#is it weird that there is a physical ache in my chest when i think about him? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-kr8tor · 9 months

Text

Threadbare

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.5k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for their clothing), CW panic attack, injury mention, insecurity, food mention, R has nicknames, angst, fluff.

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CHAPTER 4 >>> CHAPTER 5

Your feet hurt, toes aching inside your chucks. You should've worn something comfier. Raising your tired legs a few inches away from the concrete, thinking the elevated position might help with relieving your strained muscles. You sit dejected near the river, disappointed that you couldn't find a flat for Hobie. Your back aches from the not so comfortable metal bench. Your lashes flutter against the cold gust of wind, making you hug your coat tighter around your torso.

Hobie plops next to you, a water bottle in hand. He groaned when he finally got to sit after hours of standing and walking around.

He raises a curious brow "what are you doing? Are you about to take a dive in the river or somethin'?" Hobie points at your lifted legs.

"My feet hurt" you hold your hand out towards the bottle, he hands it to you wordlessly. "Thanks, you drank?" Shaking the half full bottle, Hobie leans against the back of the bench, head lolling off the edge, his long arms spread out over the back of the bench.

"Yeah" he sighs, eyes closed, the sun's rays hitting his face, painting him in a heavenly light.

Taking a sip of water, you glance at him, his loose tank top peeking from under his leather jacket, clavicle on full display. You almost choke on water when you see his adam's apple bop up and down. You cough harshly, Hobie perks up, patting your back as you cover your mouth with your hand, heat on your cheeks.

"The fuck happened?" He asks, half concerned, half teasing.

You happened, you wanted to say, coughing louder, Hobie sits up, still patting your back.

"Maybe you should drink some water," Hobie smirks.

"Funny" you say in between coughs, tears in your eyes. You inhale and exhale, your coughing fit stops almost immediately. You sniff, murmuring a small goddamnit.

Hobie cups your cheek, wiping at the stray tear that managed to escape your eye. "Maybe someone was thinking of you, that's why you choked" me, it was me, I was thinking of you. He almost blurted out.

You lean into his touch before he takes his warm hand back. "Why in the world would they be thinking of me?" You look at your watch, "at three pm on a sunday of all days?"

"Why wouldn't anyone think of you?" He manages to blurt this one out, his eyes widening for a second, you look at him dumbfounded, hope blossoming in your chest. "you probably owe them money" he plays his first comment off, managing to stay cool even though he was slightly panicking. Your shoulders slump in disappointment, deciding to just ignore the first sentence.

"Shit, you're right I think I still owe Ned twenty pounds. Remind me to pay him before he leaves for Richmond" you lightly push him with your shoulder.

"Sure, I'll definitely remember that" Hobie sarcastically says.

You sigh, staring into the water, you watch as a boat sails by. Hobie notices your drop in mood when you mentioned Ned, he sometimes forgets you're also friends with him, knowing him for years now.

"Gromit, he'll be fine, yeah? He's all grown up, we taught him a lot" He taps your foot with his. You look at him, a frown on your lips.

"You make it sound like he's our kid, and he's leaving the nest"

"Weird way to put it, love" A smile slowly growing on his lips.

"Shut up, you started that weird comparison first, I'm just imitating you" you chuckle, you smile slowly fading away "it's just that–" you look at him, staring and waiting. You wish you brought Terry with you, you find that speaking through him is much easier. "It's nothing"

"Nah, you can tell me." He inches closer to you, the back of his hand on his leg, palm waiting for you.

You gaze down at his hand, fingers itching to hold him, "He's been with you for a long time, Hobs. Even though you've moved from band to band, he's always been your bassist, *always"

"People will always move on. Can't do anything to stop them, sometimes you just gotta wish 'em well" he ducks his head to meet your downturned gaze. "We can always visit him, Richmond's only an hour away"

"That's not what I meant, Hobie" you finally reach for his hand, squeezing it.

"I know what you mean" He holds your hand like it's the most precious thing in the world. "We can't stop their progress just because we don't want them to leave" he squeezes your hand. "People will leave, I've accepted that a long time ago"

"And yet I'm still here" you move closer to him, leg right next to his jean covered ones.

"And yet you're still here" Hobie chuckles despite this, he's never been more afraid of the possibility of having the same conversation with you except you'll be the one leaving him.

You grin at him, lacing your fingers together with his, afraid of letting him go. He sticks to you like a web, pulling you towards his chest, a warm hand on your nape. You cling to him like a spider would, arms enveloping him completely, you both feel the same thing, Home.

Electricity passes through you when Hobie presses a featherlight kiss over the crown of your head, as fast as it comes down it fades mere seconds later when Hobie pulls away from you, hand staying a few seconds longer on your head.

You sniff, blinking away the tears gathering in your eyes. "We still haven't found you a place. Maybe I could hide you in my dorm until we find one?"

"Your RA's a bloodhound, I'm sure she can sniff me out the second I get there" He acts nonchalantly, a comforting arm over your shoulder. You lean back into his arm, his knuckles brushing over your coat. "We've got plenty of time, deadline to leave isn't until after your show, so we're still good"

"Maybe the last place we looked at isn't too bad?"

"Their bathroom had stairs leading down towards the shower, the place is a bloody deathtrap" he scoffs.

"Yeah, I guess slipping and falling on your ass isn't so punk of you" you try to use reverse psychology on Hobie.

"That's not gonna work," a small canal boat floats idly right in front of the bench, "besides they don't allow pets"

"You don't even have a pet" the boat honks loudly, you two ignore it.

"How are you gonna visit me then?" Hobie smirks playfully.

You jab him on his chest with your finger, "Dickhead"

"You got a new insult? Just call me a wanker next time" He pinches your arm, you yelp, poking him some more.

"You wanker" you jokingly glare at him, he finds it adorable, resisting the urge to peck the smirk off of your lips.

He goofily smiles at you, "There you go" his words dripping in fondness.

The boat honks longer and loudly, interrupting your banter. Hobie glares at the intrusion, a middle aged man waves at you two from the boat.

"Boat!" He yells out when he finally gets your attention, pointing enthusiastically at his boat. You look at him confused.

Hobie answers for you, "yeah mate, we can see that" he yells, "good for you!" He turns back to you but the man replies, stopping Hobie from continuing your conversation.

The unnamed man shakes his head, "No! Boat for sale!" He says in an accent you can't quite pinpoint.

Hobie's hand sits heavily on your shoulder, but you don't mind, finding it comforting especially after your emotional talk.

"It's a houseboat!" He points at you both "maybe couple interested? It's very cheap!"

"What are we gonna do with a houseboat?" You whisper to Hobie, he looks like he's contemplating. "Hobs?"

"How much?" He yells towards the man.

"Hobie!" You hold his arm, stopping him from going near the boat, "He seems shady" you whisper.

"He seems cool," Hobie shrugs. "Besides, he said it's cheap, better than having stairs in the bathroom." He moves near the water, you barely make out what they're saying, too concerned that you might get murdered on a houseboat of all places.

—

You stay with Hobie inside the Houseboat, it looks worn out but at least there's no holes in it. The floorboards creak with every move of your feet, and the faucet leaks, the sound annoying you with every drip drop of water on the sink. Standing close to Hobie, you hold onto the sleeve of his jacket, eyes wide awake for any danger, making sure you two don't end up on the nightly news.

The houseboat is smaller than the flats you've looked at hours ago, it has a cozy feel to it, from the narra floors to the adorable navy blue kitchenette. Despite it looking a little worn down, you know it's been well loved, with every scratch and indents on the wooden floor, the chipping paint revealing a different color behind it, they all have history, if only walls could talk. Even with all its flaws, the boat looks taken care of, no bugs eating away at its foundation, no rust on the metal finishings, and best of all no water damage in its interior. This could work.

"You can pay it off in installments" the man, you've now learned, is named Finn. He didn't miss the irony of his name, a man named Finn living in a boat, he made a joke about it earlier that you politely laughed at. Finn continues his sales talk with Hobie.

Maybe it's fate, meeting Finn. You don't think you can handle another go at flat hunting, your feet ache just from the thought of it.

He leads you two to the master's bedroom, big enough for a queen's size bed, and a simple cabinet. There's a small window on the side, the late afternoon sun filters through the opening.

"See?" He walks around the room "big enough for the two of you! Your girl will like the cabinet space" he smiles, his thick beard moving when he talks.

You don't correct him, you don't blame the man especially with how you're clinging on to Hobie. You stare at the peeling paint on the walls, there's a dust bunny on the corner of the floor.

Hobie doesn't chide in, listening intently to Finn's sales talk.

"And look! A bedroom with a view, eh?" He gestures towards the small window like he's presenting on stage. "And listen," He knocks on the walls, "Thick walls for a houseboat, perfect for privacy, eh?" He points to you both.

You look at Hobie, stifling a laugh. He stares back at you with a smirk over his lips. Oh not again.

"You sure 'bout that, mate?" He loops his arm over to your waist, rolling your eyes so far back you're sure you could see your brain. He bites back another quip, just in case it might make you uncomfortable.

"Yes! I'll go outside, and you scream as loud as you can, I'll tell you if I can hear you" he skedaddles out of the room, "be right back!" He leaves the boat completely.

"What if he's calling his friends to help murder us?" You ask actually concerned.

"Y/N," he clicks his tongue, "don't judge a book by its cover, besides you got me to protect you"

"You and those skinny arms of yours? We're both dead, Hobs"

You jump when Finn yells through the open window, "These walls are also perfect for when it rains, you can barely hear it!" He says with a huge smile, you think he's actually excited to show you how sound-proofed the place is. "Close the window then you scream, yes?"

Hobie takes a few steps to reach the window closing the glass, for added effect he also closes the curtains, blocking Finn off.

"He could lie and say he didn't hear us" you say, arms over your chest.

Without warning, Hobie yells loudly, you quickly put your hands over your ears. "You ass!" You yell back.

Hobie laughs from his stomach, taking your hands off your ears. You glare at him.

"Don't you dare yell again, I swear, Hobie you almost blew out my eardrums"

"I don't think you need ear drums in the fashion industry" he's still holding your hands, his rings cold against your palms.

"Well I need it" you hear a knocking from the other side of the window. Hobie releases your hands to open it, Finn's smiling face looks back at you. You think Hobie's right, you shouldn't have judged the man so quickly, he's genuinely a jolly person. His huge arms don't help though, the man could strangle you both without breaking a sweat.

"See? I didn't hear a thing!" He taps the shell of his ear, "no interruptions for you two" he laughs, his guffaw reminds you of Santa's laugh.

"Alright bruv, let me talk it out with her, give us a few minutes, yeah?"

"Of course, I'll be outside. I won't be able to hear anything here anyway!" He chuckles, closing the window shut.

You knit your brows, confused. Hobie saunters towards you, hands on his hip. "What do you think?"

"What do I think?" You blink, surprised.

"Yeah, sure the place needs some polishing" he looks at the bright lime green walls of the bedroom, grimacing. "And a coat of paint. It'll be home by then, not to mention this place only costs a year worth of rent. And there's no stairs inside the bathroom"

"And no carpeted floors in the kitchen." You mention one of the places you looked at earlier in the day, "why do you need my input? It's your place"

"Because there's a second bedroom here" your heart skips a beat at what he's implying, smiling bashfully at Hobie. "There's enough space for us both, you could put your sewing machine over there," he points at a corner in the small living room. "Y'know, after you graduate, if you want to" he looks anywhere else except your face.

"Do you want me to?" You say slowly, making sure what you heard from him is real and not what you've imagined in your head several times before.

" 'course, you're my best mate, why wouldn't I want to"

"O-Oh" you try to say it with less sadness in your voice. He is your best friend, why do you sound so dejected at the title?

"There's no asshole landlord that's for sure, just us" he steps closer to you, trying to convince you more, his hand reaching out towards your elbow.

"Yeah, well technically you'll be my landlord" you tease him, playing with a loose thread from the hem of his tank top.

"Fuck off, don't call me that" He scoffs, rolling his eyes at you, "we'll talk about it after you graduate, yeah?" Hobie's thumb traces circles on your elbow.

"Okay. If you really like this place, you should get it" you nod with approval.

"Do you have the card on you?"

"What for?"

"Well, who's gonna help me fix up this place?" A smile curling on his lips.

"Goddamnit, Hobs" you take out the card from your pocket, handing it to him with a huff. "You only have eight left by the way" you would've helped him anyway, if only you weren't so busy with the project you would've given this one for free.

