feel if I see him again today, I'll get worse.

He took hold of me again gently. "Okay..I'll take you home yeah? We just gotta grab your stuff that you graciously dumped on the stairs.." he said, smiling.

I laughed slightly as we walked slowly over to the steps. He jogged up them and picked up my stuff. He placed my jacket over my shoulders and carried my bag over to my car.

He walked confidently over to the drivers seat.

"I swear you're like..16 can you even drive?" I asked, a smile paying on my lips.

"I'm 17 now actually. And it's fine don't worry, hop in" he said, unlocking the car with my keys he must've taken from my pocket.

We got in the car and threw our seat belts on.

"Thanks for this Seth. Aren't you missing a lesson right now though?" I asked, I didn't want to ruin his education.

"Oh nah, me and the boys are on a part time timetable for this school and the one down by the Rez, so don't worry about it...anyways.....where's the handbreak?"

My eyes shot in his direction only to see him holding in a laugh.

"Uh. What do you mean where's the handbreak?" I asked.

He finally giggled. "Don't worry, I'm just joking. We'll be fine. I've never been to your house though, so you can be my sat nav" he smiled turning on the car, and pulling out of the car park.

°Jasper's POV°

I walked away from her. Every fibre of my being telling me to look back. I fought against it, but gave in. I looked back and saw a glimpse of her as she rushed out of the cafeteria.

What am I doing?

I felt the dread and panic leaking from her as I started to walk away. And I just left her. I left her feeling that way. I know I'm doing this to keep her safe but I can't pretend that I'm perfect, leaving her in fear.

Special thanks to my power, I'm extremely sensitive to even my own emotions and with years of practice I've managed to get a good control of it, but Y/n..I feel her emotions so much more than anyone else's.

My still heart is telling me not to go near her, to keep her safe...but her scent, as much as it tempts me, it deals me a great source of comfort..I can't explain it. I'm near her and I feel safe. I'm a monster and have nothing to fear really, but in her presence it's like we're the only two on earth.

Which is why I must do this. I can't that let angel be manipulated by the devil deep inside me. I won't allow it.

I let out the breath I was holding in during that encounter, again not that I needed to, but I think people would notice if I wasn't breathing. I made my way to the science block and yippee! I was next to Sire Brain Detective and his wife.

I was waiting outside the classroom to catch Bella before Edward got there. I caught her scent in the hallway and rushed to her side.

"Hey Bella, can you just maybe kinda block my thoughts from Edward please?" I asked, a sheepish smile following close behind.

"Why?" She asked, squinting her eyes a little.

"Well you've never had the problem, but Edward is very nosy. And I'd just like my thoughts kept to myself for today." I said.

We kept on walking into the classroom and to our seats.

"So it's nothing to do with Y/n then?" she quizzed.

Even hearing her name makes me feel sick.

"No. Bella..just please can you do it?" I was begging her at this point as I smelled Edward down the corridor.

She looked up as she caught his scent too. "Okay, but you owe me" she said.

"Thanks Bella." I said.

Edward walked in the class and met my eyes immediately, a hint of confusion crossed his face before he sat down next to his wife and realised. "Oh c'mon how is that fair?" he said.

"How is what fair?" Me and Bella said at the same time. We looked at eachother breifely before opening out books as instructed to.

°Reader's POV°

Awkward, sweaty and sleepless. That's all I feel right now. I close my eyes and he's there. I open my eyes an he's all I can imagine. Everything I tried, I couldn't get him off my mind. I even tried counting sheep, but the sheep soon morphed themselves into horses, then I soon saw him riding a horse, actually imagining him as a Cowboy. I snapped my eyes open and drank some water I left by the side of my bed, before making a last attempt to get some sleep.

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning in the same directions over and over again, I got up and opened my window. Again, the cold air washed over me and it was almost instant relief. Just like Seth said, it gives you something else to feel.

I watched the trees as they swayed in the wind, thier green leaves brushing against eachother at each breeze. Out of all the places my Mum had placed me while she did her book tour, Washington was probably my favourite so far, well specifically Forks. Since the beginning of the year, (when my Mum's book tour started) I'd been placed in a random city in the state she needed to visit, and Forks was this really nice and small town. Where everyone knew everyone. Of course, the thought of litteraly everyone talking about me as the new arrival didn't appeal to me at all, but when I had moments to myself, it was impossible for me not to gawk at the nature around me. The grey skies, while annoying to some, gave me a nice comforting feeling. The rain, which everyone hated, was my favourite weather. I don't know what it was.. I guess I just like the cold.

I was pulled from my thoughts as my phone buzzed under my pillow. It was my mum calling, I answered of course, but I wandered why she was calling at 4am.

"Mum? what's up?" I asked, trying to hide my tired voice.

"Oh my god Y/n I'm so sorry.. I forgot about the time zones...go back to sleep, I'll ring you at a better time.." she said.

"wait what do you mean the time zones? you're in Washington too?" I questioned, wandering what she meant.

"No..honey, that's why I called. I got to my hotel and they said they had my reservation booked for next year, so they flew me out to the state I was supposed to be in." She said, sounding ashamed. "I tried to mention you, and say how I could catch my own flight..but.. they-they wouldn't listen to me..."

"Mum... Mum it's okay, don't worry about it I'll be fine okay? Just make me proud." I said.

"but I only gave you enough money to last a couple months not over a year..nearly two! And you're in your last year of school, what will you do all day? How-"

"Mum" I cut her off "I'll get a job, it'll be fine. You've been doing book tours since I was like 15, I know how to live on my own." I said.

"but that was when you were 5 minutes down the road...or a bus drive away..now I'm on the other side of the country!" She panicked.

"wait, the other side of the country? where did they fly you to?" I asked. The phone went silent for a few seconds before she answered.

"I'm in Georgia, honey.." She said. "I called you as soon as I had time, I'm sorry I've left you there, I can book a flight and cancel the tour-"

"-No, Mum don't. I'm not gonna pretend hearing you were in Georgia didn't scare me a little bit, but I'm perfectly fine here in Forks. I like it here.." I said honestly.

"but honey-"

"No 'buts'." I said. "Mum some kids leave the nest at early ages, some never leave..maybe it's my time to make a life for myself.." I said, with tears threatening to spill.

"I-in Washington, are you sure?" Mum's voice was shaking by now.

"Mum, I'm old enough. I know it's scary, it'll be difficult too but.. sometimes life just throws you in a new direction and you can't help but see where it takes you.." I said, wiping a tear from my cheek.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the one full of wisdom little lady" she joked. "well...I guess it isn't the craziest idea you've had." she said, sadly.

"so yeah?" I asked.

She took a deep breath "Yes Y/n, yes. Start your life.." she said.

"Okay.." I said.

It wasn't long before I was off the phone and trying to sleep again. I prayed when I rested my head on the pillow, he wouldn't plug my mind, but much to my dismay he returned and my heart ached.

I closed my eyes and managed to drift off to sleep just before my alarm rang for me to start getting ready for school. The ringing of the bell threw me back to that moment. That moment he left. Just like that.

°Emmett's POV°

Since the day Jasper told Y/n that he couldn't be near her anymore, she hasn't been in. And I'm worried about how she's taken it.

I didn't tell Jasper I was gonna go pick Y/n up today as I didn't want him to go all emo and be like “ugh you're gonna smell like her all day!” so I instead took my absolutely, positively, non-judgemental wife.

"So why are we on our way to a humans house right now?" Rose asked me from the passenger's seat of my jeep. "what purpose is she serving us other than pleasing our noses?"

"Babe, she's my friend..and I'm worried about how she is. She didn't come in at all last week since Jasper didn't want anything to do with her, and I'm not gonna let my idiot of a brother be the reason she fails school.." I said, keeping my eyes on the road.

Rose went silent and looked out the window. "Just let me know when we're there.." she said, closing her eyes.

"That would be now.." I said, pulling up outside her house.

I got out the jeep while Rose stayed in, and made my way to the front door. I hesitated before knocking and waited for an answer. A good minute went by, so I knocked again and as I did, the door flew open.

"I told you three times already, Mrs Henderson doesn't live here anym-" she cut herself off when she saw my amused face.

She rubbed her eyes. "Emmett?"

"The one and only!" I replied.

"What are you doing here?" her voice was drained, and she looked a lot less bubbly than before. Her eyes drooped slightly and dark circles hung below them from lack of sleep.

"To get you to school, missy!" I said, not wanting to comment about the elephant in the room.

"But Emmett, Jasper said-"

"Fuck what Jasper said, it's your life and it's your school too. What..just because he's being a little bitch right now that means you can't get educated? I don't see how that's fair.." I said, crossing my arms.

She rolled her half-lidded eyes. "Okay, let me get changed.." she said, turning back into her house and shutting the door.

I celebrated my victory behind the wood of the closed door and waited for her to open it again. I sat on the step and prepared to wait, when the door swung open again. She stepped out with all her stuff. "C'mon then, let's go." she said, plastering on a fake smile.

"I thought you were atleast gonna cook some breakfast? It's like half seven in the morning..." I said, standing up and leading her to the jeep.

"Nah...not hungry." she said, climbing in.

I got in too, and put the radio back on.

"Hey Rosalie" Y/n said, tiredly a sheepish smile across her face.

My head quickly turned to my wife and I begged her with my eyes to be nice. But she didn't even look at me and instead looked for Y/n in the wing mirror.

"Jasper's an idiot, but he cares about you and he's doing this for your own good, I'd take it as a win." she said, before closing her eyes again and turning up the radio.

I started the jeep up again after a small awkward silence with nothing but the music blaring and began to drive to the school.

"yeah but does he know how much it's actually hurting?" Y/n whispered, any normal person wouldn't have heard it but of course me being a beautiful, immortal, gifted being...I did.

Passing through the familiar streets of Forks, it didn't take me long to get to the school, I parked the jeep and Rose got out. I turned around in my seat to face Y/n. Her sleep-deprived look catching me off guard once again.

"You ready girl?" I asked, grinning.

She sighed. "Not really, Emmett" she replied sadly, staring at a particular stone wall in the car park.

"Well c'mon, you got this. Let's go" I said, getting out.

It wasn't long before she climbed out herself. As she shut the door.

"Thanks for dragging me in Emmett, but I'm gonna go incase he appears from around the corner or something.." she said, with low energy as she dragged her feet toward the doors of the school.

°Reader's POV°

I couldn't thank Emmett more, I wouldn't have been able to get here on my own accord. It's just a shame I didn't have the energy to express my gratitude to him as much as I wanted to.

It was about 10 minutes until my first lesson so I walked to the cafeteria to get a drink. As I opened the doors, I saw Seth and some of his friends from the Rez sat at a table and so I wasted no time in going over there.

"What are you lot doing here?" I asked.

"Part time, time-table in each school! How do you keep forgetting that?" one of them said.

"Uhm..Seth?" I looked to him for help, I could barely remember any of the other's names.

"Alright, sit down." he pulled a chair from the table behind him and turned it next to him, facing their table. "Here we have Quil, Leah my sister, and Embry." he said.

I had only met the rest of them once but Seth I had seen a number of times, and he's who I was closest to...now for a very obvious reason.

"So what's your first lesson?" Quil asked.

"Science.." I said quietly, biting the inside of my cheek afterward to simmer down the anxiety I felt creeping in.

I started boucing my leg too, which Seth took notice to. He offered me a smile, which I returned, weak as ever.

The bell rang, louder than before, and I covered my ears, burying my head down against my chest. Each time I hear that bastard bell it gets louder and louder, and the memory of that last conversation with him gets clearer and clearer in my mind.

°Jasper's POV°

"I'm telling you man..she's-"

Emmett would not stop. I told him I didn't want to hear it, but he was following me all over our house, not leaving me alone.

"her eyes don't look the same, she doesn't have nearly as much energy as she used to, I haven't seen her smile, and if I'm being honest I don't think she's eating properly.." Emmett said.

Hearing his words made my non-beating heart ache.

"I've been picking her up all week and she never eats breakfast, and when was the last time I saw her eating in the cafeteria? Uhh let me think, I haven't!" he said, in my face.

I was looking at the floor, guilt riddling my body. She's like this because of me.

"I get it. Emmett. Okay?" I spat, my voice quavering.

He moved back slowly, almost realising that this was hurting me too, and left my room.

After staring out the window for another moment or two, I sped off out the house before anyone could question it. I ducked and dived between branches, breaking them if they were too big for me to dodge. I raced through the woods rembering the route to her house when I met her before school, when we first started to talk to each other. I ran to her. Wondering what I was going to do when I got there, would I beg her to forgive me? Would I stop this madness and just tell her everything? At this point, I couldn't see anything but her angelic face, and hear her sweet voice and before I knew it, I came to a swift stop by the trees of her house.

I approached it slowly, still deciding what to do, until I lingered by the side of the house where her bedroom was. I climbed up a tree that rested just by it and waited to see her or atleast hear her.

"fuck sake..just go away!" I heard her complain as she slammed the door to her bedroom. "You don't want anything to do with me so why won't you get out of my head!" She panicked, her voice wailing as she spoke.

"It's not fair.." she said after a minute of silence. She got up. "It's not fair." she repeated. She tossed her chair on the floor. "It's not fair!" she threw a picture frame against the wall. She repeated those three words, growing more aggressive each time and trashing a new part of her room until she ran out of energy.

She breathed heavily and sunk against the wall, sobbing. She cried, and it was like a thousand hot knives were cutting me all over. She cried and I had to fight as hard as I could not to rush in there.

She cried and I felt heartbreak. My breath quickened too, as her emotions laced with my own. Sat in the tree in that moment I didn't know which emotions were mine and which were hers.

She cried and cried until she fell asleep, and that's when some of her emotions filtered away from my body. Though she fell asleep and tears were still staining her cheeks, the aching in my heart wouldn't leave or subside. It stayed.

#twilight #twilight saga #twilight headcanon #edward cullen #jasper hale #alice cullen #bella cullen #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock hale #rosalie cullen #y/n #jasper hale fanfiction #seth clearwater #leah clearwater #embry call #quil ateara

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deekaye · 2 months

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You know what the best part of marrying your best friend is?

Well, it's the unconditional love and acceptance. Even when he knows you snore like a freight train, or remembers those awkward teenage days when you looked like a potato, or how you cried over a simple injection for an entire week. He embraces all of you - quirks, flaws, and all.

I roll my eyes at my best friend slash husband, Seungkwan. He's at it again, playfully teasing me while I'm trying to cook breakfast. Despite his occasional antics, I've grown accustomed to them.

But what truly makes it special is how he loves my family as his own.

"Hey, mother. Did you know when I first saw you, I really thought you and my wife were sisters?" Seungkwan's voice drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of breakfast cooking on the stove. I smiled at the playful exchange between him and my mom.

Her laughter echoed through the room as she lightly swatted his shoulder. "You moron,how can you remember when you were just 3 years old when your family met us."

"Well, mother, ever since then… you haven't changed even a bit," Seungkwan teased, their shared laughter filling the air.

As I observed their easy rapport, a sense of warmth washed over me. They had effortlessly become family to each other, blending seamlessly into the fabric of our lives.

"Hey, my favorite father!" my husband exclaimed, offering a high five that my dad eagerly reciprocated. Their camaraderie was palpable, a testament to the bond they shared.

"My favorite son!" my dad retorted, a grin playing at the corners of his lips.

Seungkwan chuckled, his expression turning nostalgic. "I'm always glad you became my father! I always envied that woman in the back—" he nodded in my direction "—that she had you as a father. Now, I still can't believe I became your son!"

"Of course, you will always be my son, even if you didn't marry that monkey over there," they laughed together, oblivious to my presence. "Now, hold this flashlight. Let's fix your car. I can't believe you're already grown but can't fix this."

My dad's laughter mingled with Seungkwan's, their banter a familiar melody that filled our home with joy. In that moment, I realized how lucky I was to be surrounded by such love and laughter.

"I've been looking for you everywhere, yet you were just there beside me," The memory of our wedding vows flooded back as I gazed at him, reminding me of the journey that led us to this moment.

Back in college, when we were both grappling with heartbreak and disillusionment, I uttered those words almost as a whimsical notion. "If we can't find someone who will love us forever, let's just marry each other instead." And in that moment of vulnerability and uncertainty, he didn't hesitate to agree.

Now, as I reflect on our journey together, I realize that marrying him was the best decision I ever made. Despite all the missteps and regrets of the past, he has been my constant source of love, support, and happiness.

With Seungkwan by my side, my life has changed in ways I never imagined. In moments of doubt or despair, he's always been there to lift me up. It's almost as if he was the answer to my prayers all along, and I was just too blind to see it.

In him, I found not just a partner, but my soulmate, my confidante, my rock. And as we stand here, enveloped in each other's arms, I know with unwavering certainty that our love will continue to light the path ahead, guiding us through whatever challenges may come our way.

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princedesnuees · 2 months

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CALL ME MAYBE — gn!reader x jaehyun.

pairing: gn!reader x jaehyun. genre: hurt/comfort, angst, smut. summary: you work as a phone sex operator. naturally, one of your customer wants something a bit specific... warnings: phone sex. words: 1.5k

It is your duty to take care of your customer during the allotted time. This is your job as a phone sex operator, after all. The call time is determined by the amount paid. Some customers just need twenty minutes. Sometimes much more. Maybe all day. Maybe the entire night. You don't mind, you like doing this. What just was for spending time changed into a real full time job. Everybody says you're made for this. And you would be a liar if you say that you're not good at satisfying your phone correspondent.

It's late at night. You've just ended with an old man. The lonely kind, not really interesting, quite sad actually. But you had nice time. At the end, he sounded happy and thanked you before hang up. Mission accomplished.

And now, what?

You don't have time to think. The phone's ringing.

You pick up, comfortably seated in your chair. Usually, it's you who starts the conversation. And you were willing to do so, until a voice rises from the receiver.

"Hi."

As usual, it's a man. You smile against the phone. What a soft, deep voice you hear.

"Hey baby… How you doing?"

"Not really good."

"Oh… Would you like speak about it?"

Other usual part of your job: the therapist side. You are used to listening to your customers complaining about their life, what's going on, what weighs on them. And it's a side of this job you truly like. Get to know someone. Their past, their present. What they went through. Their dreams, their fears. You can imagine every details just by closing your eyes. And in all these stories, all you have to do is listen and comfort them in a very special way.

"My wife left me."

"Baby. I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. I was never there for her."

"How do you feel?"

"In a shitty way."

"Need me to reassure you a little…?"

"Yeah. That's why I phoned you. They say… You're a good listener."

"And I will. Do you mind telling me your name?"

"Call me Jay."

"Jay… What a sweet name."

"I'll pay for one hour. Maybe more."

"Alright, Jay. I'm all yours. What do you need tonight?"

"Someone who can… help me to make the pain go."

"You feel really, really sad about what happened, don't you…"

"Yeah."

You listen closely, and then hear like a sob. Of course, it must be awfully difficult.

"You were together since a long time?"

"Almost five years. I've been… dumb. Y'know. Too much taken by my career. Money, fame, all that stuff. But now… It just doesn't have sense anymore. I realized it too late."

Sadness is blending to his voice.

"Baby… Everything will be okay. Don't blame yourself. You did your best." You whisper on a reassuring tone.

"I even wonder if she cheated on me. No. I know she did."

"Don't think about it. Think about yourself and your well-being. I'm here for you baby. Just ask me something that could bring you joy. Anything I can do."

"It's been a couple of weeks I didn't cum, you know. I can't anymore. That makes me sad when I try with someone else, and I don't like to do it alone. Watching porn doesn't do anything to me. I even feel disgusted."

"Okay, sweetheart. Do you want me to talk, to help you cum?"

"… Yeah. I want."

"Are you sitting comfortably?"

"I'm on the ground of my kitchen."

Oh. That's unusual.

"Everything's okay, baby?…" You want to be sure.

"Yeah. I was… cooking when I started to feel bad. Really bad. My wife used to prepare diner before I got home. It reminded me her, while she was cooking. That's stupid, I know."

"Not, it's not. Jay, don't think your feeling are stupids. They are important, and so you are."

"Maybe."

"Would you like to stay here?"

"Yeah. Don't want to go upstairs. It's okay. The tiles are warm now."

And then, you hear a soft laugh. Really, really soft. Almost inaudible. But that makes you smile.

"Fine, Jay. Let's start. Remember, this is your moment. You can ask me whatever you want or need."

"Okay."

"Relax yourself, baby… I'm here. I'm with you. Imagine me, standing by your side. You're not alone. I can hug you if you want. Do you?"

"Yeah."

"I'm here, my arms around your waist… You can put your head on my shoulder, close your eyes…" At this moment, your voice was akin to that of a mother soothing her child. A gentle, nurturing voice, one in which everyone would like to take refuge. This is the way you do. Comforting your visitor the time they come to you. "There… How do you feel, baby?"

A long silence responds. But you're not worried. Some people need this time. Time that life didn't grant them. And you were right. A few seconds later, his voice arises.

"I… feel good…"

"Can you feel my hand on your hips, right now? Can you… feel… my warmth enveloping you?"

"Hmm…"

You listen, carefully. Each sound is an important hint of your customer's mood.

"Jay… I'm sure… you have… a wonderful body… Don't you? Because I can sense it just by touching you."

"Touch me more."

"Where do you want me to touch, baby?"

"Go under my shirt."

"Alright. I'm here, right now… Do you feel it? My hand on your body… It's warm, Jay…"

"Yeah… Warm."

"Can I go on your thighs? I promise, I'm not heavy… And… this will be… more pleasant."

"Go on."

"Aah… It's been… a while since… I went over a man like you…"

"Hmm…"

You hear him moaning, proof that he begins to feel really relaxed. Perfect.

"You know… Since I am all yours… Would you like to… try something with me?"

"Yeah."

"Can we put off this belt? Let me do it for you… There…"

His breath is heavier. You don't have intention to stop.

"Hey, Jay… Don't you feel… too tight…?"

"I… I'm… I try to… caressing… myself…"

"That's good… Do it at your pace, baby, okay?… What are you thinking about…?"

"You. Your pelvis… against mine…"

"Hmm… This is exactly… what I do… Can you feel me… rubbing gently on you…?"