"I know how to count" He punches out a logo, it floats down on the wooden floors that definitely need some polishing. He gives it back to you "c'mon let's not keep the big man waiting, he might start to think we're snogging in here"

"He won't hear us anyway" throwing away your comment, you walk out of the room, acting nonchalant, your hand shakes slightly when you push open the creaky door. Hobie never anticipated that you would say something like that, he stands in the middle of the barren room, dumbfounded.

Hobie follows you after he collects himself. You walk outside, finally breathing in the cool air, you felt stuffy when you were inside. You look at the water while Hobie negotiates with Finn, they've been talking for a while now, so you decided to occupy yourself. A wave hits the side of the boat, almost throwing you overboard if not for you holding onto the sides.

"You alright there, little lady?" Finn asks. Hobie looks over his shoulder, seeing you hold the side with an iron grip. He quickly makes his way over to you, hands already moving you away from the edge.

"Fuckin' hell, I leave you for one minute" he grumbles.

"I'm okay, jeez dad" Hobie walks you back to Finn, Hand securely on your waist.

"You two are adorable! You remind me of my partner and I when we were younger" Finn sighs longingly.

"Is that why you're selling the boat?" You wince at the question you blurted out, "sorry, not my business"

"It's okay, I like talking about him. We're moving back to Amsterdam so I had to sell the boat. We've lived here for fifteen happy years, hope it's the same for you both" He sounded so genuine, a happy smile on his face the entire time he was talking to you. You don't have the heart to correct him on your relationship with Hobie.

You nod, smiling shyly. "That's really sweet of you, thank you, Finn"

"Thanks, mate. Appreciate you" Hobie shakes Finn's hand, sealing the deal.

"I'll send you the papers" Finn's grin turns melancholy, "never thought I'd ever sell this place, take care of her for me, would you?"

"She's in good hands" Hobie lets go of Finn's hand.

"And you two better take good care of eachother," he winks at you both.

—

You sit in front of your sewing machine, it thumps loudly inside your small dorm room, your mannequin is full of different shades of plaid cloth pinned on its sides, you sigh, blinking away the stress and fatigue.

Glancing at your final design, you scowl at it, despite it looking like a carbon copy of Hobie. You can't figure out what's missing in the outfit, you've added a bit more of you in it, but it still doesn't feel like you.

Your mind is cluttered and it shows in your surroundings. Your sketchpad is full of sketches of Hobie, the corkboard in front of you is littered with punk fashion references, polaroids of you and Hobie together, patches, pins and fabric samples. The loud sound of the machine makes your ears twitch, the needle going in and out of the piece you're sewing into.

Someone knocks loudly from the other side of your paper thin walls for the third time that night, they yell at you to keep it down, but you don't stop, have to finish this, you grit your teeth, grip loosening on the fabric, on your peripheral you can see a picture of Hobie smiling at you, clack, clack, your machine whirs. Knock, knock, the knocking persists. Your ears ring, licking your chapped lips, you keep forgetting to exhale. Mrs. Williams' grating voice echoes in your head, or you won't graduate. Ned's voice overlapping with hers, sorry, y/n. On top of all the noise, you try to focus on Hobie's familiar tone, got you, don't worry. You feel the walls closing in on you.

"Shut the fuck up!" Your neighbor knocks loudly, almost toppling over your corkboard.

You almost slip your thumb over the needle, if not for your reflexes your finger would've been a part of the pants you're sewing. Your eyes are blown out, breathing heavily. You're suddenly overwhelmed by everything, your jumper scratches at your skin, toes curling in the cold despite your fluffy socks covering them. A sob escapes you, you dampen it with your hand over your mouth. Shutting your eyes tightly closed, you focus on your breathing, legs involuntarily shaking, tears rolling over your hand. Your heart drums loudly in your chest, as if it could jump out at any second.

It's getting hard to breathe, you feel sick.

Weathering it out for what feels like an eternity, You finally let it all out of your system, chest hurting from the suppressed crying, your eyes are red. You've grown more tired, heaving from the lack of air. You notice the sudden silence, it almost gets you again, tears pricking in your eyes, threatening to spill out.

Coming down from it, you sniff, using your sleeve to clean your tear stained cheeks. You exhale, clearing your throat. Taking the half finished pants from under the sewing machine, cutting off the thread and then grabbing a spare needle from your kit. Your hands are shaking trying to insert the thread inside the tiny hole. Frustrated, you fling the needle and thread over your messy table. The metal clatters on the wooden table.

The mixture of different emotions swirl inside your stomach, wanting to vomit it out, or better yet, grab it by the neck and toss it as far away as you can.

You want to give up. Shaking your head, getting rid of the horrible thought, you can't give up, you have to keep going, you've made it this far, you're almost at the finish line. Thinking of Hobie, he wouldn't give up, but you're not him, you're just you, plain old you. People often wonder how you manage to stay in your major, with your simple button ups, white chucks, and your usual light cardigans, avoiding any bright colors in your wardrobe or other styles that would gather attention. Compared to your style, your classmates' eye-catching looks match with your major, not to mention they're not afraid to flaunt their unique styles.

Sometimes you miss the old you, the young starry eyed y/n, clothes always in full and bright colors, with matching accessories to boot, shoes sparkling in the light. You don't even remember when you buried your old self.

You miss her, wishing you never listened to the opinion of others, wishing that you never cowered behind their judgemental stares. Hobie never did any of that, but you can't help but hide yourself to stop people from their snickering. You sometimes wish to borrow a smidge of Hobie's don't-give-a-shit attitude, but alas the world doesn't work that way.

You suddenly have the urge to seek Hobie's warmth, instead you settle for the next best thing. Sighing, you crawl under the covers, head hitting the pillow. You're not giving up just yet, there's no shame in resting, you won't be able to finish your work like this anyway.

You eye your old cherry earrings, dangling on the side of your mirror, the only piece you kept from your old self. Mind going back to the past. You remember who helped you pick it from the mall, the only thing you could afford with your allowance. You two would always go there after school, window shopping and hunting for the latest trends. This was before you and Hobie became close, your friendship still blossoming.

You wonder how your old friend is doing, maybe you should call him up, ask him for tips, he's always had a better eye for designing ever since you were kids, considering him a protégé, his hand always scribbling away on his sketchbook.

Bringing the covers up to your nose, you close your eyes, trying to remember your old friend's number.

—

You finally hear Hobie's motorbike coming towards the event's place. People stare at the loud intrusion. You snort, knowing that he likes the disturbance he's causing.

You speed walk towards him, just in case he revs up his engine to spite everyone. "Hey, Hobie" You greet him with a tight lipped smile.

He takes off his helmet with a groan "what's this place? A concert or somethin'?" Hobie squints at the spotlights near the entrance.

"You okay? I made you some coffee. You said you lot played last night" you hand him a small thermos.

"That better not be from our starbucks card"

"No, that thing's expired, I brewed this from my good stash"

He turns his engine off, clambering off the motorbike, his heavy boots thudding against the asphalt. He hesitantly grabs the thermos. "No tea?"

"Nope, ran out of them last night" You take a good look at him, he's wearing his signature leather jacket covered in various pins and patches, his jeans a patchwork of cloth and metal accessories. His piercings shine in the moonlight. "Sorry I couldn't come last night, I needed to finish the pants"

"Fuck me, that's actually good" he says after taking a sip, "it's all right, the show was business as usual"

"I didn't miss anything?"

"Nah, missed you though" Hobie loops his arm over your shoulder, walking towards the entrance "Ned missed ya" he added to hide his first comment.

"The real question is, did James miss me too?" You joke, you're not naïve with how the guy manages to stammer every time you talk to him. Only when you talk to him.

"Everyone missed you" he holds you tighter.

"I better come to the next one then" you pinch his side.

Entering the venue, Hobie stops in his tracks, arm loosening off your shoulder.

"Where the fuck did you bring me?" He stares at the pearlescent runway, the sides full of chairs. Photographers and audiences move towards their seats.

"A runway show!" You nervously grin at him.

"Nah, y'know I don't like big brands, this place reeks of capitalism. Thought you wanted to get shawarma" He glares at you.

"We're gonna eat later, hear me out before you start walking away, please" Hobie narrows his eyes at you.

"Go on"

"This is a small brand, a niche fashion house. This event is this big because it's their first major collection. I promise you their clothes are all from sustainable materials and—" Hobie impatiently taps his foot "—and half of the proceeds go to charity! You know we both share the same sentiment when it comes to clothes. My entire wardrobe came from thrift stores and I recycle the fabrics I used on old projects."

"We haven't been in a thrift store in a while" He grumbles out.

"We can go after the show if you want"

"Now you're just bribing me"

You sigh, "I'm in a designing stump right now and I really need the inspiration, but I'm not forcing you, you can go if you really don't want to watch, I'm not gonna hold it against you"

Hobie stares you down, now under better lighting, he notices the bags under your eyes, your lips dry as bones, his annoyance turns into concern. You're stretching yourself too thin, maybe asking you to accompany him in finding a flat wasn't such a good idea. He mentally notes to retract his previous favor from you.

"Alright, you better not be lying about all that shit you said" He walks towards one of the chairs, pulling you by your sleeve.

"I'm not, Danny told me all about it"

He stops mid stride, "who?"

You sit down by the end of the runway, feeling lucky finding a good seat in front. "Danny from school, you don't remember him?" You pat the chair next to you.

"I literally don't remember anyone, except you and big Terry, him because we used to beat the shit out of each other. And you because I can't seem to shake you" Hobie quips. He sits down next to you.

"You are sooo sweet" you sarcastically say, "Danny's that small kid, with the big glasses. I used to hang out with him before he changed schools"

"You have other friends?" He acts surprised.

Rolling your eyes, you excitedly grab his arm when the light changes, the spotlight follows the first model out on the runway. You watch, taking note of the details on the dress.

Hobie watches your face the entire time, he deciphers your expressions– he translates your pout to mean that you liked it, everytime you narrow your eyes it means you didn't like it. You tighten your hold on him, that means you absolutely loved it. He chuckles when you grimace, oh you did not like that pair of pants.

The show ends, he turns his head towards the stage just in time for you to look at him with a satisfied smile. He nods and claps with you.

You reach for him, "come on, I see Danny over there!" You drag Hobie out of his chair, hand clasped over his.

He lets you hold him, Hobie feels disappointed when you let go of him, flexing his hand as you run up to Danny.

"Holy shit, cherry! You actually made it!" Danny greets you with a bear hug.

You pull away, an arm's length away from him. Hobie lingers behind you, waiting for you to introduce him. "Hi, Danny! Look at you Mr. Bigshot over here!"

"I'm just an assistant," he shrugs.

"Yeah, to the main designer!" You look over your shoulder, excited to reintroduce Hobie. "Danny, you remember Hobie, right?"

"Oh my days! Hobart Brown! My replacement" he playfully puts his hands on his hips. Hobie steps up to greet him.

"And you're not as small as I remember, what happened to the glasses?" He acts as if he remembers Danny clearly. Hobie fists bumps Danny's knuckles. "Call me Hobie, yeah? Only cops call me Hobart, and her, occasionally" He points at you with his head.

"Growth spurt and I got contact lenses, it's nice to see you again, hero"

So he's that Danny, Hobie finally remembers him.

You grin widely at the interaction, feeling energized and inspired. "The show was amazing! Thank you for inviting us"

"You're very welcome, unfortunately I can't hang around that long, gotta help them pack up" Danny points towards the back stage, "we'll catch up next time, okay?"

"Aww, that's too bad, thank you again. And yeah definitely we'll catch up some other time" you give your old friend a hug.

"Oh! I almost forgot, you asked for some advice on the phone, right?" Danny asks, you nod at his question. "Do whatever the hell you want, design whatever you fucking want, as long as you're happy with it, you're golden" he gestures widely while he talks. "I mean look at me! I'm wearing a pinstripe suit, I look like a fuckin' mobster from the 20's, do i give a shit what people say? No! Of course not."

Hobie leans down to your ear, slyly whispering "I can see why he's your friend, man's bonkers"

You bump your shoulder with Hobie,"That's– thank you, I needed that" you can't believe that Danny noticed your different style, even years later he still knows you.

"See, I still know you," he says as if he can read your mind. He winks at you, "missed you, cherry. Take good care of yourself" Danny walks away, he stops walking for a second, turning back to you both. "Oh! And Hobie, be a fucking man bruv, you're not fooling anyone" He continues to walk towards his destination.

Hobie looks surprised, was he watching you two interact while he was backstage? Did you say something to him? Nevertheless in the five minutes Danny talked to him, he read him like an open book. Can this guy read minds? If so, Hobie is in trouble.

You look at Hobie confused. "What did he mean by that?"

At least one theory is debunked, "don't know, love. Told you he has a few screws loose"

You look at him suspiciously, "you didn't say anything to him right?"