"Yeah. I… fucking feel it."

Your smile is wider. Maybe you've started to caress yourself, too.

"Jay… Is that a big, generous and warm cock I can feel beneath these pants…?"

"Fuck…"

"Yeah, that is. Oh my god… It's harder and harder… Hmm…"

"Touch it."

"It's been a while you didn't use your pretty cock, Jay… But don't worry because… Tonight… This will change. And I can assure you… That you're well-endowed. To be honest, I've rarely seen a beautiful cock like yours during a while."

"Shit, this is… Aaah… Take it in your hand."

"And I'm doing, baby. There… Just under your underwear… There it is… Hello, beautiful one…"

You can imagine the size wobbling in your little hand.

"Look, I can't even take it in one hand… And you're not this hard yet… Jesus…"

"P-put your goddamn…"

"Hmm ? My…"

"You're goddamn lips."

"Baby… You want me to suck your big dick?"

"Fucking do it."

"There I am… My lips all over your tip… Like this… Hmm… Your… delicious… huge… cock…"

He's moaning louder each second. This is astonishing how his voice can be this deep. You've never heard this kind of tone before, this is arousing you in your chair. Thighs closed, you're trembling like a leaf.

"Jay… I'm gonna… swallow it… entirely… Is that okay for you, baby?…"

"Don't ask: go for it. Eat it. Make it disappear inside your little mouth."

"I'm coming, baby. Let yourself go, I'm going to devour your lovely cock. My tongue wrapped around your pretty veins… Do you see me? Going up and down… Tongue lapping your dick, like a thirsty bitch… Hmm… God, you have such a wondrous taste…"

There you are. Your slow, erotic tone who made fall so many men before. It's not difficult to imagine your client masturbating himself like a damn one. You almost can hear him doing so. His wonderful cock you are sucking until the last drop.

"Fuck… Fuuuuu…. I… Aaaaah… This is… so… fucking good… Haaan…"

"Yeah baby? Do you want me to go faster? Let me do…"

"I… I gonna…"

"Your little whore is going to swallow everything until your balls are totally empty, you know that, Jay…?"

"H-… Oh my…! Hmmm… AAAAH !"

And there are the fireworks. Your man's voice explodes with magnificence. You let him enjoy this moment. His moment. A slight smile on your lips covered by his generous cum. You clean up the little mess by one movement of your tongue.

"Is this good, baby…?"

"Hell… Yeah… I… 've just… stained myself."

"You must be lovely. I'd love to see you, right now…"

"Fucking Christ. I had so much in my balls."

"Do you feel better, now?"

"Fuck yes. Much better."

"Can I lick your cum?"

"Come here, honey."

Oh yeah. You were going to find him soon as expected.

#jaehyun smut #nct smut #jaehyun x reader #nct 127 #jung jaehyun #jaehyun #smut #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun fic

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dmercer91 · 7 months

Text

ebug's sister, dm91

ok, first post where blake is blake!! also, excuse the absolute dumpster fire that is my life, and is the reason that this post is one post and not like 47

last season! (2022-23) part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten / part eleven / part twelve

(2023-24)! part one /

blakefriarr_

liked by dawson1417, adamfantilli and 6,947 others

blakefriarr_: so many things have happened since i last popped up on all your timelines and made them immeasurably better!

this is episode one of season two of i-am-both-the sister-of-the-devils-home-emergency-backup-goaltender-and-also-happen-to-be dating-dawson-mercer-forward-for-the-devils series!

these pictures are in no particular order, because, i am moving into a new place with afore mentioned dawson mercer and have spent the last several weeks making it look like it's not the most depressing back alley murderous apartment any of you have ever laid your eyes on

and apparently, i have a ball ton of stuff!

regardless, here's what i've caught up on;

the entire nhl draft! though i have not acquired any new adoptees, it did come to my attention that the anaheim ducks as an organization did personally victimize me during the 2023 entry draft (they also took a BALLSY amount of time to re-sign bitch one and bitch two. what the literal fuck, dudes). also- if you are seeing this and you need help to flee, blink twice (not you adam) (you know who you are)

2, the entire preseason was also missed while i was one, curing myself from jetlag and the absolute dread of going back to uni and two, moving my egregious amount of shit with a spiteful level of independence. the devils won every preseason game! dawson scored that clusterfuck of a goal on slide two and we also got to see goalie bonks again! (i told you those pics weren't in order and i meant it)

three, (or four, i forgot what came first) quinneth played his first regular season game as captain of the canucks ad they kicked ass against the edmonton dudes. goncrats captain ;p

four (probably) rookie had both his first reg season nhl game AND his birth on the same day! he cried on camera for thousands of viewers and made me question kidnapping his brother and locking him in an abandoned building in ohio (who am i kidding i don't want to be in ohio). the blue jackets have since been doing blue jacket things (losing)

five (it's all blended together these days) the devs started their regular season and now i get to go to the arena and watch in peace as nico makes dumb faces, jack gets into petty scrums and goes to the box (apparently? that ones new.) and dawson does dawson things (be hot)

sixth and finally, assistant coach and captain quinn (he should probably drop a title for his mental health, me thinks) turned 24! i giggled profusely at an edit of him as tracksuit rob. good job on aging, kid 🎉

that's all, i think. (probably not, what do i know)

view 712 comments..

jj.friar31: remember when we were roomies??? siblings defying the odds?? i've been left out to dry. i'm MARINATING in my loneliness. you've basically shot me and left me out for dead, blakey.

→ blakefriarr_: this is a touch dramatic, that's MY thing

→ jj.friar31: if i agree to never steal your dramatics again will you come back

→ blakefriarr_: have u seen how pretty my boyfriend is?? no dude

→ jj.friar31: blake pls

adamfantilli: of every picture you could've used you just decided to screenshot me crying

→ blakefriarr_: hi im blake have we met??

→ adamfantilli: also, do not kidnap luca.

→ blakefriarr_: oh so you just don't want my love?? is that what this is??

→ luca.fantilli: do not kidnap me

→ blakefriarr_: BOOORRRINNNGGGGG

nicohischier: every day i wonder what it would be like if we didn't let the ebug's come into the room

→ blakefriarr_: do you want dawson to be lonely and bitchless

→ nicohischer: yeah kinda??

→ blakefriarr_: oh

jackhughes: why.

→ blakefriarr_ ehehehe your bucket doing weird things

_quinnhughes: ??????? why am i tracksuit rob????

→ blakefriarr_: who else would be tracksuit rob

→ _quinnhughes: nobody needs to be tracksuit rob, friar.

→ _blakefriarr_: WRONG! you do :)

_connorbedard: am i who i are???

→ blakefriarr_: no apparently you are timbaland

→ _connorbedard: oh. okay?

→ adamfantilli: @/_connorbedard you get used to it

→ _connorbedard: do i want to??

→ adamfantilli: eh. 50/50

dawson1417: oh how i've missed the chaos

→ blakefriarr_: fbejdbsjshdghshsb

→ dawson1417: sometimes it's almost like you say words

→ blakefriarr_: :p i love you

→ dawson1417: i love you too, my girl <3

tannercharlotte: this is my reality tv

→ blakefriarr_: i'll leave him for u say the word

→ dawson1417: HEY??

→ blakefriarr_: shhhh baby go sleep

→ tannercharlotte: don't leave him b he doesn't have to know

ryangraves27: she back

→ blakefriarr_: i back!!

nhlblackhawks: ??

→ njdevils: don't '??' her she's right

→ blakefriarr_: thank you (trade for charlie)

→ nyrangers: i can excuse hawks slander but i draw the line at trying to take our char

→ nhlblackhawks: you can excuse hawks slander?

→ jj.friar31: why do teams keep doing this you have ENOUGH leverage over me

trevorzegras: am i bitch one or bitch two

→ trevorzegras: actually yk what don't answer that i don't wanna know

→ blakefriarr_: too bad you're actually both jamie is an angel

view more comments..

#ebug’s sister series !#dawson mercer #dawson mercer x reader #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #new jersey devils

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mazeinthemiroh · 11 months

Text

you need a holiday. [part 1]

pairing: hongjoong x best friend! reader

genre: friends to lovers, slow burn / slow romance, slight angst, and, of course, a sprinkle of crack

word count: 1.6k

warnings: cursing, allusions to mental health issues + insomnia

summary: hongjoong feels like he is just going through the motions in his life. the spark has gone. but you have the perfect solution that will solve all his problems... [part 2, part 3]

author's notes: to get in the summer holiday spirit, i present to you part 1 of this hongjoong holiday series. we all deserve a rest every now and then, and time off is just what you need to get back on track. stay tuned for part 2 which will be published shortly! let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one <3

Hongjoong felt all his days blended into one. He was, quite truly, going through the motions. Sometimes he woke up not knowing what to do. Not feeling like he had a purpose. Which, of course, was not the case. He was a captain, a producer of fine music, a rapper, a dancer, a writer. His work was his life and people relied on him for things only he could accomplish. So he had a purpose. Of course, he did.

But things started to feel vacuous. They held no meaning. 'What was the point of it all?' He would think to himself as he stared at the keyboard in front of him, sitting by himself in the studio in the early hours of the morning yet again. Alone. Very much alone.

He needed something else. Something. Just a little kick up the ass, a slap in the face to give him the wake-up call he needed. He wanted someone to say 'You've got it good, you ungrateful bastard. Money, fame, charm. You've got it all, so stop whining about such trivial things and get back to work.' He needed to hear those words.

So he picked up the phone one night, another night in the studio, and his thumbs lingered over the screen before deciding to search for a name. Your name.

'Let's meet up for coffee tomorrow. If you're free, that is.'

He couldn't tell if his text sounded abrupt and rude due to his sleep-deprived mind waning slowly away. He knew you might not be up at the same time he was so he decide to wait until morning.

And a couple of hours later, he was fighting the urge to settle and sleep for the hours he deserved, instead getting ready for work. He shoved himself into the shower and 'cleaned the tiredness away', as he liked to put it. Because apparently, according to the wise Kim Hongjoong himself, a shower could cure you of most things, especially sleep deprivation.

So he went to work, going about his business, knowing that he would see you for a coffee break at around lunchtime. You had replied to him in the late hours of the morning, ignoring the fact that he had texted you at 3 am. It was typical Hongjoong behaviour and you knew him all too well to question the time in which he was up.

Lunchtime came around and there you were together, opposite each other as you tucked into the delicious sandwiches before you.

"So, how have you been?" Your voice was light, but you had your suspicions on your friend, who never usually made plans so out-of-the-blue, instead preferring a week in advance to prepare himself, ideally. That's why you were so surprised to have read his message.

"Me?" Hongjoong asked as if you were talking to anyone else in the café, which obviously you were not, "I've been good."

'This is not why you invited them out' Hongjoong's mind scolded him. 'There's a reason why you're here with them. Speak.'

Hongjoong let out a sigh, knowing that he was right. He needed to just... express himself.

"Well actually..." Hongjoong winced at the upcoming awkwardness, as if trying to brace himself for having to open up to you. He hated burdening people with his problems. A burden is truly what they felt like when expressed and left hanging in the air like that, all exposed and vulnerable. A person's problems could change your perception about someone, which Hongjoong never liked risking because his reputation was important.

But you were his friend. And if you ever confided in him about something, he would embrace your openness with a kind heart. Why did he think you wouldn't do the same?

So, taking a deep breath, he tried his best.

"I've been struggling, to be honest."

Already he could feel a lump form in his throat. That felt like a massive confession in itself, when it really, in hindsight, was just a simple statement. Everyone struggles, sure. But saying it out loud and solidifying these feelings verbally felt intense.

You nodded, already understanding where he was coming from. He looked tired. Not only because of the dark circles under his eyes and the occasional yawn that rose in between sentences. But also, in his eyes, the casual and chipper sparkle that he always held had dwindled tremendously. He was still as handsome as always, but his spark had gone. And that very concept exhausted him more than any lack of sleep could.

"You need a holiday," you decided aloud. It felt like more of a command than a suggestion. But after you had heard all of Hongjoong's worries and concerns and rants about anything and everything, you confirm that it was the only right thing to say.

He looked at you in bewilderment. In utter fascination.

"No, that's not what you should be saying," Hongjoong shook his head, "you should be telling me to get a grip and stop moping about."

You laughed at his reasoning, but he looked dead serious, biting the inside of his cheek impatiently.

"What good will that do?" You hummed, not waiting for an answer, "You're allowed to feel this way, Joong. And you're allowed a holiday too."

"Okay, if I went on holiday every time I had a problem, I wouldn't be at work at all. I'm not like you, I can't just run when things get tough," he snapped, one hand turning into a fist, before unclenching. He realised he sounded very harsh there and his eyes grew wide.

"I..." he swallowed harshly. "I'm sorry. That was over the line."

"No, no," you shook your head, trying hard not to take offence at his harsh words. You knew he was stressed. "You're right. I don't have the same circumstances as you. But I don't run away when things get tough. I just allow myself to get away, just for a little bit, every now and then. A slice of fantasy before going back to reality. Everyone needs a holiday. Everyone needs to get away from the mundane routine of their lives. So when you do have some time off, why not embrace it?"

Hongjoong stared at his now empty plate, still feeling guilty about being hurtful with his words. What had gotten into him? He sighed and sank back in the chair.

You watched him for a moment, before continuing:

"You want me to be serious and honest with you? Fine. You will destroy yourself if you don't give yourself a break. A little rest, Hongjoong, you owe yourself at least that. And if your life is not full of joy like it used to be in, despite having your dream job and dream life, a little break will do you good. Otherwise, you will drive yourself crazy," you shrugged, a frown on your face to match his, "which you're in the process of doing now."

Hongjoong looked up. It wasn't the sternness he was expecting, but it did make sense. He licked his dry lips and fixed his hunched posture.

When he didn't say anything you said your last bit.

"I am going away to Spain for 5 days in about a fortnight," you placed the cutlery delicately on the plate, "just 5 days, that's all. You're more than welcome to join me, if you feel it's worth your while. Because, trust me, it will be."

On getting up, you had slipped your jacket on elegantly as he watched you, eyes glazed over with deep thought. You pushed him out of his daze by placing a kiss on his cheek, something you wouldn't usually do. He blinked and looked over at you curiously.

"See you, Joong. Thanks for lunch. And I hope to see you soon."

"Y/N thinks I need a holiday."

Hongjoong didn't know why he was confiding in yet another person today. But here he was, talking to Seonghwa about the conversation you had with him earlier that day.

They were both standing in the kitchen, Hongjoong unmoving whilst Seonghwa worked around him, making himself a late dinner.

"Of course you need a holiday," Seonghwa said without looking at Hongjoong as he reached for the top shelf, moving around his standing friend who gazed at him, baffled.

"You think I need a holiday too?" Hongjoong was perplexed, clearly not seeing what everyone else was.

"We all need a holiday," Seonghwa looked at him now with a playful smile, before sinking into seriousness, "but you need it just a little bit more than the rest of us."

Hongjoong pursed his lips and sighed, shaking his head.

"You work so hard for all of us. 5 days is nothing, Joong. We can cope without you for 5 days!" Seonghwa tried to convince his friend.

"Oh is Hongjoong leaving? That means I get to be captain, right?" Wooyoung butted in, reaching over Seonghwa in an awkward position just to ram his mouth full of the already opened popcorn left on the counter.

"You wish. I'll be in charge when Hongjoong is gone, obviously," Seonghwa rolled his eyes and gently shooed Wooyoung away, who shrugged and disappeared without another word.

"Good to know I'll be missed," Hongjoong snorted as his gaze followed the disappearing Wooyoung.

"You won't be missed," Seonghwa stated, "because we would all have peace of mind knowing that you were finally relaxing for once. Or, at least, I will."

Seonghwa always knew what to say, and Hongjoong couldn't help but feel a little better about entertaining the idea of going on holiday with you.

But that doesn't mean he had been fully convinced.

"I'll think about it," Hongjoong nodded, before making his way back to his room.

He wasn't convinced. Not yet.

taglist: @a-wandering-stay, @xlovehwa, @yeosangsbiceps, @anyamaris, @acciocriativity, @hawaiian-angel, @toolovelyforyou, @honeysugarbby, @dutchessskarma, @saltedplum-squid (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

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thatfreshi · 8 months

Text

"Yeah, Besties" (Uni AU P. 11)

tw - slight mention of abuse

You and Astarion proceed to spend all your free time together, which isn't much for him, but it's nice in between the stresses of life. You go from barely being friends to almost inseparable, studying in his dorm and talking about nonsense. There's plenty of times when he has to disappear for miscellaneous modeling things, which he still doesn't really talk about, but you don't mind.

It's been about a week and a half since Astarion got back from LA, and things have been getting much better for everyone. Academics are picking up, sports are starting, and your little group of, 'friends,' has started to somewhat get along, which is a big relief. Since the seven of you are still working on that damned public speaking project, you meet up on Saturday to start discussing the presentation, but of course, you don't actually end up doing that. Besides, who goes to Starbucks and actually ends up studying?

"Ugh! Tav, I told you it was going to be far too busy here on a Saturday."

You roll your eyes at your white-haired friend.

"We're not even staying here, we're going over to the park across the street. Cool it broody."

He mocks you and you elbow him in the arm, making sure to be gentle about it in case there's some other 'scrape' he hasn't told you about.

"Can the two of you stop flirting and decide what you want please?"

Lae'zel is impatient, especially when it comes to caffeine.

"This? This is not flirting, we're like besties."

You throw Astarion a smile, and he responds, almost reluctantly.

"Yeah, besties."

You hear Gale and Shadowheart giggle to themselves somewhere in the back of the group, but you're not sure what about. Probably some bullshit they always find funny that no one else seems to understand. After some group discussion, Karlach decides to pay for everyone's drink, because oddly enough she's never been in a Starbucks.

"I don't know, I've just never gone! Drink a lot of protein smoothies, ya know? Coffee isn't really my thing."

Shadow of course is wrapped around Karlach's buff arm, and here's where someone would say that thing about sapphics and move-in vans on second dates. Eventually you all make up your minds. You get an iced coffee, something basic for your still-waking brain. The rest of the orders go as follows:

Astarion gets a caffè mocha, but asks for double the espresso, which you soon find out is six shots. You know from texting him this morning that he didn't sleep last night, and you're honestly not sure how he lives off of the amount of caffeine he drinks.

Karlach gets the dragon drink because she thinks it sounds cool.

Shadowheart orders a pink drink, blended, and proceeds to deal with intense teasing from Wyll about her edgy exterior. She yells at him about how she just like strawberries, and the aesthetic of her drink has nothing to do with how cool and mysterious she is.

Wyll then orders a chai latte, admitting he's never actually had coffee before after he was scared off of it as a kid.

Gale, like the classic man he is, goes with the caramel macchiato, but makes sure to ask three times that they're using almond milk, making a big deal about how his stomach will not handle it well if it's actual milk.

Lae'zel gets straight-up black coffee, hot. That's it. She doesn't add sugar, creamer, not even a little flavor, just hot black coffee.

So the baristas get to work on your myriad of drinks. You go to ask Astarion something, but quickly get interrupted by a stranger tapping you on the shoulder.

"Sorry, I just wanted to say, you are absolutely gorgeous. Mother Nature blessed us the day she made you."

You turn around to see a rather tall and built man. Your cheeks can't help but fill with red at the sincerity of the compliment you've just been given.

"Thank you! See, you guys really should worship my looks more."

"I know this might be strange, but I'd be honored to take you out sometime. Here's my number, you don't have to text me if you don't want to, but I just couldn't pass up this opportunity. Oh, and I'm Halsin, a pleasure to meet you."

This Halsin character soon walks off, leaving you with a receipt he's written his number on.

"Wow, and I thought I was a gentleman."

Wyll is clearly shocked by the sudden turn of events.

"Seriously, Tav you have to text him! What a heart throb."

Shadow eggs on the flirting that just occurred.

"I don't know, should I? What if he's like a weirdo."

"Oh c'mon, he seems so sweet! You'd be stupid to not at least give him a chance."

There are murmurs of support for Karlach's statement. Soon, your drinks are done, and your ragtag group starts to leave the building.

"I mean, he was maybe a little forward. And the line about 'Mother Nature?' Did he not have anything better?"

"We get it Astarion, you think you're a master flirt. Not everyone is as lusty as you are."

You don't see it, but Astarion proceeds to give Gale a solid middle finger, and Gale matches him. As much as everyone's getting better at getting along, those two still have some trouble.

"I don't know, maybe I should text him. I mean what's the harm?"

"I don't know, the possibility that he could be a serial killer freak?"

"Astarion, he's not a serial killer. There is literally no way the guy that came up to us is capable of murdering anything."

Shadowheart takes a drink of her pulverized fruity beverage in confidence.

"Alright fine, but if darling Tav gets murdered, don't blame me!"

"I mean c'mon Astarion, you hate every guy I'm interested in on the apps anyways."

It's true, because you've sat there and scrolled through Hinge with him far too many times, and everyone you've ever come across has received negative remarks from your pale friend.

"Because they're all weird! Besides, I find making a real-life connection is much more enticing."

"Says the guy who has never been in an actual relationship."

"You shut it Gale! This mystery woman is the first person you've ever been with, so you have no room to talk. Besides, I'm sure I've bed more people than you've ever laid eyes upon."

"Woah, cat fight. Calm down, you might scratch an eye out."

Wyll's comment earns a few laughs. The group eventually gets to the park across the street, finding a large shady tree to sit under. Astarion makes some off-hand comment about how his pants are too nice to be grass-stained, but he ends up joining the rest of you anyway.

"Okay Tav, so how do we craft this message to the hot nature guy? Because honestly I'd climb him like a tree if I could, you're lucky."

Shadowheart scooches next to you in order to brainstorm.

"Oh, so we're still on this? Great. I'll be over here, not thinking about the wannabe nudist."

"Come on Astarion, you have to help too! Shadow's too thirsty. I need a voice of reason."

He rolls his eyes, only obliging because you're the one asking.

"Fine. We will craft a text to this Halsin fellow."

While the others check their student email and actually do productive things, the three of you sit over your phone, wondering what to send to this hunky stranger. After Shadow and Astarion argue quite a bit, you settle on a sweet but intrigued message.