"No, why? Did you say anything to him?"

"I just asked him on the phone if we can meet, and he invited me here. I mentioned you and he told me to bring you too, that's it. Oh and also for the advice" you narrow your eyes "you sure you didn't say anything?"

"Why are you looking at me like that? No, I didn't" He tugs at your sleeve, trying to pull you out of the venue.

"Okayy, well he basically called you a wanker, soo"

"You called me a wanker, wanker"

You gasp, feigning hurt, clutching your non-existent pearls. "How dare you"

"You're just fuckin' hungry, c'mon" He slips his hand over yours, pulling you out of the event's place, dodging any questions you have because of what your old friend said. You giggle as he easily pulls you towards his bike.

He places you next to his motorcycle, plopping your helmet over your head, you laugh at his antics, "oh you're hangry, huh?"

Hobie secures the helmet, "he's right, y'know"

"Hmm? About what?" You look up at him through your lashes.

"Wear whatever you want. Don't hide yourself, especially with me." he shrugs "red suits you best, cherry" he clicks his tongue at the last word, annoyed that your old friend came up with a better nickname for you. Heat rises in your cheeks, Hobie avoids your eyes for a moment. "Let's go, I want shawarma" he lightly slaps the top of your helmet.

You look down at your shoes, smiling fondly.

A/N: I promise that Finn and Danny are the last ocs in this story (maybe lol). Thank you for reading! As always likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*pictures above are from pinterest*

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sleepyboywrites · 1 year

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Creepypasta Fluff Headcanons for Trans!Male Reader Pt. 1 (Being a boy on his Period)

Because it's nearing that time again and being a boy on his period sucks ass. I'm making this to provide some comfort! For myself as a trans man and hopefully you too. This takes place with established and healthy relationships. Or as healthy as relationships with these characters come.

Tw: Possessive behavior, not necessarily wanted affection, rough contact, references to slight verbal abuse.

Eyeless Jack

• Run. Run right in the opposite direction if he hasn't eaten in a bit/is agitated. You will make him hungry due to his blood lusting demonic nature and he's not very friendly when he's hungry.

• You already aren't feeling great so if you go to him in that state anyways expect to be more uncomfortable albeit supported as a half-apology.

• If he has been satiated and is calm you may proceed to tell your demonic boyfriend that your cycle has begun and you are distressed and dysphoric about it.

• Cuddle bug. Like sits you directly into his lap and burries his face in your neck. Telling you words of encouragement. Think "I'm so sorry Baby boy." and "You're so strong y/n. One of the strongest men I know, I mean other men can't live through bleeding for 4-7 days on average."

• He's a med student so he knows the best ways to help with cramps and the physical pains that come with a menstrual cycle.

• He also gives you high testosterone foods and encourages you to wear one of his shirts and your boxers over your underwear to help with the dysphoria aspect. But he won't let you bind if your chest area gets sensitive.

• Tries to distract you and keep you as comfortable as possible

• Extremely protective during this time. He has a lot of self control but his instincts are still spiking under the surface screaming at him to lock you up/protect you. His emotional attachment to you paired with his constant hunger leave him clinging to your side and glaring at anyone else who approaches/gives you a weird look. Attacking anyone who hurts you emotionally or otherwise.

• Honestly a bit feral in a way akin to nesting.

• Insists on taking walks together once a day.

Laughing Jack

• A bit confused at first in his eyes he has erased any of your perceived biological imperfections.

• Hits you with the "But you are a boy" when you tell him you're feeling dysphoric and crying. "One who's very very important to me as well so please don't cry."

• Gives you your favorite candies and sweets

• Rubs your back when you're curled over in pain and sings you songs to help you calm down.

• Takes you to his amusement park and takes you on all your favorite rides and shows you all your favorite shows

•Always introducing the act as "Dedicated to the best boy in the world/my Favorite boy."

• Essentially his mentality is "I'm going to make sure this boy has so much fun he forgets the torment of having his brain stuck in the wrong body."

• And it fucking works. He has you laughing so hard that you can't tell where the stomach ache ends and the cramps begin.

• He likes to play "dress-up" in the sense where he has an array of gender affirming costumes and each day he insists you choose from the extensive array because even if you don't feel well at the moment doesn't mean you have to be reduced to a puddle of stained oversized clothes. He was always one for theatrics.

• If you say you really aren't up to dressing up he'll bring out an array of hoodies, baggy tees, shorts, sweats, or jeans instead.

• Genuinely just trying to distract and cheer you up

Ben Drowned

• Pretends to not know what you're talking about or why you're so upset. "Bro I assure you no one cares?" Followed by a long silence as he stares at you followed with "We all still view you the same, man."

• Then promptly refuses to leave your side

• Think anything from lurking in nearby electronics to straight up following you around everywhere.

• If a mission comes up he'll take you with him and make up some sort of excuse like he needs your help and your avatar is better abled than you physically. Alternatively if you have a mission he'll grab you and say he's coming with, before dragging you with him.

• Makes sure everyone is careful around you. No roughhousing or insults. Not at this time even if you protest.

• You had to break up a fight with the intent to maim once because Jeff had called you a "Pussy" in an attempt to agrivate you to change your mind about not being up for training today. Ben who had been lurking nearby lunged at him and you had to break the two apart.

• So much Gatorade. This boy makes you drink so much Gatorade.

• He also has a collection of snacks you normally crave and hoodies specifically for you in his closet.

• Let's you bind during your period until you don't take it off on time or act like you're in pain then he will take and hide it until it's passed.

• if you complain about dysphoria he'll roll his eyes as he drags you to his realm where your avatar already matches your gender and have you hang out there.

• Naptimes are mandatory once a day during this week because he knows it takes a lot out of you.

• Reminds you to take showers despite how much you hate having that reminder because you'll feel better afterwards and it helps with the cramps.

Jeff the Killer

• I promise he's trying. He's trying to keep things as normal as possible by being a jokey asshole dick like usual.

• Mans has your cycle engraved in his memory so on the first and worst day when you're at your grumpiest without fail he'll go "Can't you just give me a bloody smile god damn it?"

• You know he's joking and he knows he's joking but without fail you'll mock laugh at him, sock him in the nose, and walk away.

• One time you ran out of products and Jeff went to get them for you he called from the store and went, "Hey man, what size cunt do you have?" You shook your head, called him an asshole, and hung up.

• He tried to apologize by calling and texting and when you wouldn't answer he made you a care basket with hot wheels and various manly items such as boxers and button-ups/baggy tees. He also covered the pads wrapping in dinosaurs. And replacing "girl" with "boss" on the labels

• He's made a habit of getting you one of these everytime your supplies run out.

• Insists on more training and fighting because what better way to blow off steam and frustrations than a good ol fashioned fight.

• One time it went too far and the two of you ended up being patched up by EJ who scolded the two of you and said "If I catch you boys doing this again I will make sure Slender needs two new proxies."

• Always carrying ibuprofen and water. Always.

• Rubs your back if it hurts too much and treats you more gently.

•Will attack and maim anyone who misgenders you.

Homicidal Liu

• Liu is already constantly holding your hand as if he's scared you'll disappear, like the rest of good in his life, so you two are fairly well synced and sometimes you swear he can read your mind.

• You keep him calm, in a way that reminds him of before the incident because of this he knows all of you, obsessed over it and memorized it, including when your cycle is, it's linked in his internal clock.

• You'll often wake up to a warm bath and clean comfortable clothes if your cycle started during the night. While you bathe he'd change and wash the sheets then bring you breakfast to eat together after you finish.

• Tells you he's sorry that your body doesn't match your mind as he nuzzles into your neck. Snaking his arms around your waist and engulfing you in his weight. Sometimes uncomfortable but you know by now if you try to pry him off he'll only tighten his grip and agressively albeit incoherently mumble

•calm and supportive/protective and possessive are how his alters have always treated you. Both affectionate sometimes overly so. Heightened during your cycle due to you being in a more easily hurt and in a distressed mood.

• Think overlap of Liu and Sully's voices, "What did you just say to my boyfriend?" Followed by "You'll pay for that." should anyone so much as look at you funny in a way that'll make you feel worse about your current state of being.

• Said anyone would be carried away in a body bag. <333

• Gets you trinkets as well as anything you may be craving.

• Owns heating pads as well as cold pads at his disposal to help with cramps.

• Water/Gatorade and a variety of pain meds on hand. Always.

• Doesn't want to leave your side out of fear of you running into a less than kind individual without him there to support you and maim your instigator.

Ticci Toby

• You'd have to go to him about it because his ass doesn't know. His brain is on fifteen different topics at any given time. You occupy at least five but he doesn't have much memorized.

• He'll know that something is bothering you but won't know what unless you blatantly tell him.

• Once you do he'll probably try his best to limit his roughness/aggression and increase softer touches/tones.

• Much more pet names a lot less insults. IE: Instead of calling you a dumbass he'll call you pretty boy.

• If he gets frustrated expect said pet name to be said with aggression.

• He owns several weighted blankets he'd offer you to use on top of his own body weight when he flops onto you, should you want that affection. Though he still will with a piss-poor excuse of an apology if you don't and he does. Which he does frequently because you're one of the only people whose touch is gentle with him.

• Bad about carrying liquid. Good about carrying meds. So if you need an ibuprofen he will give you one but you'll need to either dry swallow or find liquid elsewhere.

• Also not the best at comforting you through your pain seeing as he doesn't experience that kind of thing himself. At least not in the same way, so he doesn't know what to do nor what you expect from him.

• He'll pick you up something he thinks you'll like when he goes out during this time but that ranges from "really sweet" to "the thought is what counts." Because sometimes his thoughts cross paths one too many times and he accidentally got you cleaning supplies instead of menstrual or edible treats.

• Think: "This rock made me think of you. Do you like [insert candy], because I grabbed some on my last mission. I meant to grab you strawberry mentos, because of a song I heard that made me think of you but accidentally grabbed menthol instead, I don't know how you'd use it but here."

• Essentially when you tell him he'll say "Okay, don't push yourself too hard." And then continue fairly normally while attempting to be nice.

Brian/Hoodie

• Initial reaction depends entirely on where/how you tell him. If you tell him in public in front of others he will simply look at you and say, "...okay".

• If you tell him in private he'll stare at you for a moment and then he'll give you a few well-thought-out sentences on how he'll be there to help and how you aren't any less of a man.

• If you give him a note or written thing however he will build you a cathedral out of paragraphs telling you that he'll do what he can to make you feel as good as you can, how this aspect doesn't change who you are not how you're received, and everything masculine and in general he adores about you.

• Always has water, meds, and a spare hoodie for you in close proximity.

• Doesn't treat you any differently in public or private.

• Very sweet most of the time, including this, minus his aggressive outbursts.

• It's very much the same old same old. He'll still melt into you and expect the same he'll still yell and throw things when he's having a n outburst.

• He'll still treat you as softly and as roughly as he does the rest of the time.

• Will get you your cravings if you ask but he won't really if he's unprompted.

• He may ask for your hand more often if he notices your distress/squeeze your hand more often.

• Though most of the time he won't he's too busy in his head or in what he's doing.

• Or alternatively trying to figure out what is in your head and what you're doing but not necessarily how you're feeling.

• He cares about you he's just not the possessive type in the way that leads to outwardly or intense displays of affection. Though if you even hinted to not wanting to be around people on your cycle you wouldn't be. He would hole up.with you until its over and be reluctant to let you go.

Tim/Masky

• Throws his reeking bomber jacket at you with a raised eyebrow. "Things like this provide some comfort right?"

• Cocky Bastard knows it's in his god-damn calendar and he likes to inadvertently let you know he knows.

• IE: throwing one of your favorite snacks at your head while you train or work.

• Bringing you water, Gatorade, and medicine to you when all you did is hold your head in your hands for five seconds.

• It's become almost a game of whether or not you can get away without him knowing.

• Mocking you lightly if you ask for help with anything. If you need supplies, or would like one of your cravings, or would like a heating pad anything. And you say, "Hey could you get me [blank] if you don't mind?" Or anything along those lines you will be met with an, "Ah ah ah pretty boy, say pretty please." When he returns with what you asked for dangling it out of reach.

• Also always asks for a kiss as payment for being your knight in shiny armor. When he gets you anything. One time he bought you a bag of chocolate kisses you were craving and when he asked you threw a chocolate at him and he chased and tackled you until you gave him an actual one.

• Deliberately and as a rule of thumb, Masky shows you a playful and cocky side he's created because you respond to it best.

• He rarely gets angry at you but when he does that anger translates to avoiding you and not speaking to you should he be in this state he will give you nothing, not even a hug during this.