"Are you guys sure I should hit send? I don't know, what if he was kidding? Or it's like some prank?"

"Tav, if it was a prank I'll kill him."

Shadowheart agrees.

"I second Astarion, I would also kill him."

"Okay, fine! I'm doing it!"

You're a little giddy, excited that a stranger so kindly hit on you. It could've been creepy and weird, but he was so nice. With a slight tap, you've sent the message, and your phone emits a little whoosh noise. Little did you know, Gale had started texting Astarion while listening to your conversation.

~~~

gale_eats_paint: you should tell them

wannabe.vamp: tell them what ??

gale_eats_paint: that you like them. i can see you gritting your teeth all the way from here

wannabe.vamp: fuck off gale, you don't know what you're talking about

gale_eats_paint: alright, if you insist on being secretive that's fine. but i wouldn't wait around too long. also your @ is lame. what are you, a middle schooler?

wannabe.vamp: i'm literally albino AND anemic it could not make more sense

~~~

"Oh god, he responded!"

Astarion perks up from his phone, giving Gale a look across the shaded patch of grass. The artist simply gives him a concerned, yet discreet eyebrow raise. You read out the message, which asks if you'd be free this evening for a botanical garden tour.

"Aw, that's adorable! Tell him you're free!"

Karlach is now scrunched up next to you and Shadow.

"Thanks guys, this is so exciting! And what a cute first date idea, bringing someone to a garden? Oh, and Astarion, you have to help me plan my outfit, pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

He rolls his eyes.

"Sure, since you asked so annoyingly, I will."

You go to wrap him in a grateful hug, which catches him severely off-guard.

"Thank you! You're the best Aster."

He almost questions the nickname, but decides to keep his mouth shut, because if this is the type of affection you're going to show him, he'll take it, no matter how small. Gale makes eye contact with him again though while you have him trapped in your warm embrace. While the two aren't particularly friendly, there's a sadness in Gale's eyes, knowing that Astarion won't speak up, no matter how much he wants to. Either way, he'll help you get ready for that date, even if it crushes him when you leave for the evening.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #angst #fluff #x reader #shadowheart #karlach #wyll ravengard #gale of waterdeep #lae'zel #halsin #freshiau

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emilyssky · 1 year

Text

Chapter 8: Maybe

PAIRING: Lee Know! X fem!reader

GENRE(S): college au, smut, angst

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence and abuse, depression, self-harm, eating disorders etc.. mentions of blood, swearing, smoking, smut [ dirty talk, oral; giving and receiving, choking, spanking, praising, degradation, pet names, sometimes Minho is a dick :)

SUMMARY: "Do you remember what you told me the first time we met?"

"What?"

"You said; Always leave people a little better than you found them" he looked at the floor with a small smile for a few seconds and then his eyes found mine. "You really annoyed me when we first met. I envied your optimism and excitement for life. But each time I saw you, I felt a certain thrill. You made me angry, you made me laugh., you made me feel everything. Something about you made me feel a little more alive each time. I know I fucked up and I know I'm an asshole but I'm also brutally in love with you."

Minho's POV:

I run a hand through my sweaty hair, in attempt to fix it but it's pointless, I need a shower. I love this feeling though. The sweat running down your forehead, the air leaving your lungs, the sound of your heart beating filling your ears. Mornings like these are my favorite, especially now that most of the students are gone cause of the winter break and the studio is almost empty, and I have basically the whole place to myself. I have been coming to dance more and more in the past few weeks and I admit that it did start because of her but coming here again made me realize just how much I've missed it. So now it's something that I do for myself, watching her is a plus. I gulp down half of my water bottle and pull my phone out of my pocket. I have 2 missed calls from Chan. I know that he's been suspecting something for a few days now, he's not stupid but I've been avoiding him only because I know that he's gonna go all protective over his best friend and I don't really wanna deal with a talk like that right now. He is, however, one of the closest people to me and I can't really avoid him much longer. I send him a quick text, telling him that I'll come over and put my phone back in my pocket. I adjust the strap of my dance bag as I continue to walk until I hear the all-too-familiar song playing and freeze. She has 10 specific songs that she uses, so it's easy for me to know whenever she's here. I smile to myself and turn to the opposite hall without even thinking. I stop at the door and scoot a bit to the left so she won't see me. From where I'm standing I see her from the side, her hair is in a high ponytail with a few loose curls escaping and falling down her face and neck. She's dressed in a black sweater and black boodie shorts that hug her ass perfectly. I let my eyes travel from the curve of it down to her long, toned legs and can't help but lick my lips at the sight. She usually hides her body underneath layer and layer of clothes way too big for her, so this is a rare sight that I only get to see when I'm secretly watching her practice every Monday, Tuesday, and Saturday morning, maybe Friday night if I'm lucky. It's something I look forward to after my practice. I won't ever say it out loud though, I wouldn't ever admit how I can stand hours behind the thick glass, watching her body move to the music. Watching the way her long curly hair moves when she turns on her toes or how delicate her hand movements look even from far away. She reminds me of a bird when she dances. It's like her feet don't even touch the ground with hands as delicate and light as wings and her movements so perfectly blended together, that it's mesmerizing. She is fascinating to me in so many ways, until she opens her mouth. Fuck, she can make my eyes roll all the way to the back of my head. She's challenging me in a way that I never expected and how much I'm drawn to her is something I'm not ready to admit yet. Being a dick to her didn't work, she's not the type of girl that bites her tongue, but avoiding her didn't work either. Not to mention how fucking hard it was. Her presence alone is enough to light up a whole fucking room. She carries a certain light with her that annoys me to no end, mostly because she reminds me so much of my sister that sometimes I let my walls down without even realizing it. Both hold the same light in their eyes and that vibrating smile. She reminds me of myself as well. The side of me I lost. The passion in her eyes, the energy she carries, and the determination that she has. In her eyes, I see so many things. Things that I desperately wanna forget. Things I avoid facing and run away from. I see judgment in her eyes. They're like a mirror and all I can see is my shitty ass self. I don't stand there much longer. With everything that's happening between me and her, my head is all over the place. I don't know what I want or what I am doing even but I can't seem to stay away from her. But I have to, I know I have to. I don't want her to get involved with my mess.

I reach the frat in only 10 minutes and Felix is the one to open the door.

"Hey" He offers me a bright smile. That kid is such a joy to be around.

"Hey man," I pat his shoulder. "Is Chan here?"

His nods. "He's in his room."

"How's Hyujin?" I ask out of curiosity. Hyunjin and I have an interesting type of relationship, I guess you would say. He's one of the very, very few people that can bring me to my limits in an incredibly short amount of time and have a smile on his face while doing it, so torturing his annoying ass in many different ways has become a new form of entertainment for me.

His eyes widen slightly.

"Y/n left in a hurry yesterday because something happened with Hyunjin." I clarify.

"Oh," He relaxes. "He's trying." He drags out the words.

"A woman?" I smile sympathetically.

He sighs. "Yeah"

"It'll get better." I try to comfort him.

"I hope so."

I gave him one last sympathetic look and jogged up the stairs. I knocked on Chan's door twice before opening it, not waiting for him to answer.

"I have arrived," I announce.

"I have noticed." He chuckles back. He's sitting on his bed with his laptop on his legs.

I drop my bag beside the door and take a seat on the bed. "Are you working?"

"Just some touch-ups," He says and closes the laptop, putting it beside him. "Were you at the dance studio?"

"I worked with Changbin a bit, we finished Seungmin's part, and then I went to the dance studio," I explain, even though I know why he's asking.

He nods several times and takes a deep breath through his nose, kinda like he's preparing himself for what he's about to say. "Um listen-"

"I know what you're about to say." I stop him. "And there's no reason for us to talk about this." I try to avoid the conversation before he starts talking cause I know that he will not stop.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Minho, I'm not stupid nor blind."

"But you are wrong. It's not like that-" I begin to say but he's the one to cut me off now.

"Minho" He gives me a knowing look. "She's my best friend."

"I know." I sigh, giving up, and letting him talk.

"And you're one of my best friends as well." He adds.

"I know." I run a hand through my hair not knowing what to do with my hands.

"What I'm trying to say is that I know her and I know you."

I rest my head against the wall and focus my eyes on the wall in front of me. I really don't wanna be having this conversation. I haven't even figured shit out myself. But one thing I can never do is lie to Chan.

"Nothing has happened between us." I honestly say.

"I see the way you look at her and I see the ways you guys talk and tease each other." He lifts a brow. "I haven't seen you like that with any other girl, and I've known you for what? Almost three years now?" He laughs and I can feel a small amount of weight leaving my shoulders knowing that he's not ready to cut my dick off.

I fight a smile and shake my head. "No honestly, nothing's up. She's just fun to tease."

He leans closer and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Listen you've been through a lot of shit and there are times when she's around that I can see a genuine smile on your lips, even when you're trying to hide it. You're dancing and you're not locked up in your room. I'm happy to see you like this, making progress. She has that effect on people, you know. She's such a bright person." His smile falls slightly. "But Y/n has also been through a lot. She has had ups and downs with her mental health ever since I met her but the past year she's been struggling, especially after her last relationship."

The sudden anger that spreads through my body even at the mention of her ex shocks me a bit, remembering all the things she admitted to me that Chan doesn't know about. That time at the party when I caught them fighting in the kitchen, I acted out of instinct. When I saw her against the counter with her eyes full of hidden fear I didn't even think about it, all I knew is that I had to take her away from him. It's something that I have done more times than I can count for my mother and my sister. My anger at the beginning was towards her cause she was one of the millions of women that chose to stay silent but the growing protectiveness I feel toward her now is a feeling I can't quite figure out. The night she opened up to me about him, I stayed up, debating whether or not I would go and beat the shit out of him until he physically couldn't walk. I think that was the night I realized how much power she has over me. She has changed since I met her a year ago. I don't know what about her is different but something is. I can tell cause I've memorized every single thing about her and searched for her around campus. That night hunted me. I remember everything I felt, the heaviness in my chest and the absolute numbness that had taken over my emotions. She came out of nowhere, and I remember thinking that her voice was so annoying that I just wanted her to leave. I wanted to be alone. But she stayed and would not stop talking. Her eyes; big, bright, and full of light. A shade of green, I've never seen. Her eyes that night stared at mine and I felt annoyed, judged, and fascinated at the same time. The more I looked at her the more mesmerized I became by her. Her resemblance to my sister was amazing, in every way. The way she spoke and moved was so unique yet familiar. Simply drawing. If I'm being honest, I had made my decisions and owned my mistakes. I was at peace knowing it was finally time to give up. But just like that, she stood there, like a mirror in front of me. A reminder. A clear reflection of what I had become and all the things I could be. She spoke with so much passion about life that I got jealous. Never in my life have I met anyone like her. After she left I stayed there, in the same spot for at least an hour, her words being the only thing on my mind. I realized that; that was kind of like my second chance, a reality check. She came to offer me a second chance in life. And as much as I hated her being there at the time, as much as her words were cutting through me like a fucking knife, I needed it. I picked myself up. Piece after piece and even though life's still shit, her words were a constant motivation to keep moving, and at the end of the day; I'm still here. Alive. Well, kinda.

"My point is," he continues."Whatever you do, be careful." He kept his face natural, with his usual half smile but I could hear the hidden warning in his tone. I nod my head not knowing how to reply. I don't wanna say anything. I don't wanna talk about her.

"Alright, I'll go take a shower and then you can jump in afterward, cause no offense but you stink mate." He makes a face.

"Shut up. " I roll my eyes.

He grabs some clothes. "You could join me if you want, to save water and all." He smirks.

I grab the nearest pillow and throw it at him, which he easily avoids and disappears into the bathroom laughing.

Y/n's POV:

I was practicing in the studio when Felix called me.

"He could come and stay with us for a few days." I offer, not really knowing what to say or do to help.

"I don't think it will make any difference," Felix says. "I think he just wants to be alone right now."

"I can understand that" I mutter. Jackson was my first real relationship and that heartbreaking feeling that weighed on my chest months even after our break is one that I don't wish upon anyone. Even though I know that what we had was not love, I still loved him.

"It's just hard seeing him like that." he sighs.

"I know." My heart tightens at how sad Felix sounds. He cares deeply about people, especially when it comes to his friends. He, Chan, and Hyunjin are like brothers so seeing Hyunjin in pain must be hard for him. "I can come over later, maybe we can watch a movie or something. It will help him get his mind off of her." I offer.

"Yeah sure, that sounds nice."

"I'll be there around 8."

"Okay"

"Bye Felix."

I've been practicing all morning and my feet are honestly killing me. After I came home I took a shower, trying to relax my sore muscles and I've been laying in my bed ever since. I've been switching between Netflix and my book for the past few hours until I finally decided to get ready. Today is one of those days that I would want nothing more than to bury myself under my sheets and not talk or see anyone and it sucks. I take a breath, leaving the comfort of my bed to start getting dressed. I don't do much, I throw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, deciding to bury myself under the thick clothing. I don't bother with makeup or my hair besides running my fingers through them a bit and I'm out of the door. I wrap my arms around my body and fasten my walk to the frat house. I somehow thought that I'd d be fine with just my hoodie, completely forgetting the fact that it's almost Christmas and it's freezing. At least the frat is only about 15 minutes away from our apartment. I reach the door and press the doorbell. Once, twice and as I'm about to press it for the third time, the cold air pushing me to my limits, the door opens and I freeze as I come face to face with his big, brown eyes.

Close. He's standing so close.

"Fuck," I curse, placing my hand over my heart. "You scared me."

He opens the door a bit more, leaning into the doorway. "Lovely to see you too, angel."

My heart flatters at the sight of his smile but I push the thought away and my way through the door. "Stop calling me that." I take my shoes off.

"Why? Do you like it that much?" His smile grows along with my annoyance. I'm annoyed cause in fact I think I kind of do. Or mostly I like what it does to me, the way it makes me feel. Then again maybe I like the fact that he cares enough to have a specific nickname for me. Not that I would know if he uses it with other women as well..

"What are you even doing here?" I walk to the stairs, searching for any sight of my friends.

"I happen to have friends who live here." He follows me.

"Funny." I reach the top of the stairs and turn to him. Why is he even following me? Where's everyone? I look around the first floor.

"I am." He chuckles, standing right in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his black hoodie are lifted up to his elbow. He has such nice hands, I think to myself.

"You are a lot of things." I mumble under my breath, peeling my eyes away from his body. Heat starts rising inside me. He's standing too close to me, with a stupid grin on his face, and none else around us. My walls are shaking, starting to slowly tear down in moments like this, where I could have a playful, simple conversation with him without burning anger building inside of me at the audacity of his cruel words. But I don't let myself relax too much, it's a matter of time before he snaps back on me.

"Oh, you have no idea." He breathes out, lowering his voice and head. He takes a few steps closer to me. What is he doing? My mind starts spinning, and all the possible things I can say or do run through my head but instead, I take a step to the left, pulling away for him.

"You smell." I say quickly and turn around and down the hall, not giving him a chance to say anything back.

"Hey," I wrap my hands around him, bringing him into a tight hug. His hair is still a bit dump for his shower and the scent of his caramel body wash immediately hits my nose. "how are you doing?"

"Fine." He mumbles in the crook of my neck. "I just want everyone to stop treating me like I'm made of glass."

"We're just worried about you Hyunjin." Felix says, laying on his stomach on Hyunjin's bed. Huynjin releases me and throws himself beside Felix.

"All of you guys have been through a breakup. I guess it's my time." His eyes are still a bit bloodshot, probably from last night. Felix told me that he wouldn't stop crying. When I broke up with Jackson both Felix and Hyunjin were over at my apartment every single day, trying to make me feel better, in every way they could. There were times when I wouldn't even get out of bed so they would stay in bed with me and we would watch stupid reality shows and old Disney movies. They were there for me so now that Hyunjin's going through the same thing I wanna be there for him as much as I can as well.

"You know what?" I place my hands on my hips. "I think you did enough mopping over her cheating ass. It's time to get your mind off her." I try to brighten the mood.

Both Felix and Hyunjin give me questioning looks. "What do you mean?" Hyunjin's eyebrows frown. His face is so puffy from crying that he looks incredibly cute.

"Get up." I pull him by the hand off the bed. "Let's go downstairs, make some drinks and snacks, and watch a fun movie." I open the door, dragging Hyunjin with me. Felix follows, giggling.

I release him as soon as we enter the kitchen, his shoulders fall and he takes a seat on a stool. I pull my phone out of my pocket, I'm gonna need some help.

"You're literally in my house, why are you calling me?" Chan picks up immediately.

"Come downstairs, now." I say and hang up.

"Y/n, I don't know If I'm-"

"No," I lift my finger. "4 days after I broke up with Jackson you showed up at my door. Remember what I did?"

"You tried to slam the door in my face." He wipes his nose with his sleeve.

"But you didn't leave me alone." I circle the counter to stand in front of him. "You sat with me in my bed as I cried my heart out and you didn't say a word." I push a piece of his blonde hair that's falling in his eyes back. His eyes begin to fill with tears and his full lips turn into a thin line. I know that face. "Please don't cry." I wrap my arms around him, panicking.

"It's not my fault, why did you have to get all emotional and shit..." He mumbles in my chest.

Felix lets out a laugh from his leaning position across the counter. "You guys are so dramatic." He shakes his head. "I'll get started on the drinks and leave you two emotionally damaged people to bond over making snacks."

"What's going on?" Chan walks into the kitchen with Minho following right behind.

"We're bonding." Hyunjin says, not lifting his head from my chest.

I giggle giving him one last squeeze before releasing him. "Okay enough with the crying, let's make some brownies." I clap my hands together.

"What are we doing exactly?" Minho asks, confusion written all over his face.

"We're making drinks and snacks, and then we're watching a movie to cheer Hyunjin up." Felix walks over to them. "Wanna help with the drinks?" He asks Chan.

"Yeah, sure." He immediately accepts, knowing he's not really good at cooking.

"You can go too, I'm sure you wouldn't wanna spend time making brownies with me." Hyunjin gets off the stool and glares at Minho on his way to the fridge. I look between them dumbfounded. Have I missed something?

Minho takes a few steps further into the kitchen, slowly approaching the end of the counter, with his hands crossed. "Stop being dramatic." He rolls his eyes.

"You told me that I'm the most annoying person you've ever met." Hyunjin narrows his eyes.

My jaw falls open. "Minho!" I gasp.

He takes a breath. "I was joking obviously. You're clearly not THE most annoying person, have you met Changbin?" I wanna laugh at his terrible attempt to fix what he said to Hyunjin but I bite my lip to hold it and pull out a bowl to start mixing the ingredients.

"Whatever, you can stay, only cause I'm a nice person unlike you." A small smile dances on Hyunjin's lips. " I'll go look for a pan." He turns to me.

"Okay, I'll start mixing the wet ingredients." I nod, getting the sugar and a cup to measure everything in.

He nods back and walks to the small pantry that they have beside the kitchen. He stops behind Minho. "I know you like me, you can stop this enemies-to-lovers thing." He says close to his ear and Minho flinches.

I let out a laugh, that quickly disappears the minute I realize that we're alone in the kitchen. The pantry where Hyunjin went to look for a pan is just across the hall, but knowing Hyunjin it will take him more than 5 minutes to actually locate the pans. I focus my eyes on the bowl in front of me as I pour the butter over the sugar and begin mixing them, while Minho stands silently at the opposite side of the counter. I know for a fact that he will not even try to start a conversation or do anything to make this uncomfortable silence go away so I force myself to stay focused on my task and ignore him. The butter begins to blend smoothly with the sugar, which is a sign to put the eggs in. From the corner of my eye, I see him move. I straighten my back, not wanting to appear as intimidating as I am by his presence. He stops to my right, close enough for me to smell Chan's body wash; so he must have taken a shower here. I wait for him to say something, anything but he stays silent, simply observing. The side of my face feels like it's on fire from his intense staring and I being to grow uncomfortable.

"Um, can you bring the eggs?" I clear my throat but neither his body nor his eyes move. I shift my balance from one foot to another, my hand moving faster as I feel my anxiety peeking. I sigh, realizing that he's not going to help me at all so I stop mixing and turn to the fridge but before I have the time to take a single step, he moves past me, his shoulder brushing mine. I focus my eyes back on the bowl as he moves silently to the fridge and back. His movements remind me of a cat's. Soundless, precise, and confident, executed with a look of boredom all over their face.

"How many do we need?" For some reason the way he said 'we' made a smile almost appear on my lips.

"Um," I think about how many pieces will be enough for all of us to eat. " about 3." I say and reach for an egg.

"Let me." He takes it from my hand, in a surprisingly gentle way, almost as gentle as his tone. He seems to be in a good mood, a good mood for him at least and I begin to wonder why. He cracks 2 of the eggs inside the bowl and I mix them with the rest of the ingredients.

"Do you bake a lot?" He suddenly asks. My hand slows down for a second, caught by surprise by his sudden question. I don't think that he's ever asked me a simple question like this.

"Um, yeah." I hesitantly answer.

"Hm," He nods, breaking the third egg. "It looks like you know what you're doing."

I shrug pouring the flour into the mixture. "I bake a lot when I'm stressed."

"Which is often I'm guessing." He smirks.

I try not to smile at his comment but my face warms up either way. His energy is oddly positive. He shifts his weight, leaning towards me and observing my moves. The way that my body is drawn to his is ridiculous and the thoughts that go through my head make everything worst. Silence takes over us once again and my eyes flicked to the door every 10 seconds, silently hoping for Hyunjin to finally come.

I hear him chuckle under his breath.

"What?" I turn to him.

He leans into the counter with both of his hands and shakes his half-wet hair out of his eyes. I swallow; fuck he's attractive.

He half-smiles, in such a boyish way. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

I look back down. "No." I lie

He leans back close to me, placing his hand next to my hip to my left trapping me like he did yesterday. I hold my breath as he looks over my shoulder, his chin almost touching it.

"I love making you nervous." His breath tickles my neck and chills spread down my spine and arms. He dips his finger into the mixture and brings it to his lips. My eyes follow the way his finger disappears into his mouth, his full lips sucking on it in a way that makes my legs grow closer.