• If you tend to be touch-starved during he'll be less likely to fall into that angry rut but if you're touch-adverse he's more likely to get into angry ruts because he'll take it as the front he crafted for you not being enough or attractive to you.

• Despite the fact it has nothing to do him and has everything to do with you being in physical and psychological pain.

#creepypasta x male reader #creepypasta x transmale!reader #eyeless jack #laughing jack #ben drowned #jeff the killer #homicidal liu #ticci toby #tim masky #brian hoodie #creepypasta fluff #or at least most of it #creepypasta headcanon #requests open #multiple/all

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its-time-to-write · 11 months

Text

kicking myself to keep from crying

Once again, huge shoutout to @whimsical-roasting! This is pt. 2 to your mind is not your friend and although it kind of works as a standalone, maybe read that first. Like before, I def used entire chunks of our conversation😅 so really this is her fic. I just filled in some of the gaps. Love u bae!

kicking myself to keep from crying

You wake up feeling weird. There’s soft light streaming through the windows, and something warm half on top of you. You blink away the sleep from your eyes, and realize it’s Jamie. He’s on his stomach, with one arm thrown around your waist and a leg hooked around you. You don’t want to disturb him but you’re a little uncomfortable, so you carefully roll onto your left side. You now have a clear view of his face, features softened by sleep, and you’ve somehow managed to keep your legs intertwined.

Reaching out with your free hand, you trace a line from his eyebrows down his nose, to his jaw, then his lips. You can’t help yourself, because when will you get the chance to wake up in Jamie Tartt’s bed again? His chest is rising in a steady, comforting beat.

He likes me, you think with a sigh, and the thought is enough to dispel most of the weirdness from the night before.

How did you go from crying over a bad hookup to sleeping in Jamie’s bed? God, you still feel so tired and drained, but not as much as last night. You don’t ever want to get up.

Your hand is resting on Jamie’s neck, and you can feel his heartbeat pulsing; you resist the urge to kiss him but fail, lips on his neck.

Last night was fucking awful, you think. You’re feeling like a car with an empty tank, pushing yourself up the hill to get to Jamie’s house. All you can think about is how physically and emotionally drained you’re still feeling, when you feel Jamie’s breathing change.

He blinks once, twice, then smiles at you.

“Morning, love,” he says, and you feel his rough morning voice doing something to you.

“Afternoon, more like,” you reply in a whisper.

Jamie just smiles, and you return it with a small one. He stretches all his limbs as best he can, unwilling to move his arm from around you. “You sleep ok?” he asks.

You nod.

“You feeling better?

You nod again.

He frowns. “Are you… do you not wanna talk?”

You give a small shrug and sigh. It is not easy to shrug while laying on your side, so you roll onto your back.

“I’m sorry,” you say, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I just… my headspace is going to be kinda fucked for a bit, but I feel better.”

Jamie just nods and pulls you closer (if that’s even possible). He has an unfamiliar ache, one that makes him want to protect you and take away any bad feelings you still have.

You do enjoy the feeling of his body around yours, but of course, it can’t last. You shift out of his grasp and sit up. You notice that you’re still in his hoodie and sweatpants.

For some reason, the realization makes you want to cry.

“Oh, Jamie,” you say, still unable to look at him, “thank you. For, like, everything… especially last night.”

Jamie’s propped up on his elbows now, and looking at you intently.

“Um, I can be out of your hair,” you continue, staring at your hands in your lap. They look like strangers hands. “I bet you had plans for today.”

Jamie’s frowning again now, and you decide you hate yourself for being the cause.

“What d’you mean?” he asks, and you’re unsure what he means.

You laugh nervously. “What?”

“What are you on about, why would you fucking leave?”

He looks so confused and indignant, but you don’t understand why.

You laugh again. Damn your nerves. “What else would I do? Stay?” The thought seems utterly ridiculous, and all too much like heaven

Jamie’s sitting up now, rolling over in a flurry of sheets to imitate your position. Your heart rate climbs at the feel of his arm pressed against yours.

Pull yourself together, you scold. Why is a simple touch scrambling your brain when last night’s literal sex felt like you’d had a bucket of ice water dumped on you?

You suppose it has something to do with the person.

“Love,” he says with the urgency usually reserved for someone telling you the building’s on fire, “what would you like me to do? Just tell me, and I’ll fucking do it.”

His raw emotion is throwing you off. You’re not sure how to respond, but your mouth is opening apart from your free will and saying, “I want to stay,” so you catch yourself and follow it up with a hasty, “but only if you want me to! Not out of pity or anything, because I’m ok, truly.”

You think that if you say it out loud (fine, it was a mumble), it will be true. You’re not ok, still thinking about that goddamn pity fuck, and you’re not a pity fuck, and there’s absolutely no way you’re going through those emotions again. Especially not with Jamie.

Jamie, who is closing his eyes, and letting out a deep, annoyed sigh with his jaw clenched.

A flash of fear jolts through your body, as well as the ever-present, ever-painful déjà vu. Jamie’s mad at you, and you start to get up to go.

You’re stopped by his hand on yours.

You look back to see Jamie rub his free hand over his face and mumble, “Oughta kill that prick,” before fully taking in your expression. His entire face softens, and he squeezes your hand once.

You can still feel anxiety coursing through your veins, which Jamie can see in your face. He changes his grip on your hand, and he lifts it to his lips to press a kiss on your inner wrist.

Your brain short-circuits at the pure intimacy of that gesture, something you have never experience and were pretty sure just existed in books and movies, not reality. Certainly not your reality.

Briefly, you wonder how Jamie got like this.

You remember hearing stories about how he had been a prick himself, and had tried to reconcile that with the person you knew today.

You’d seen a bit of it on the pitch during matches, when his eyes would glint and he’d stick his tongue out, right before doing something completely insane and gravity-defying that would cause the entire stadium to erupt in joy.

You knew Roy Kent called him the “prince prick of all pricks,” and that Jamie had definitely deserved that nickname once upon a time.

Still, it’s difficult to imagine that it’s the same Jamie who is sitting in bed with you, eyes looking at you so softly you think you might cry. Again.

He says, “Love, I meant every word I said last night,” and you can tell he’s trying to make his entire face show how much he means it.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes. “Goddamnit, Jamie,” you whisper, “This is the most I’ve cried in fucking forever. What the fuck?”

Jamie just smiles and wipes away a stray tear with his thumb.

Everything he’s doing is so intentional, with no malice and no ulterior motives. You’ve loved him for ages, so this just feels… it feels like it’s too much. You’re feeling the swirls of good and bad emotions and you don’t know how to sort them, so you just hold his face and fucking breathe because yes you’re crying, but it’s not really out of sadness now, is it?

You say, “About what you said last night…” to which his face drops in anticipation of rejection.

“I really fucking like you too,” you say. “I have for too long and I thought I should’ve gotten over it, hence the shit with that guy, but every time I’d drive home I’d just think about how the way your face lights up when we see each other felt more fucking meaningful than anything that he would do to me. He barely even acknowledged my existence, but you…” you trail off. “You made me feel like the entire sky shone just for me.”

You see Jamie try to school his expression, but he can’t control the wide grin breaking across his face. He puffs out a sigh of relief, or maybe it’s one of the distaste he feels every time you mention that prick. Maybe distaste isn’t the right word. What’s a good word for when you both want to puke and kick the shit out of someone?

Jamie doesn’t dwell on it too long because that shitbag is nowhere near now, you’re right in front of him with those absolutely kissable lips and wearing his clothes with his name on them, and maybe you’d both be alright to stay in bed all day. After all, you still look tired and he thinks maybe you’d sleep better if you were the big spoon this time.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

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Oh my goodness - I love your writing, I haven’t stopped reading your stuff over the last couple days!!

Absolutely LOVE your new perv!Eddie x camboy!Steve - it’s absolute filth and I’m living for every second of it! The whole “pretty boy is small”, it’s so different and it has me feral, I’m I’m here for it all day and I’m almost sorry. And I know you said mentioned Eddie’s size - but imagine with me for a second this idea…

He’s a ✨big boy✨. Not necessarily long, but he’s thick and he doesn’t realise he’s bigger than average because he’s inexperienced. But then when pretty boy sees it… gets all whiny cause it puts a couple of his toy to shame.

Pretty boy needs two hands to stroke all of him; jaw is aching before he’s swallowed all of him; and the stretch…. The ✨stretch✨!!!!

(Totally understand if this was not your thing, or the direction you were hoping for this fic)

PT. 1 of the camboy!steve/perv!eddie fic on ao3

UM NO NO THIS IS ABSOLUTELY MY THING THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN, I WILL ACCEPT MORE OF YOUR THOUGHTS AT ANY TIME......I'M DROOLING OVER HERE JUST GIVE ME A SECOND 🤤🤤🤤

okay now that i'm more composed *clears throat* let's explore this wonderful idea of yours together :)

(also i'm so glad you said this bc i've had monstercock munson on the brain for a while now so this just really hits the ball out of the park for me)

steve's been doing this camboy gig for a while now.

it's gone pretty well for him--all things considered. he makes a decent living off of it. he likes the attention. he gets to chat with cute strangers.

receiving unwarranted dick pics in his inbox comes with the territory.

he's seen everything under the sun in terms of variation in girth, length, color, cut/uncut, piercings, tattoos, hairy, clean shaven, etc. most arrive with no message at all or something like, 'i'm so hard 4 u.'

when he first started out and was trying to amass a following, he'd respond to every single one (no matter how gross or weird the messages got).

he'd take on the bratty bottom role--that he's since mastered--and numb any part of him that might have been too disgusted to continue. replying with a short and sweet comment like:

'hmm hot, but i've had bigger down my throat.'

'looking good, handsome. do you think you could handle me?'

'i'll cockwarm you until you're crying and calling me 'mommy.' '

however, as time passed and his following grew, steve realized he didn't have to respond to all of his messages if he didn't want to.

each week, he'd scroll through his overflowing inbox, select a handful at random, have a laugh at the desperate behavior occurring on the other side of the screen, and respond with one of his pre-set templated replies before automatically deleting the rest.

that was, until he met eddie munson over a quick video-call and realized keeping his emotions separate from his job was going to be much more challenging than he'd previously anticipated.

it's a friday night. steve finished his stream a few hours ago, got thai food for dinner with his best friend--robin--at their favorite local spot, and is attempting to wind down for the evening.

but, it's no use.

he's horny. his mind is an impure palace of need. his hands trail over his chest and tease the sensitive buds of his nipples while he tries to focus on the netflix documentary he picked at random.

steve's little dick throbs in his silk pajama shorts where he lays beneath the pink sheets, tossing and turning, with only one person on his mind.

his cock's wet between his legs--head slick and dripping down his hairy thigh with all the filthy ideas of what he'd like to do to eddie munson if he ever gets the chance to meet him in person.

he has no idea what eddie's working with physically. he can only imagine what may hide behind the confines of that shredded black denim.

not that steve really cares about the size of eddie's dick. in the grand scheme of things, he likes him and that's plenty. but, it is something he wonders about from time to time. especially recently.

see--steve's thought process goes a little something like this:

if eddie's as small as he is or even smaller, so be it. he'll teach him everything he knows about pleasure, frotting, edging, and more.

if eddie's average, like he claims to be, steve won't mind. average is perfectly fine with him. he'll be easy to swallow down and impress. he'll be easy to ride in a multitude of positions.

from what steve had seen of his personality, he can't exactly imagine eddie being huge.

he's a self-proclaimed loser, halfway through his twenties and still a virgin, wears graphic t-shirts with anime characters on them and has one of those intense gamer-boy headsets.

horneir than he's been in a while, steve rolls onto his stomach and grinds into his bed to try to relieve the tension building at his core.

he grips the sides of his pillow, cutely tucks his chin into the plush softness, and mouths at the fabric while he rolls his hips in grinding circles.

steve loves making out.

he loves making out with cock even more.

mouthing over a cute boy's boxers until he just can't take it anymore and cums in his pants. steve would bet money that he could make eddie cum in his pants that way. he'd pull up his jeans for him after and make him spend the rest of the day walking around town just like that. messy, deplorable, and sticky in all the right places.

steve makes himself cum in under a minute. images of eddie whining and calling him 'mommy' in muffled tones dancing like sugar plums around his delusional head. he soaks through the silk fabric of his pajama shorts and watches as a damp spot blooms in the middle.

he giggles to himself. smiles softly.

wonders if eddie would have any interest in sucking on the soiled material while steve sucks him off...

usually, he'd go right to sleep after one round, but his cock is still aching with curiosity despite orgasming, so he lazily stretches to reach for his laptop and grabs it from the nightstand.

coincidentally, he makes the split second decision to check his inbox before navigating to his favorite porn site 'lovebunny.com.'

he's planning on just clearing out the messages as he usually does, when something catches his eye and his heart skips a beat, runs a marathon, and ends up trapped in his throat where he wants the sender's dick to be asap.

to: prettyboy86

from: ethebanished

sent at 10:53 p.m.

hey steve,

hope ur having a good night.

idk why i'm sending you this. sorry. i've never sent anything like this to anyone before. bc i'm a virgin and i've never had the opportunity, but um. here it is. my dick...if u were interested in seeing it?

it's not much. probably looks small compared to what u normally see. idk. i'm also kinda high rn and my friend gareth is in the next room and he told me not to do this, but i thought maybe u would like it?

excited for ur stream tomorrow. i tried pineapple on pizza last night bc u said it's ur favorite. not bad. i actually rlly liked it.