His eyes lighten up. "Shit, this is good." He dips his finger again.

I let out a breath, relieved to see his attention turn to the brownies. "Really?"

"Yeah, try some." He takes some more on his finger and brings it to my lips.

I freeze. "No thanks." I awkwardly smile.

He frowns. "You made it, you have to try. " He pushes his finger closer to my lips.

"Minho, said no." I say a little louder, grabbing his wrist. I feel him stiffen, his eyes fall to my grip and then back to my eyes. My stomach drops. I dip the finger of my other hand into the mixture and drag it across his cheek, distracting him. His eyes widen, clearly not expecting that and I can't help but I laugh at his face.

"You're dead." His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek with a straight face.

He takes some more of the mixture and I turn around about to run but his hand sneaks around my waist pulling me back. My back hits his chest and I feel his finger spreading the brownie dough all over my cheek.

I bring my hands up to cover my face but he fights me with his free hand. "Minho, stop! " I try to sound annoyed but I giggle instead.

"You started it. " He laughs back and I swear it is one of the most lovely sounds I've ever heard. Even if I can't see him from my position, I can picture the smile on his face.

I kinda wish I could freeze this moment as well.

"Can you guys stop playing with my breakup brownies? " Hyunjin groans, finally entering the kitchen with 3 different pans in his hands. We both freeze but Minho's the one that moves away first. Almost too fast and sharper than I would like as if he hadn't realized what was happening until it was interrupted. His face drops any emotions that previously held and he goes to grab the pans from Hyunjin.

"Hyunjin let's just start the movie. The brownies will be ready in a few minutes." Felix groans but Hyunjin shakes his head. Everyone has taken a seat on the large couch in the living room. Felix and Chan made Margaritas for all of us and after a lot of fighting, we decided to watch 'The Conjuring'. We were just about to start the movie but Hyujin refuses to watch anything until his brownies are ready.

"I said no." He stands his ground.

I give Felix a sympathetic look, knowing that Hyunjin is slowly bringing him to his limit, and get up. "Fine, I'll go check on the brownies." I walk back into the kitchen and kneel in front of the oven, checking if the brownies are ready. They could use a little more baking but I pull them out anyway.

"Hello, love" Kai, one of the other boys that live here enters the kitchen. There are 5 guys in total in the Frat, Hyunjin, Chan, Felix, Kai, and Jace. Kai is the one I like the most after the boys cause Jace can be a bit of an ass.

"Hi, Kai." I smile at him.

"What's going on? Are you guys having a movie night?" It's not often that either of them is home but whenever they are, they always stay locked up in their rooms. Kai sometimes comes downstairs to say hi to me or Emma and maybe hang out a bit with us so I'm definitely closer to him. He's quite tall, with messy blonde hair and the most perfect dimples I have ever seen.

"Yep." I begin to cut the brownies into squares.

"Fuck, they look delicious." He leans over the pan. "Can I have some?"

"Y/n." Both of our heads snap to the doorway where Minho is standing. His gaze moves between Kai and me. He must have a fucking radar or something. "Do you need any help?"

"Um-"

"Hey, man." Kai greeds Minho as he approaches the counter.

"How you've been Kai?" He pats Kai's back with a nod and walks past him to stand right beside me. Oh, so they know each other.

"Busy." he lets out a breathy laugh. "I'm happy that the semester's over."

Minho gives him an understanding nod and then copies Kai's previous position, leaning over my shoulder, and looking at the brownies. "They look good." He drags out in a low voice. I realize what he's doing and I have to stop the smile that threatens to form on my lips. He only seems to care about me whenever another person's involved. It does bother me but at the same time, I can't really stop myself from craving his attention in any way that I get it. I know it sounds weird but I want him to look at me, I want his eyes to search the room for me and I want him to be disappointed when I'm not there.

I take a breath and put a soft smile on my lips. I cut a small piece of brownie and move away from Minho's grip. "Here," I turn to Kai. "Try some."

He opens his mouth, taking the brownie from between my fingers with his lips. My back is completely turned to Minho, but I see Kai's eyes flicker behind me for a second.

"Oh, my god." He groans with his mouth full.

"How is it?" I place all the pieces on a large plate.

"It's incredible." He nods his head, with his eyes closed.

"What about me?" Minho puts his elbows on the counter, bringing his face right in front of mine. "I wanna try too."

"You have hands." I take the plate in my hands and turn around, avoiding to look his way, while Kai's trying to hold his laughter but he's failing. "I'll see you around Kai." I exit the kitchen.

"Fucking finally," Hyunjin yells as I put the plate in the middle of the coffee table and I fall back to my seat beside Chan.

"I know that he's heartbroken and all but I swear I'm gonna murder him." Felix leans behind Chan's back and whispers to me. I cover my mouth with my hand trying to hold my laughter, Hyunjin can be too much when he's not in a good mood but if Felix has reached his limits the situation's bad. My laugh is cut short when I feel someone sitting beside me.

"You're not seating here." I lean a bit closer to whisper to him while keeping my eyes forward and the small smile on my lips that tries to hide the panic of Minho staying beside me for almost 2 hours. "I wanna watch the movie."

"None's stopping you, angel." Minho lifts both of his eyebrows at me before taking a brownie from the plate and popping it into his mouth.

"Okay, now we can begin the movie." Hyunjin takes 4 brownies and leans back, happily.

Felix shakes his head and presses play. I sigh and grab the blanket from the back of the couch, unfolding it.

"Are you cold?" Minho asks, without looking at me.

"She can't watch a movie without a blanket or something to cover her. " Chan explains. "She's weird like that."

"Shut up." I bring the blanket up to my shoulders. "Pass me my margarita."

I hold my hand out but he shakes his head. "Nope. No alcohol for you."

"What? Why?" I frown.

He shoots me a glare. "I think you know why."

I drop my hand, understanding. He takes a brownie from the plate and holds it out to me but I shake my head, as always.

"Then no alcohol." he shrugs.

"Guys, shut up ." Hyunjin turns up the volume. "The movie's starting."

I sigh once again and bury myself under the blanket, forcing my eyes on the tv. This is gonna be a long movie.

Minho's hand has been resting on the back of the couch for 25 minutes straight, and the right side of his body is so close to me, that his thigh is brushing mine every now and then, so it's hard to focus on anything else. He, on the other hand, is perfectly still, completely invested in the movie. I can't help but let my eyes flicker to him every few minutes and the more I do the more I realize that he has the most perfect side profile. Everything from his now completely dry hair to his long black eyelashes that stand tall over his huge eyes to his perfectly straight nose to the curve of his full lips. His face holds no expression. He occasionally lets his lips turn into a small smile when a funny scene comes up or his eyebrows frown when something intrigues him. He doesn't smile that often, he doesn't show much emotion in general and I wonder if it's because we're not that close yet for him to open up or if that's the way he is as a person. From what Chan has told me, Minho is really closed off and it takes time for him to open up to someone. The memories of our talks make their way through my mind yet again, almost causing me to smile. I loved the way he talked; as if I wasn't even there, as if he was talking to himself, letting out all of his thoughts. I loved those moments. It was the first time that I felt understood, in a way. I've been hiding a lot of things, too ashamed to admit the real story of my childhood, the toxic and abusive relationship I stayed in for almost a year, or the sides of myself that even I am disgusted by. The mess that I grew up to be, even though I swore to myself that I would be different. I'm so grateful that I found Chan. It was a time when I really needed someone to be there for me, and he didn't hesitate a second. He was there every time. Through me screaming and yelling, crying, falling classes, not leaving my room or eating anything for days. He had the patience that none had with me growing up. He stayed by my side, waiting, allowing me to take my time but never leaving. I have opened up to him about a lot but still, even from him, I keep things. There are times when I feel like shit. I sit with all these people that are almost like family to me and present myself as someone I'm not, allowing only the side of myself that's not messed up, damaged, or fucked to be seen. So when Minho opened up to me about his childhood, I felt like I wasn't alone in a way. Maybe it was the alcohol but he didn't hide that side of him from me and that made me not wanna hide mine either.

I hadn't realized how long I'd been staring at him, drowning in my thoughts until his eyes turned to mine, and I almost choked. He looked back at the screen with a small smile and moved a bit closer to me. Thank fucking god that the lights are almost off cause I'm pretty sure I look like a tomato. I feel the hand that he has resting behind me, inching closer until his fingers brush my shoulder. A wave of chills runs through my whole body, but I try not to show any emotion on my face. He laughs under his breath and removes his hand from behind me, but just as I'm about to finally let out a breath of relief, I feel his hand moving to my thigh under the blanket and when his hand grips my thigh, I clear my throat.

What is he doing?

"What?" Chan turns to me.

"Nothing." I quickly brushed him off. "Can you pass me some water?" He grabs a bottle of water from the table and gives it to me.

"Thanks" I bring it to my mouth. I can feel Minho's eyes on me, as I'm gulping down the water. I finish almost the whole bottle and give it back to Chan. His fingers start moving upwards and he leans back. His touch is so foreign yet so relieving in a way. Like I've been starving for ages and he just offered me food. He has never touched me in such a way and my skin starts to feel hot under his hand.

"Thirsty?" He whispers in my ear.

Jesus.

I fight a smile by pushing my lips together, but when his fingers inch closer to my core, I shallow so hard that it's almost audible. My legs move closer together, almost closing his hand between them but he moves it closer and closer to where I suddenly need him to. I bite my lip finally squeezing my thighs together, trying to bring his fingers even closer. He lets out a bearly audible laugh and tightens his grip. I let out a breath in frustration, suddenly grateful for how loud the movie is.

"Patience angel." I don't look at him but I bet his lips are in a smug ass grin.

God, I haven't been touched in that way for so long that I've forgotten how it feels, the burning in my lower belly or the aching between my legs.

"I told you not to call me that." The nickname sparks something inside me I place my hand on his thigh as well, turning to look at him. His smile slowly drops and my hand moves higher. Now it's my time to smile. Deep breaths are coming in and out of his nose. His hand rests on my thigh, not moving.

"Stop." He growls under his breath.

"No, you stop." I whisper to his ear, cupping his crotch. "I'm not a doll you can play with whenever you like." He draws his tongue over his bottom lip and then takes it between his teeth.

I wanna do that.

I tighten my hand around his dick, feeling him twitch in my palm. He turns to look at me, his eyes shifting under the dime lights, it's like they sparked, and with each second passing, they challenged me more and more. His gaze dropped to my lips and my heart started pouting in my chest, as he leaned forward. I immediately pulled my hand away and turned to my previous position, facing the tv.

"That's what I thought." He smirked and returned to his previous position as well, with his hand behind my head.

I stayed quiet for the rest of the movie, too stunned about what happened. Every time I'm near him, it's like my body has a mind of its own. He makes me act like a completely different person. I get overwhelmed and every time I need more and more. As the movie was playing, I slowly came to the realization of how much I am actually attracted to him. I haven't allowed myself to recognize my feelings for him, too caught up in everything that has been happening but it's easy for me to also realize how stupid it is of me to have any actual feelings for someone like him. Minho only likes to tease and annoy me, simply entertaining his own needs, so I force myself to stop thinking that it's anything more than that.