'night,

eddie m.

attachment: 6edf45lp.jpg

steve's throbbing.

he's got a hand--he only needs one--around the entire length of his cock and he's twisting tightly around the head as he downloads the image to his computer and waits for the file to open.

he's vocal.

he's considerably vocal.

he's tipsy off of a couple glasses of rose from dinner and he's arching his back like he does when he's on camera, but this time it's genuine.

'gonna show mommy your cock, baby?' he moans highly as the image loads and he strokes himself faster, 'that's it. that's a good boy. mommy's pussy wants to milk you dry. drink up all your big boy cum for you. oh--such a good boy for me--you can handle it. deep breaths while i make you feel good, sweet thing. almost there, hold still for mommy-'

a jumble of random pixels becomes a full picture and steve harrington is a mewling, whimpering, slutty mess.

he's fucking his hand, he's rolling his balls between his palms, he's taste testing the last batch of cum that he squirted all over the inside of his tiny pink shorts. he's rubbing it up and down his shaft like lube. shoving some in his ass with two fingers, clenching hard, and closing his eyes so he can pretend eddie munson just finished inside him. pervy little virgin would cum so quick.

the picture is fucking perfect.

eddie's standing in front of--what looks to be--a bathroom mirror. the lighting's shit, but steve can see clearly enough. his red and black checkered pants sit around his upper thighs. unzipped and tugged down--chains dangling. eddie's holding his fat dick in one hand and snapping the photo on his phone with the other.

it's huge. it's practically unreal. wider than any of the toys steve has in his collection. his own hand doesn't fit around it and it's long enough to rest a solid few inches above his belly button. steve's horny brain tells him that the slap it would make against his abdomen would probably be quite loud.

there's a vein running from the underside of his shaft to the tip and the whole thing is dusky pink like his nipples. his balls are round, perky, relatively hairless. there's a thicket of dark hair that starts at his navel and spreads out over his pelvis. his v-line is defined and there's a tattoo steve can't make out on his hip. he's biting his lip and steve can't tell if it's because he's nervous or thinks it's sexy, but it's working for him either way.

it's everything he could have ever wanted.

he's so gone. he's babbling filth and cumming onto his keyboard which is going to be a nightmare to clean up, but who cares? one of his mindless followers will buy him a new one if he complains about it loud enough with a glittery dildo up his ass.

'mommy's never taken cock that big, baby. you're gonna have to be careful, give it to me nice and slow. oh it's so fucking big,' he groans thumbing at his slit like it's a clit, hard and fast, 'mommy's gonna have to keep you away from all the other boys so no one else finds out what a fat cock you have hiding in there. mmm. if only they knew, but i'll never let them because i'm gonna trap you in my pussy and cockwarm you until you promise to be mine.'

when he cums for the final time, he kisses the screen. licks it clean and saves the picture to a folder he has labeled 'work.' the nastiest part of him wants to make it his screensaver, but if eddie ever found out, he'd likely never talk to steve or watch his stream again and he can't risk that.

'you and i are going to have so much fun together,' he says before falling asleep with his laptop on his stomach and eddie munson's cock watching over him like an angel from a very sexy realm.

thanks for reading ! feedback is greatly appreciated so please let me know what you think if you enjoyed this one 🥰

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wonwoonlight · 2 years

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there’s not a single star in the sky | xu minghao & kim mingyu

➝ Minghao x Reader / Mingyu x Reader // not a love triangle

➝ soulmate!au // angst // somewhat slowburn // fluff in between? // a journey of acceptance and moving on

➝ total word count: 12k

➝ notes, warnings: my sorry attempt of an angst <//3, it doesn't end badly i promise, curses, food, mentions of death, OC is trying to hold back her tears for like.. 80% of the fic, probably some grammatical errors and typos, not beta-ed D: i purposefully write some stuff vaguely. that's it, tell me if there's more!

➝ summary: he’s your soulmate. so why did the universe also decide he’s not the one you’re going to spend your forever with?

or, alternatively:

Minghao was there to fill the space Mingyu left behind; but you'd never expected to what extent he was meant to do it for.

➝ A/N: it's late and i didn't mean this to be your bday fic but.. happy bday hao!! i'll shut up and say more at the end. pls enjoy and tell me what you thought!!

여기 이 세상이 아름다운 건 the reason why this word is beautiful

그대가 머문 흔적들 때문에 아마 is probably because it has traces of you [Jo Sungmo - Do You Know]

When you first met Minghao, he was there to be your roommate.

It's been months since Mingyu left, almost a year, really, and as much as it still hurts and the thought wells up tears in your eyes, Jeonghan is right when he said it's time you need to pick up the pieces broken by the love of your life.

–the first step being moving out of the place you had bought together with him. Saying it hurts is starting to get repetitive at this point, but it really does and you have no idea how many times you’ve broken down crying the more you pack, your eyes red beyond measure and your chest physically aches that it’s hard to breathe.

The apartment is practically empty except for the furniture, nothing inside screams you or Mingyu anymore except for one single photograph and it sends you into a spiral of sadness that you can’t comprehend how to handle. Your eyes wander to the empty wall on top of the TV, already rid of photographs Mingyu had taken and decided to frame because “angel, this is a masterpiece!” like he didn’t say it everytime he decided to frame more pictures and hang them on the walls (mostly of you both together).

You close your eyes and exhale a deep breath at the memories, hating the way your lips still tremble at the thought of him, then gently wipe the tears lining up your eyes before they turn into yet another waterfall.

There’s only one big picture left on the wall, a photograph of a daffodil field you both had gone to two years ago and is easily the most beautiful place you’ve ever stepped your feet on. You insisted that the picture stays though Jeonghan said it’d be better to take everything down. But as much as you know his memories hurt you, you don’t want to erase him just because you’re struggling; that picture is the one Mingyu loved the most and you think it’s only right to let it be.

So it can guard your home once you’re no longer there.

Kim Mingyu is still the most wonderful thing that has ever happened in your life and you want to keep his memories with you no matter what.

“When is your cousin moving in?” Jeonghan asks as you put the last of your belongings. Most of your stuff is already in your new place, and while you couldn’t bear to sell the apartment, you heard from your mom that your cousin is looking for a place in your area because she’s starting university soon; so she’s going to move in and rent your place at least until she finishes her study.

You’re not that close with her, but know her well enough to know that she’s nice and isn’t the type to mess around. Which is good, because if you’re close with her then you’d be finding reasons to visit just to be in the apartment. This way, you know your place will be in good hands and, for now, that’s the only thing you can ask for.

“In two weeks. She’ll start moving her stuff next week though.” It’s weird to be talking about someone else living in a place where your love bloomed, but it’s really for the best and you understand that it’s getting more unhealthy for you if you continue your way of living the way you do. Even one year is already pushing it.

“You’re still moving tomorrow though, right?” your best friend nudges you, and you nod as you try to shrug the weight lingering on your chest. Your silence concerns him despite your nod, so Jeonghan takes your hand and squeezes it lightly. “Do you want me to stay the night?”

“It’s okay, Han.” You smile weakly. As much as you want Jeonghan to hold you through the night because you know you’ll be crying, you want to spend your last night here by yourself. You want to cry one last time so you can let everything go. You want to bask in Mingyu’s memories, in his fading scent, and in the place where the love you shared with him grew the most.

And as you cry yourself to sleep that night in your empty bedroom, screaming for Mingyu’s name into your pillow again and again like it’d bring him back to you, you think you can feel his arms holding you once again the moment your consciousness gives up, almost like a dream you wish you never wake up from.

Your new roommate is perceptive and you’re not sure yet whether you like it or not.

“You look tired.” He smiles politely, though you can tell that the look in his eyes is closest to what you’d describe as pitiful.

Of course you look pitiful, you woke up with your head pounding due to your excessive crying the night before and you could barely open your eyes because of the very same reason.

“I was going to talk to you about rules and all that but I think that can wait.”

“Thank you,” you say without offering any reason, you don’t owe him any explanations anyway. “I just need some sleep though, can we talk about it later tonight?”

Minghao nods, the smile on his face so warm that your heart would probably skip a beat if not for your current predicament. You wince at the way your heart clenches, Mingyu’s name once again echoing in your head. Feeling heat creeping up against your neck, you reach up to touch the skin behind your ear, a habit you always do, something Mingyu teased you about since the time you went on your first date together.

Ah, fuck. You really should stop yourself from thinking about him too much.

“It must’ve been hard moving all that stuff. Have a good rest,” Minghao ushers you before you can say anything, which you thankfully nod at, and you immediately bolt to your new room before you embarrassingly cry in front of him out of nowhere.

You don’t need to know Minghao hears your cry because you didn’t close the door properly, his concerned eyes rooted to the floor as he closes the door for you, the soft click barely even a noise upon your heart silenced sobs.

It’s later that night that he sees you again, already fresh in new clothes and looking comparably better than earlier though your puffy eyes are a dead giveawa. Minghao has never been one to pry, but his heart is made to care for others and he’s trying hard not to ask if you’re okay, to pretend like the sound of you crying didn’t tug something in his heart.

Xu Minghao is born to care for those around him but he’s not sure why you crying hurts him this much when you’re practically a stranger renting the available room in his house.

“Want to order something?” He forces himself to say, wondering if he’s crossing any line; do you even have any intention to befriend him? He’s still not sure why you’re moving into his place, the most he has heard from you was you’re simply looking for a new environment, and Junhui, a mutual friend of the both of you, has only told him that you’re going through a lot so he might want to be careful overall.

When Minghao asks if there’s anything he should know out of concern, the older guy has simply said it’s not his story to tell and reminds him to be mindful if you’re ever visibly struggling in front of him.

“I was wondering what to eat for dinner. You can join me if you want. It’s okay if you don’t, though.”

Unexpectedly, you send a soft smile his way with a nod, then make your way to sit on the single sofa next to him and hug the cushion on your lap. “Sure. What’s good around here?”

“Mmm. What do you feel like eating?” He turns to look at you, only to find your fingers playing with the skin near your ear as you purse your lips in thought. It’s the first time he has the chance to actually look at you, and he scolds himself for being a teenager when it pops into his mind how soft your skin looks followed by the question of how it’d feel under his touch.

“Anything’s fine except for pasta.”

“You don’t like pasta?”

“I do. I think they’re too heavy if we eat them now though.”

Minghao hums in agreement, but you say he can order whatever he feels like eating because you can eat just about anything as long as it’s not too creamy at the moment. “Surprise me,” you tell him, your voice a little too cheerful for someone who was crying a few hours ago. He tries to get it off his mind though, because it’s none of his business and you’re not even friends yet at this point.

He doesn’t even know why it bothers him that much. Perhaps he’s been thinking about Junhui’s words too much, be careful and be mindful. As someone who’s used to catering to other’s feelings, Minghao finds it hard to stay still when he knows someone near him is struggling. It’s obvious from your body language though; the way you’re internally exhausted but are trying your best to look okay.

Maybe moving to his place is your first step to overcoming whatever you’re going through. Whatever it is, Minghao decides that’s where he should stop assuming and reminds himself once again that it’s none of his business.

“So,” he starts after ordering food. He figures he should at least talk about the house rules if there’s no other topic at hand. “I’m not very strict about rules, to be honest. Some of the rules I always tell people are just basic ones like: let me know if you’re going to have friends around, though I’m not too comfortable with anyone staying overnight, so just make sure to ask me first before you let anyone stay over; don’t be too loud; and let’s clean after ourselves? These apply to the both of us though, so I promise I’ll stand by them too.”

“Yeah, sure.” You nod in agreement. He’s right. Those are basic rules, he’s just asking you to have manners and be aware that you’re living with someone else. But you can tell from his first impression alone that Minghao is the kinda person that’s considerate and proper. He didn’t ask for anything too personal when he first met you to talk about your possible coliving situation, and it was easy to tell that Minghao was just looking for someone that’s…, well, also proper.

He was just the right amount of friendly. You didn’t talk with him for that long that day, but you could tell that you both passed each other’s vibe check and you were glad when Minghao called a week later to say you’re welcome to move in anytime the month after if you’re still looking for a place to stay.

“I don’t have that many friends so you don’t have to worry.”

He chuckles at that, glad that you’re comfortable enough to make a joke. "We'll get along just fine then."

The silence after that is a bit awkward, though it's not enough to make anyone uncomfortable. You wonder if you're simply imagining Minghao's extra careful words and gestures or if he’s simply that type of person to begin with.

He does seem the type to be certain with his lines.

"You're home a lot, then?" He tries to stay on the housing topic, a very safe topic that hopefully wouldn't cross any line.

“Yeah. I really mostly go out when my friends invite me or if I want to take a walk, else I’m basically holed up in my room.” You shrug then return the question, though from the few times you dropped by the house when you moved your things over you can already tell that Minghao is about the same.

“Mmm. I enjoy both my time inside and outside,” he purses his lips in thoughts, a tilt of his head accompanying his words. “Depends on the day, I think. Sometimes I actively try to find places to try out, sometimes I’m happy to be in my studio and paint for the whole day.”

“You paint?” Your tone is more excited than you intend it to be, though it really makes sense because you notice there are a lot of paintings throughout the living room. And now you wonder if those are his own paintings, which Minghao shyly nods to, the sheepish smile on his face growing the more you sing praises to his talent. “Wow. I’ve always wanted to paint, you know? But my hands are not made for art so…”

“That’s nonsense.” He frowns like your sentence personally offends him, his words bringing tears to your eyes before you even realize. “Art is for everyone. Have you actually tried painting?”

‘Angel, that is not a painting!’ Mingyu laughed with the entirety of his chest, not minding your pout even the tiniest bit. ‘That’s just doodles. Gosh, you’re so cute.’

‘I told you I didn’t want to do this!’ you whined as you tried to get away from his embrace. Seriously, this guy was a good 20cm taller than you and he liked to just bend down and bury his face onto your neck like it’s not physically uncomfortable for him to do so. ‘I’m not going to let you plan another date.’

Mingyu simply grinned and hugged you tighter at that, knowing full well that you didn’t mean any of it.

‘Art is for everyone though,’ he whispered with a laugh, his lips upon your cheek. ‘You did great. We should try watercoloring sometimes.’

“Did… I say something wrong?” Minghao’s worried voice brings you back to the present, and you blink back the tears before they actually fall down, your voice caught in your throat.

“No.” You clear your throat then excuse yourself to the bathroom in hope Minghao doesn’t notice anything. From the way he simply nods, you hope that’s the case, but the gentle eyes full of concern following you until the bathroom door closes certainly implies otherwise.

Minghao brushes the mark near his collarbone, its jet black color reminding him of things he’d rather not remember anymore. It used to be so vibrant with color, then they bleed out at once one day, turning into such a dark black it contrasts against his skin.

There’s something else Junhui said that has been bothering him, something that he thinks is the main reason why he’s more attentive to you than anything.

‘I can’t say much. But if there’s anyone who understands her struggle, it might be you. Just… don’t push her, yeah?’

He’s not sure how close you are exactly with Junhui. But if the older guy is able to say that, he supposes you’re either closer than he’s assumed, or you’re related in more ways that he could imagine. You did find out he had an available room from Junhui.

It doesn’t feel right to go through yours or Junhui’s social media just for the sake of it. But, from what he remembers, you definitely don’t appear enough on Junhui’s account for you to be in his close circle. Plus, if you’re actually close, the older guy would’ve probably brought you to hang out with him a long time ago; Junhui likes to blend all of his friends, after all. So you’re probably a friend of a friend, or there’s a situation that Junhui happens to know.

Whatever it is, it bothers him. Are you struggling like he was?

Minghao bites his lip and grazes his soulmate mark again, why is he talking like he’s over it now? As much as he’s coping, said that he’s okay now because that's all he’s managed to be, he’s still far from acceptance.

He’s still far from making peace with it.

His eyes flicker to you again as you return and sit back down on the sofa. You force a perfect smile, one that would fool anyone into thinking you’re actually fine. Not him though, because if there’s anything he recognizes, it’s the emptiness in your eyes despite the way they turn into crescents. He’s practiced the same exact smile way too many times not to recognize it on others.

If there’s anything Minghao knows, it’s the eyes of people who are hurting.

And if there’s anything else he understands, it’s that they don’t always want to talk about it. That everyone hangs on differently and he doesn’t know you well enough to know how you cope and how you hurt.

So he does what he usually do: offer comfort in the subtlest way possible by change the topic.

“But, then again, it’s not for everyone,” he shrugs almost nonchalantly. If anyone else is in the room, he’s sure they would notice the way he’s blatantly staring at you in worry. But, fortunately for Minghao, there’s no one and you’re too busy calming yourself down to notice. “What do you do in your spare time?”

“Actually,” you shake your head like you’ve made a resolve, like you didn’t even hear his question. Your voice falters a little as you say your next words, but Minghao listens attentively as he pretends not to notice the quiver in your gaze. “I would like to try painting. I did it a long time ago but… maybe it’s time to try doing it again.”

“You sure?” he questions, something weird stirring in his heart at how determined you look. It’s most likely the romantic side in him; he’s always liked seeing people doing their best. There’s just something so beautiful about people who try, and he supposes it’s the fact that he knows the look in your eyes, recognizes a similar kind of pain reflected in them, then knowing that you’re doing your best to be okay again.

It’s almost like he’s seeing himself a few months back (has it really not been a year since he’s started to learn how to accept?), and while his heart warms at the fact that you’re trying, it makes him wonder if this was how people felt when they saw him before.

“Yeah. I think it’d be fun,” you say vaguely, knowing that your tone itself sounds unsure. Still, you’re thankful that Minghao doesn’t say anything about it as he nods and says that he’d send you the address of a cafe that allows their customers to draw on a paper and turn the result into a keyring; that he thinks that would be casual enough for you to try and have fun because an actual painting studio might feel suffocating if you’re not into it

You falter at the mention of the familiar cafe, one that you haven’t gone to but remember Mingyu had mentioned before. You can probably still find its name and address somewhere on your phone, because Mingyu had insisted you make a list of places you should go together to, though you gave up updating it along the way

“It’s the one with a sloth mascot, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. Have you been?” Minghao bites his lip at the slight tremble of your lip, did he say something wrong again?

“No, actually.” You force a small smile, one that looks sad, if anything, and Minghao’s heart is so close to breaking that it’s almost stupid. Why is he so emotional today? You’re just his new roommate, for God’s sake. “But I… I’ve heard of it, yeah.”

A heavy silence envelopes the room after that; you, deep in your mind, and Minghao, unsure what to say. Considering Junhui’s words and the way he sees himself in you, he dares to jump into conclusion and wonders what could possibly happen to your soulmate for you to be this way; to be constantly in and out of your memory in the span of thirty minutes he’s been talking with you.

Did they leave you like his soulmate did? He winces at the thought of her, the urge to reach for his mark makes his fingers ball into fists. But he waves it away and, thankfully, the bell rings indicating the arrival of your food.

Fortunately, the food is enough distraction for you two. You hum in delight once Minghao opens the packaging of the food, the smell filling the room immediately that your stomach growls a little. You’re both more hungry than you thought also, because the food is gone faster than the time it takes to arrive, and the both of you wish each other good night after cleaning up.

You’re not exactly sleepy, but you’re mentally drained and you’re afraid at how many times you almost poured your struggle to Minghao. You don’t like crying in front of anyone but Jeonghan, don’t like the feeling of anyone looking at you in pity or even concern. You really don’t.

But there’s something about Xu Minghao that makes you feel okay about being vulnerable; something about him that makes you want to open your heart and serve all its content on a platter for him to see. Or perhaps you’re just more emotional because you’ve officially moved out of your place and it’s your first day in your new home.

You hope that’s really the case.

Because the first scenario scares you a little too much.

You don’t want to feel that way.

So you spend your night talking with Jeonghan until you fall asleep, talking about nothing and everything so you wouldn’t think of Mingyu or how easy it is to be off guard in front of Minghao.

You tell Jeonghan you want to go to the sloth cafe and he offers to come with you, his voice wavering when you mention you want to try painting.

You dream of Mingyu in front of an easel that night, painting a field of yellow flowers with a smile on his face and the stars in his eyes.

“Oh, are you going somewhere?” Minghao asks when he sees you all dressed up on the sofa, though the way you’re slumped against it makes him doubt his question. “Or did you just come back?”

You scrunch your nose at the question, then sit up and hug the cushion against your chest. “I meant to go to the sloth cafe today. But Jeonghan is suddenly called for a work emergency, so…”

The words come out before he thinks it thoroughly, and Minghao almost hits himself in the head once they escape his lips. “I can go with you if you want?”

Unexpectedly, your face lights up as your eyes meet his, making him a little taken aback at the enthusiasm.

You really do want to go there, but the thought of going there by yourself scares you a little but you know that if you don’t go now when you’ve made up your mind, you’ll push it back over and over again until eventually you decide you’d just not go.

“Will you, really?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind going with me.” Minghao shrugs. It’s too late to back out and he’s glad if he could help you one way or another. It’s been quite some time since he visited that cafe and he doesn’t have anything to do, anyway. At your nod, he asks again. “When do you want to go?”

“I’m free the whole day, if you don’t mind going today…” You trail off, feeling a little awkward if you’re being completely honest. It’s been two weeks since you’ve moved in, and while you’ve passed the awkward phase, you’re still not there yet when it comes to favors.

“Let me change real quick then.” He definitely didn’t expect you to say yes when he offered, but now that you’ve asked him… Might as well, right?

The ride to the cafe isn’t as awkward as you suppose it would be, the radio filling in the silence between the two of you when you’re not talking. Minghao asks if you have anything in mind you want to draw already, and you say you actually have no idea, that you want to see if there are any easy examples you can follow because you’re not gifted enough to draw anything by yourself.

“What about you?”

“Hmm… Any requests?”

You laugh at this, and then hum to yourself to see if there’s anything you’d like to see. For a second, you wonder if you’re crossing the line by asking him to draw for you in a way, but if it’s Minghao himself who asks, it should be okay, right?

“Flowers?” Your voice falters as you think of the last dream you have of Mingyu. Yellow flowers, wasn’t it?

You hear his smile before you see it, and when you turn to him curiously, Minghao offers you a nod and asks again if you have any flowers you prefer. But you don’t really know your flowers, so you tell him you want to see anything vibrant, that it’s up to him whatever flower exactly.

“Vibrant, huh?” You wonder if you imagined the slight curt in his tone, but Minghao nods once again and says he’ll see what he can do.

“You don’t have to, though!” You say, suddenly conscious that you’re making him draw something for you.

“It’s okay. I didn’t know what to draw, anyway.” He grins to assure you, but you can tell that there’s something going on inside his head that you don’t dare to ask.

“Alright… But don’t feel bad if you want to draw something else, okay?” You manage to say, hoping that you don’t sound like you’re putting a distance between the two of you. Minghao changes the topic from then, and it’s not long until you find yourself arriving at the cafe.

It’s weird, what you’re feeling. You’re both afraid and excited, as art has always been something that you associate with Mingyu. You never do it with anyone else, or even by yourself, for that matter. Mingyu was the only reason you’re even interested in it, and you’re pretty sure you would never even try if it wasn’t for him.

And now you’re here. About to go to a cafe where you can draw at, a cafe you had promised Mingyu you’d go together with…

And now you’re here.

With someone else.

“Let’s go?” Minghao’s voice breaks you from your thoughts, something you’re incredibly thankful for because you’re just about to spiral into a hurricane of emotion otherwise.

Half an hour later, you find yourself sitting side by side with Minghao as the busy sound of the cafe fills the silence between you two. You straighten your back as you exhale a deep breath, the sound of it makes Minghao chuckle from beside you.

“What flower is that?” You glance at his drawing, intrigued by the amount of details Minghao pours into it despite not having any reference whatsoever. He’s drawing by memory, you assume, as you can’t see his phone anywhere near him, and now that you really look at his drawing, you think you’ve seen the flower before.

Minghao pauses before he answers you, his gaze fixated on the paper in front of him. “Forsythia.”

You hum as you take out your phone, looking up the flower to see pictures of them. It’s when you quietly mutter to yourself that Minghao turns to you, a small smile on his face as he sees you admire the flowers.

“You know them?”