"That was a fucking good movie." Felix stretches his hands. I blink several times, realizing that the movie has finished.

"Hyunjin fell asleep," Chan whispers with a grin across his face and everyone's head snaps to Hyunjin.

"Aww" I lift myself off of the couch and grab my phone to snap a picture of his sleeping face.

"I'll take him upstairs." Chan gets up and I begin to clean the coffee table.

"I'll help," Felix says. We gather everything and take the plates and glasses back to the kitchen.

"Are you staying here?" Felix asks while loading the dishwasher.

I shake my head "I think I'll head home in a few."

"I'll drive you." Minho walks into the kitchen, engaging in our conversation out of nowhere. This dude is everywhere, I swear.

"I can walk thanks." I offer him a tight smile.

"Y/n." Felix says in a scolding tone. "It's past midnight. It's better if Minho drives you."

"I'll be fine." I stand my ground.

Minho makes eye contact with me from the other side of the island. "I'm driving you home." He states and leaves the kitchen.

Felix takes a look over his shoulder to make sure he's gone and then gives me a knowing smile.

"No, stop." I defend immediately.

He lifts his hands. "I didn't say anything."

"Shut up, I know what you're thinking." I narrow my eyes.

"You're going to fuck at some point." He shrugs. "Bet."

"Felix! " I squeal, looking around to see if anyone has heard him.

"Just sayin'."

"I'm going home, bye." I raise my voice on purpose and he laughs. I make my way back to the living room to put my shoes on.

"You wanna go now?" Minho asks from the couch.

"I said I'll walk."

"Stop being so fucking stubborn," He grabs his phone from the coffee table and walks to me. "It's late and I have a car."

"Who says that I wanna be in a car with you?"

He lifts his eyebrows, almost like he's challenging me. "You got into Jeongin's car."

There we go.

"Jeongin's fun to be around." I shoot and his face breaks into a grin.

He says bye to Chan and walks up to me until only I'm able to hear him. "I can be plenty of fun." His voice drops. "Grab your stuff, I'll be waiting outside." He puts his shoes on in a swift motion and walks out the door.

I smile to myself, 'cause despite what I said, I really wanna be in a car with him. I walk back to the couch. "Bye Chan." I wrap my arms around his shoulders from the back.

"Bye, princess." He kisses my arm.

When I step out of the house the cold air hits me immediately, forcing me to lift my hands and wrap them around my upper body for support. Minho's leaning against his car, a cigarette between his lips. I've never really found smoking attractive but there's something about the way he does it, that it does seem, kinda attractive, I guess.

"So Jeongin's fun huh?" He blows out some smoke.

"He is actually." I keep my face straight and when I reach him I take his cigarette and bring it to my lips, but before I have a chance to take a hit he snaps it back.

"Not a chance."

"Why not?" I pout.

"Dancers don't smoke."

"That's bullshit." I scoff. "Besides, you're a dancer."

His eyes light up. "Fine. If you want it, come and get it." He takes a long drag and leans forward, holding the smoke in his mouth. His action is unexpected, sparking excitement inside me.

"No thank you." I bring my lips to a tight line, understanding what he meant. He laughs and blows out the smoke. "Can we go? I'm cold." I shiver, causing his eyes to trail down my body, probably noticing that I don't have a jacket on and I shift under his gaze feeling uncomfortable. I hate it when people look that intensely at my body.

"Sure." He throws the cigarette on the ground, stepping on it. He unlocks the car and I let out a sigh of relief, once I'm inside.

He starts the car.

"Seatbelt," He says, exactly like he did the last time I was in his car. I reach for the seatbelt and put it on.

The corner of his mouth lifts. "Good girl."

My body tenses up. "Stop with the pet names." I manage to say.

He smirks." You love them."

"I don't"

"I can see the way your body reacts every time I call you something, you know." His eyes flicker to me.

"I hate you." I shake my head, not having anything to say back. I don't really know how to speak to him when he's like this. I don't know how we went from fighting to flirting, but I can't help this weird feeling that I shouldn't let myself enjoy it too much. This is dangerous territory. The thin line between playful fighting and flirting, and I'm not really sure if I should cross it or not.

He rests his head back. "Sure you do."

The dime light from the street lights falls on him perfectly. One hand gripping the wheel and the other resting on the closed window. Even the way he's driving is attractive and I let myself study him a bit more. I try to focus on the small details I notice about him, like the way his hands handle the wheel or the way his eyes move around the streets, alarmed yet relaxed in a way. I notice that as he focuses on the road, his lips pout slightly and his eyebrows frown.

"You're staring again." He says with a completely straight face and my eyes snap back to the road.

"So, how do you know Kai?

His question takes me by surprise. "Um, I've seen him around the frat." He simply nods. "Checking out the competition?" I tease.

His teeth make an appearance. "There's no competition angel."

"You're so full of yourself." I scoff

He shrugs with a smile. "I'm just confident. I grew up having to fight for everything I've ever wanted. That made me rely on myself and myself only and soon I realized that if I try hard enough I can get anything I want."

This conversation took a huge turn and I find myself staring again, remembering everything he told me that night. "I'm the exact opposite." I turn to the road. "I'm one of those people who no matter how hard they try will always fail and I've reached a point where I've failed so many times that it makes me believe that maybe, I'm just not enough."

He keeps his eyes on the road. "You're more than enough. All of us are. There are always gonna be people that are going to make you feel like that, parents, friends, lovers, even yourself. But in the end, there's no such thing as being enough for anything. You're simply you. And that's more than enough."

I stare at his side profile as I let his words sink in and my heart warms. "How do you do that?" I honestly ask.

"How do I do what?" He glances at me only for a second.

"You're so confusing. How can you act like a complete dick one second and the next talk to me like that?"

At that, he laughs. "That's how I'll get you to be obsessed with me."

It's kinda working.

"No. That's how you'll get me to murder you."

He laughs again. He looks so different when he laughs. There's something addictive to the sight and for some reason, I wanna make him laugh again.

"I have a question. " I say.

His face twitches with interest. "If you ask one, I'll ask on."

"Deal." I fight a smile and clear my throat. I don't know when I'll ever get a chance like this again, so I think deeply. "Why did you quit dancing and turned to music?" There are so many things I wanna ask him. Like what he thinks about me, if he's ever been in love or his dreams about the future. I wanna get to know everything about him but I don't wanna push him. It seems like he's thinking about it cause he's biting the inside of his cheek, something I've seen him do before.

"I just couldn't." He finally said after 23 seconds of silence, which I counted out of anxiety that maybe I pushed him too far with my question. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself. "I was in a shitty place and I was a fucked up mess. I couldn't dance anymore cause I had nothing to express. Growing up I found myself going to the dance studio as an escape. All the anger and fear and absolute sadness I would hold inside, I would release through dancing. But at some point in my life, it became too much and I grew completely...numb, in a way. I couldn't dance anymore cause I wasn't able to feel anything. I was bearly alive."

I watch him carefully, the urge to simply touch him out of sympathy growing by the second. I wonder how much pain he holds inside. I'm dying to get to know him.

"Jisung was the one that introduced me to music." He continues. " He came into my life when I thought that I was done. If I didn't have him I probably wouldn't be alive right now. He was studying in Rome, forced by his parents into a career that he didn't want. He was suffering from depression and anxiety and couldn't do it anymore, so he left and came here."

I would have never imagined that such a bright person would have such a hard backstory, but then again the kindest people are the ones that have suffered the most. "How did you guys meet?"

He smiles just a little. "At a party, a frat party actually. It was my first year in college, as a dance major along with my sister. I was drunk, and got in a fight with some dude after I tried to fuck his girl."

I scranch my nose in diguast. "You're an ass."

"I didn't know." He rolls his eyes. "Plus she was the one that was rubbing her ass on my dick the whole night."

His vulgar words disturb me. "Continue." I clear my throat.

"Anyway, I passed out on the bathroom floor, completely wasted, and somehow the next day I woke up on a couch at an apartment I didn't know. Jisung took me to his and Seungmin's place. I will not go into detail but after that, he somehow became my best friend."

"Wait, they were living together?" I ask.

He nods. "Yeah, they were friends for years and when Jisung dropped out Seungmin offered him to come and live with him."

I feel like I'm missing something. "How old are you?" I turn to him.

He looks at me with a smirk. "I'm 25."

What?

My eyes widen. "How the fuck are you 25?"

He laughs at my shocked expression. "I told you, I was a dance major for 2 years until I switched. Jisung started studying music and it pulled me in immediately. Then in my second year, Chan started collecting us like Pokemon and now here we are."

I shake my head. "Wow." There's so much I still don't know about these boys. Each and every one of them has his own story yet somehow Chan managed to bring 5 different people together through music.

"My turn." He says.

"Your turn has to wait." I smile as he reaches my apartment complex. He stops the car and I remove my seatbelt. I try to open the door but it's locked.

"Unlock the car." I turn to meet his gaze. He's leaning against his car door, keeping one hand on the wheel.

"I'll ask my question first." His voice echoes through the car.

I bit my lip, fully understanding the situation that I'm in right now. Trapped in his car, with his eyes and full attention on me. "Fine, ask away."

He focuses on my face, searching and studying. "Are you still in love with him?"

I stiffen, knowing exactly who he's talking about. Even though he's the only one who knows about me and Jackson, the times that we've actually talked about it are few. In any other case, I would have avoided any question about him but it's something this specific question that made me straighten my back. "No," I say with full honesty. "And I don't think I was ever truly in love with him if I'm being honest."

"You weren't," He says, his voice strong and stable. "What you had, what he gave you, wasn't love." He spits the last words as if it's a joke.

"Maybe it's the love I deserved." My voice drops lower, almost to a whisper.

His head snapped in my direction and I immediately lower my head, suddenly not brave enough to look him in the eye.

"Look at me." He demands.

I shake my head. I can't, I feel too exposed right now. More than I've ever had in front of anyone other than Jackson or Chan.

His hand finds my jaw and grips it tightly, turning my head to him. His eyes are burning but the muscles on his face are relaxed. He leans closer, and my heart starts beating faster.

"I really hope I could prove you wrong." His thumb brushes my cheek.

Freeze, freeze, freeze. I wish I could freeze this moment. Make it last.

I hold my breath. " Why can't you?"

His eyes shift as he tilts his head to the side. His hand moves to the side of my face, brushing some of the stray hairs away, pushing them behind my ear. I feel myself leaning into his touch.

"Cause you deserve better than I can offer you."

The words feel heavy, in my heart, in my chest, and in my stomach so I drop my eyes, nodding several times. Somehow I knew that that was gonna be the case. From the moment I first saw him, I somehow knew that he carried a lot with him and as much as my feelings are pushing me towards him, I'm not in a place where I can get involved with someone that can't offer me all of him.

"I get it." I pull away from his touch.

"Y/n.." He sighs.

I grab my bag and open the door. He tries to grab my wrist. "No," I shake my head. "Stop confusing me." I sharply say. "I won't do this back and forth again. You either want something or you don't. So since you don't, please leave me alone." I get out of his car, my legs move as fast as they can up the stairs to my apartment and the moment I slam the door shut, the tears make their way down my cheeks silently.

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