You shake your head, then close your phone and return to the paper in front of you. You’ve drawn nothing but the night sky, poorly drawn hills, and a few street lamps along the street. It’s nowhere near good drawing, but at least you can tell for sure that those objects are identifiable and that’s enough win for you.

Like going here trying to draw.

Like going here without shedding a tear even though your lips trembled when you step into the cafe.

That’s enough win for now.

“Can I ask something?” his voice brings you out of your thoughts, and when you nod, his voice is hesitant despite your okay. “Why… is it so dark?”

“What is?”

“Your drawing.”

Huh. Is it?

“Is there any reason you’re not drawing the moon or stars?”

You blink at the question, then look again at the night sky you’ve been drawing the past thirty minutes. The constellation mark behind your ear suddenly stings a little; have you come to hate astronomical objects so much that you end up drawing nothing but the sky without even realizing?

“It just… didn’t occur to me.” You offer him a small smile, your colored pencil hovering upon the night sky. “I can’t draw them now though, can I?”

He hums as he skims your drawing, then his eyes glance at the pack of colored pencils next to you.

“Yeah. It’d be hard to draw the moon because you’ve colored most of the night sky.” He nods and smiles your way, one that you return with a tilt of your head. “It’s okay though. It’s still pretty as it is. Some nights we can’t see the stars and the moon anyway. Doesn’t really matter, right?”

…Doesn’t really matter, huh? You bite your lip as you ponder over his words, your mark feels like it’s tingling behind your ear.

“Can I ask something too?” You say after some time, eyes still focused on the flower he’s drawing.

“Sure.”

“I notice there are a lot of flowers in your paintings back home. Is there a reason why you like painting flowers so much?” His movement pauses at your question, and, for a second, you wonder if you’re intruding. But Minghao answers before you can retract your question, his hand moves again to fill in the color in the petal.

“It’s my soulmate mark.” His tone is much too nonchalant for such a topic, but as much as Minghao can tell you’re hurting by the look of your eyes, you can also tell he’s hiding by the tightness in his voice.

It’s very subtle, but from your point of view, it can’t be anymore obvious that Minghao is also struggling, presumably about something along the same line as you. Soulmate isn’t a sensitive topic for most people, but now that you’ve seen him this way, you can tell at once that you both share the same reluctance towards the issue.

At least it’s also clear that he’s coping far better than you are. Whatever’s happened between him and his soulmate, you hope it’s not as bad as what befell you.

“You wouldn’t know which one though,” he jokes to divert the topic. It’s more for your sake than it is for him, you feel like. He probably knows you’re not sure what to comment on that.

“I’m sure they’re pretty either way.” You comment vaguely, suddenly itching to touch the constellation behind your ear. You hesitate before you continue, unsure if it’s okay to bring it up again, but you also feel bad and you let your feelings override yourself for once. “I’m sorry I made you draw flowers.”

Minghao completely stops at that, and even though you’re not sure what you were expecting, you surely didn’t expect amusement clouding his face when you meet his gaze.

“Why are you sorry though?”

“Just felt like I needed to apologize.” You shrug, your voice gets gradually smaller as you continue. “Seems like it’s personal to you.”

“It’s fine. Like you said, I do paint a lot of flowers.” His smile is genuine, and you’re glad that he really does sound amused if anything.

Your conversation shifts from there, the two of you swift through light-hearted topics as you finish your drawings. You watch as the staff turn your drawing into an acrylic key ring, a happy smile on your face as you look at the result in your hand.

It’s definitely much better than you expected, and you think it’s good that you went with Minghao because, had it been Jeonghan, you would’ve cried thinking about Mingyu the whole time. You’re glad you went with your roommate, someone between a stranger and a friend, someone that you need to be careful with but close enough that it’s not uncomfortable.

“Yours is so pretty…” You mutter in fascination as you peek at Minghao’s, happy to take the key ring from him when he asks if you want to look closely.

“You can take it.” He says with the entirety of his heart, the grin on his face painted with pride. It’s one thing to have people sing praises to his work, but it’s another story altogether when he sees someone like you who looks at his creation like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. When you ask if he’s sure you can have it like it doesn’t make sense for him to just give it away, he chuckles and nods. “You look like you’d appreciate it. That’s good enough for me.”

“Thank you!” You clutch the keyring between your palms, telling him you’d take good care of it. “I’d offer you mine but…”

“I’ll take it.” He offers you his palm, and then chuckles some more when you ask again if he’s sure about his choice. “You doubt me a lot, huh?”

“It’s just… Mine isn’t as pretty though.” You scrunch your nose as you hand him your result. Yes, it’s better than you expected, but still…

“I saw how much effort you put into that.” He begins, his thumb caressing your keyring. “And I did say it looks pretty, no? I wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better.”

Whispering a small thank you, Minghao almost laughs at how shy you look at his compliment. He looks at the keyring again, a picture of street lamps beneath the night sky. Then his mind pictures your focused frown when you were drawing them, and then to the conversation he had with you almost two weeks ago about this very cafe; how you were holding back tears and how you had reacted when he brought up the cafe.

And now here you are, talking animatedly about how the experience has been much more fun than you expected it to be. And even though he did catch you spacing out from time to time, he notices how determined you are from the beginning. Determined to do what, he can only guess.

He thinks he’ll think of you now everytime he looks at the night sky.

He gazes at the keyring yet again, and then at you next to him.

He thinks he has never seen an effort so beautiful.

Mingyu loved seeing you with your hair up; a pony tail, a bun, anything that let him see your whole face and didn’t cover your soulmate mark if only a little. The location of your soulmate mark doesn’t really allow you a lot of hairstyles that won’t cover it, but if you have your hair up, you’d at least be able to see half of the constellation that stops just a little below your ear.

That said, you wear your hair down most of the time after he’s left, having developed a habit of hiding the black constellation scattered there. The most you’d do to your hair is to tie half of it, which doesn't happen a lot.

“I have a question.” Minghao says as he pours your empty glass of wine once again. Minghao was chilling by himself when you returned from the convenience store, and when you saw the wine bottle on the coffee table, you had been quick to ask if you could join his little routine.

“Shoot.” Undeniably, you’ve gotten closer with him the past few months. You hadn’t expected to find a friend when you first moved in, but Minghao clicks with you in ways you haven’t really clicked with others that you can easily say he’s one of your close friends now.

It’s different, what you have with him.

Jeonghan is your voice of reason as much as he is the devil’s advocate; he’d push and push and push but he also knows when to pull you back when necessary. He cares for you like a best friend and an older brother, having his own way to change between the two roles accordingly.

You’re not the closest with Lisa. She’s not the kind of friend you’d look for first when you need someone to talk to, but you only have good memories with her since high school and it’s always laughter filling your cheeks everytime you meet up with her. You trust her when it comes to it, and she’s a token of happy memories you keep in your life.

Mingyu… Mingyu is–was your soulmate. He understood you without you saying anything, he knew when to leave you alone and when to coax you into telling him what’s bothering you. He spoiled you like there’s no tomorrow, listened when your rambling didn’t make any sense, and held you in his arms on nights you didn’t want to talk to anyone. He’s loud with his affection, never hesitated to show you his love even though he knew you’re never insecure when it came to that.

But Minghao… he observes and hypothesizes. He’s calculated and he’s silent with his concern. He doesn’t always ask when he thinks something might be up, simply leaves you be and you’d find a cup of iced chocolate or an ice cream with a note that lets you know they belong to you the next day. He pretends he doesn’t know you’re crying even though you’re sure you look like a mess, he’d just ask if you want to eat something or if he should just order online.

You don’t have a lot of friends, but from the few that you have, Minghao is the most like you.

And now that you think about it, you somehow gravitate towards those much different that you are; people who are loud in the best way possible. Which is why your friendship with Minghao feels different in ways that you can’t really describe.

“Why do you never tie your hair?” You have expected Minghao to ask this question sooner, if you’re being honest, as you’re sure that he’s noticed this since before. You’ve caught him eyeing your long hair from time to time, mostly when you two are out and it’s hot outside while you stubbornly let your hair down for the sake of covering your ear.

“Does it bother you?” You ask while sipping on your wine. It’s your fourth glass already, and even though you’re not usually a fan of alcohol, there would be days like this when you just feel like letting loose and crave for some.

Minghao shakes his head and changes the song playing in the background, finding something softer than the jazz instrument he played earlier. It’s another lazy Saturday night for the two of you, and between liking to stay at home and your somewhat similar personality, it’s really not surprising how easy it was to be close to Minghao in the span of five months.

How could you not when the two of you almost always spend your days together, even more your weekends? Jeonghan would join you from time to time, or he’d drag you out and there would be days when Minghao also tags along.

So, really, it’s safe to say you’re with Xu Minghao almost 70% of the time except for the time when you’re at work.

“Not really. Just wondering because it looks hot to go around like that all the time.”

You hum as you contemplate your next words. You could’ve just brushed it off like you always do when people ask, but a part of you has finally arrived at a place where it wants to let him know about Mingyu even only a little.

After all, there are days when you share your pain with him. None of you really talk about it, but you’d both vaguely mention about sad romance from time to time; enough for the two of you to be almost sure that, yes, there’s something wrong about the soulmate situations upon you both.

Perhaps it’s the alcohol in your system. Or perhaps it’s the dream you had of Mingyu last night, his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear and smiling at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid his eyes on.

That’s probably why you feel like drinking today.

While moving in with Minghao proves to be a good step towards moving, it doesn’t mean you’ve stopped crying when Mingyu appears in your dreams, which no longer happens quite often. There are still days when you’d read his old messages and stare at old pictures. When you’d open his Instagram account that’s no longer active and scroll through his aesthetically arranged feed.

It doesn’t hurt as much anymore, but you still get choked up for obvious reasons.

At least he no longer resides in your mind on a daily basis, though the thought also weighs like a boulder upon your heart.

You… want to move on from him, but you also don’t.

The amount of love you hold for Mingyu is more than you think possible, it’s overwhelming and it’s a burden at times. You didn’t think you could love someone like you did Mingyu, soulmate or not.

You don’t mind though. Even though the love is heavy and you don’t think you can ever love anyone–anything as much as you love Mingyu, you don’t mind and you still want to do it.

You still want to do it now even if he’s no longer with you. Even if his scent has completely faded from every single belonging of his that you bring with you to your new place.

The fact that you’re actually getting used to a life without him hurts.

It hurts almost as much as the day you lost him.

It hurts because you’re close to forgetting how he even sounded if not for the hoard of videos of him in your phone.

Aren’t you supposed to be together forever? To hold each other every night and spend the rest of your life basking in each other’s warmth?

Aren’t you supposed to be soulmates? What the fuck went up there that decided you’re not going to have a happy ending with your soulmate?

You want to be okay without him.

You don't want to be okay without him.

Minghao’s concerned voice brings you out of your trance, and it’s only when you taste something salty in your lips that you realize you’ve been crying.

For all the time Minghao pretends he’s never noticed you crying, this can’t be one of them. Not when your tears come out of nowhere when you were spacing out for a few seconds upon his question. And when he asks in a hushed whisper whether you want him to hold you, you don’t even answer as you dive straight to his embrace, your tears refusing to stop now that you’re in someone’s arms.

He doesn’t seem to mind though and, for some reason, the way his arms gently circle around you makes you cry even harder. It’s such a contrast with Mingyu’s tight embrace, he always made sure to hug you hard, something to remind you that he’s there and you have him with you.

Minghao's hold is careful but sure, the way he hugs you is almost ticklish, like you’d break if he hugs you just a little too tight. Except for the few times you fell asleep on his shoulder upon movie nights, this is the first time you’ve ever been this physically close with Minghao.

You end up telling a gist of Mingyu that night, tying up your hair to show him your soulmate mark. If Minghao’s surprised at its color, he doesn’t show it, and it’s you who gasp in shock when he tugs the neckline of his shirt to show you his own blackened soulmate mark near his collarbone.

IMinghao starts talking first, as he figures it might be easier for you if you know he’s been through something along the same line. He never really likes talking about his soulmate, doesn’t really have any reason to do so either. But looking at you like this, it’s the urge to comfort you that overrides his usual reluctance.

If his pain can be anything other than pain… if it can even help someone in some way, perhaps it’d be better to share the story he’s been holding to himself.

“She left me for someone else.” You want to wipe the weak smile off his face, want to tell him that he doesn’t have to act like he’s okay because you can’t even begin to imagine the amount of pain Minghao went through. “Said she found someone better and she doesn’t believe in soulmates. That we’re too different and believed the fact that we’re soulmates just proved that fate is nothing but stupid games.”

You know whatever words you offer him wouldn’t be enough.

You know.

You know because nothing anyone says would be enough to comfort you.

So you share him your pain, show him that he’s not alone and you know how it feels to be left behind.

The story you tell him is a very oversimplified version of the whole thing, that your soulmate is no longer with you and it’s still hard even though you’re coping. Though you do tell him that you did move into his house due to the same person.

Minghao’s gaze doesn’t falter as you tell him a very small part of your story, just enough to know you’re both hurting in the same way. That you’ve both lost the people who're supposed to be your destiny regardless of the reasons why. He doesn’t hesitate when he wipes your tears with his thumb, the look in his eyes is anything but pity.

Your lips still tremble despite your tears stopping, making it hard for you to continue talking even if you’re not sure how much you’re going to tell Minghao that night. But in a moment of weakness, your gaze falls to his lips the same time his eyes fall to yours. And when your eyes find each other a second later, you have no idea who makes the first move and how your lips end up upon his.

The kiss you share with him is soft; your lips upon his over and over again, your palms firmly planted on his shoulders as his stays on your waist. You have no idea either how long the kiss lasts for, but the kiss is sad as much as it is comforting, your fingers balling into fists as you grasp his shirt to get yourself together.

You wonder if Minghao can also taste the salty tears falling from your eyes upon his lips.

It’s him who pulls away first, and he doesn’t give you a chance to meet his eyes as he pushes you into the juncture of his neck and kisses the top of your head.

For the first time, Mingyu’s smile is sad when he appears in your dream.

He’s trying to tell you something, but there’s no sound coming out of his lips and your eyes are too blurry to make sense of his words. You’ve missed him so much, and you hate that he looks concerned when it’s been so long since you’ve dreamed of him.

You can still feel the fluttering warmth of Mingyu’s lips on your forehead when you wake up, only to find Minghao holding you to his chest as you both lay on the couch, his eyes closed and his protective arms firm around your figure.

You're not avoiding Minghao.

You've honestly just been plagued by the last dream you had of Mingyu that you’ve been a little dysfunctional for the past week. You haven’t got the chance to tell Jeonghan about the dream nor what went down that night, and you plan on telling him tonight in the comfort of your bedroom just in case you’d be crying again.

You’ve texted Minghao Jeonghan might be sleeping over that night, though he might also go home if he suddenly decides otherwise. You stare at your phone as you bite your lip, hating how you can even tell how awkward you two are even over texts.

[14:22] Hao, is it ok if Jeonghan stays the night? He might also suddenly decide to go home tho!!! I promise we’ll stay quiet

[18:45] Minghao 🍀: Sorry, I thought I replied already.

[18:46] Minghao 🍀: And sure. You know I don’t mind Jeonghan.

[18:46] Minghao 🍀: Thanks for the heads up.

Minghao doesn’t usually answer late, and it’s worrying you a little that it takes him almost four long hours to answer you. Isn’t he working from home today?

You really need to get back to your senses and fix whatever weird situation between you and your roommate. Though, truthfully, you know it’s just you making it weird because Minghao has been acting like usual. The smile he gave you when you both woke up in each other’s arms still haunts you among other things.

And while it’s true you’re not avoiding him, it’s also true you don’t know how to face him after that day.

“When’s Jeonghan picking you up?” Lisa snaps you out of your trance, sipping the last of her coffee. It’s been quite some time since you met up with her, and her text has come right when you need a happy distraction so you’re more than happy to accept the invitation and meet her after work, which is why your hang out with Jeonghan has been pushed accordingly.

It’s the weekend tomorrow, anyway.

“In a bit.” As usual, spending time with Lisa means having a good time. Usually, it’s followed by a good night sleep on your part, but as much as you love spending time with her, the thought of Mingyu, Minghao, and wanting to talk to Jeonghan about them clouds your mind to the point where you’re sure you won’t be having a good night sleep tonight. “He’s stuck in traffic.”

It’s about fifteen minutes later that Jeonghan comes in, and he sits down next to you to talk with Lisa for a bit before you part ways with her. You listen to him talk about work as he drives, offering your thoughts on the matters that you think would help.

When he pulls into Minghao's driveways you stop him from getting off the car, ripping the bandaid with one go because you don’t know how to do it otherwise.

“Me and Minghao kissed last week.”

Jeonghan looks at you wide-eyed, mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the right thing to say.

“Just telling you now because I… well, there’s a chance Minghao might catch it if I tell you later.”

He stares at you in what you’d describe as worry, but before you can ask him to explain, he grabs your hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. “But you’re okay?”

“Somewhat.” You squeeze his hand back. “I’ll tell you everything after dinner.”

Surprisingly, Junhui’s voice greets you the moment you open the door. He’s speaking Chinese, your mind registers, and if his tone indicates anything, he’s upset and he’s nagging. You don’t see Minghao anywhere though, and you find Junhui by himself in the kitchen, hanging up on whoever’s on the other line before he slips his phone back into his pocket.

“Jun?”

“Oh. Hi. Want some soup?” He says like it’s normal that he’s here cooking without the owner of the house.

“What are you doing?”

“Minghao’s down with a high fever.” He shakes his head as he stirs the soup in front of him. “He’s sleeping now.”

Minghao’s sick? Is that why you didn’t see him at all this morning? Why didn’t he tell you, though? You could’ve brought him something had you known.

“Can I… talk to you for a bit?” Junhui asks, his eyes flickering to Jeonghan behind you. The older guy seems to get the message, quickly leaving the kitchen and into the living room before you even answer. “Something happened between you and Hao, huh?”

For all it’s worth, you know Junhui has always been a protective friend. You’ve never been particularly close with him, but he’s close with Mingyu and you know what kinda person Junhui is courtesy of Mingyu’s words. He’s playful and he’s caring. Mingyu used to say Junhui isn’t the kind of person he would want to be enemies with, that he’s glad he’s friends with the older guy.

So to have him look at you with a piercing gaze, it’s hard for you not to deflate under his eyes.

“You don’t need to tell me anything. He didn’t either.” He starts, and then hesitates before he continues. “I… How are you?”

Your eyes prickle with tears at his question, because you know he’s not just asking about you in general. It’s there even if he doesn’t say it outright: how are you coping without Mingyu?

You try your best to blink the tears back, but fail when Junhui reaches out and pats your head. Your palm blocks the sob out of your mouth, and it’s when Junhui says his next words that your sobs turn into pathetic whimpers.

“Don’t think about it too much, okay? I know it’s hard without him. But if there’s anyone who can take care of you like he did… I’m sure he would’ve wanted you to take that chance.”

It’s hard to listen to him and not cry. Not when you know how close Junhui was with Mingyu. They’re not the bestest of friends, but were still close enough to spend nights drinking with each other to talk about life and the problems that came within.

Between all of Mingyu’s friends, you knew Junhui was one of the people he respected most.

“Mingyu used to say you always think about him before anything.” His voice trembles as he says it, and that’s when you realize you’ve only spoken about Mingyu once with him after the whole thing. As much as you’re hurting, you know they are too, to certain points. “But I think… I think it’s okay not to think of him first now. You don’t need to forget him. But try to think of yourself too, alright?”

You nod, not being able to say anything to that. While you haven’t actually dwelled on what you’re feeling for Minghao, it’s true that you’ve always stopped yourself from even thinking about it because of Mingyu. He’d come into your mind everytime Minghao does, and while it helps a little to know that at least you’ve both lost your soulmates, it’s still hard for you to think that you’d be replacing Mingyu somehow.

You don’t want to replace Mingyu.

You don’t want Minghao to be a rebound.

But is he, really?

“I’m not saying you have to decide now whether you want to give Minghao a try or not. But… you deserve another chance at happiness, okay? And whether it's with Minghao or not, I hope you'll take it when the chance presents itself to you.” He whispers softly.

It’d be a lie if you say you’ve never tried to think about Minghao in that light. Because you have, you have since that day you went to the cafe and drew with him. But Mingyu clouds your mind, and a part of you always feels like you’re betraying him and his memories if you even think about being with someone else.

“I promise Mingyu wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from a chance of another happiness.” You cry harder at this, palm still covering your mouth to stop your sob from echoing throughout the house. “I know it’s still hard to accept that Mingyu is no longer here. I know, trust me, I do. I lost my little brother too that day, and if it’s hard for me as a friend, I can only imagine how hard it is for you who lost your soulmate. But you can’t trap yourself in his memories forever, right?”

It’s then that you cry, cry, and cry.

It’s one thing to think to yourself that you’ve lost him, that he’s not with you anymore and there’s nothing you can do about it. But it’s another to hear it from someone else’s mouth right in front of your face.

It reminds you of that night a year and a half ago in the hospital, the words ringing in your head over and over again until it’s the only thing that echoes in your mind.

Mingyu is gone.

He’s gone and he’s not coming back to you.

He can’t come back to you.

No matter how much you’ve cried into your pillow and cursed at the gods to bring him back to you, it’s nothing but a futile attempt because he’s not here.

He’s no longer in this world and your heart still aches everytime you think about the fact that he’s dead and you can’t see him anymore.

What’s the use of having a soulmate if he’s going to leave you first out of nowhere?

What’s the use of having a soulmate when you couldn’t even do anything to protect him from the accident that took his life?

What the fuck is the use of having a soulmate if you’re not going to end up together with him for the rest of your life?

It’s then that Jeonghan rushes to the kitchen, immediately kneeling beside you on the floor because you don’t have any energy to even stand on your feet at this point. You don't even realize you're wailing, your palm doing nothing to help stopping your broken cry.

Jeonghan can't hear anything but your sobs since earlier, but he knows your talk with Junhui is long overdue, which is why he’s been holding himself back from barging in even though he’s been worried. But how can he stay still if he's heard you let out a loud cry followed by a thud?

Junhui follows and kneels next to you, patting your head once again as he wipes your tears to no avail.

“Think about it… okay?”

You’re spacing out as you lean on Jeonghan’s shoulder when Junhui knocks on your door. You’ve spent the last hour telling your best friend everything, from the way you’ve been suppressing your thoughts about Minghao to the talk with Junhui earlier. In a true Jeonghan style, he has offered you a piece of his mind followed by saying he agrees with Junhui though he doesn't fail to remind you to take your time thinking about it.

“Do you mind taking care of Minghao or do you want me to stay over?” It’s almost ten in the evening, you look at the clock on your wall, and you suppose Junhui is trying to figure out if he should go home now or not. “He gets a little needy when he’s sick but doesn’t say anything.”

You look at Jeonghan for some reason, and when he offers you nothing but raised eyebrows, you turn to Junhui and say you’d take care of Minghao for him.

“You sure?” He asks one more time. “I can just stay over if you don’t want to.”

Junhui chooses those words for a reason. He didn’t ask if you can do it, he makes sure to let you know that it’s okay if you don’t want to.

But you do. As much as you’re conflicted, you can’t deny the worry bubbling in your chest the moment you heard Minghao’s down with fever to the point where it's hard for him to even get out of bed.

“I’ll take care of him.” You say with a determined nod, your arm squeezing Jeonghan’s for support.

“Then I’ll trust you with him.” You’re probably looking too much into it. You have no idea if Minghao has confided Junhui in what’s transpired between the two of you, but his words seem to mean more to you regardless of his real intention.

“I’ll take you home then.” Jeonghan surprises you both, patting your cheek before he gently lets go of you. “I don’t think it’s me you need to be with tonight.”

It’s silent once the two went home, and you’re left on your own in the living room. You try to think about your talk with the two men, but your head pounds a little from all the crying. Your eyes are probably puffy too, though at least they’re not red and you probably just need to drink some water to help your headache.

You close your eyes and exhale as you lean your head back against the sofa head. Has it really been one and a half year since you lost Mingyu?

It's funny, grieving. You never really get over it, and as much as you claim you're okay and you've accepted that he's no longer with you, you know you'd never entirely accept that deep down in your heart.

Some days Mingyu doesn't cross your mind at all. Some days you can suddenly cry in between conversations because his name rings across your head for no apparent reason.

Time seems to be too fast and too slow when it comes to memories of Mingyu. You never really thought about finding a new romance before, if only because you live in a world where soulmates exist and Mingyu took your heart with him the moment he left this world.

It must be some sort of twisted fate too for you to find Minghao, another shattered soul whose soulmate left him by choice. As much as it hurt you to lose Mingyu the way you did, you couldn’t imagine how Minghao picked up the pieces of his broken heart because the person who’s supposed to be his forever left him for selfish reasons.

You can’t imagine how his heart can still be as pure as it is with the pain it went through.

While you don’t know yet what exactly went down, what you know for sure is how beautiful of a person Minghao is. He probably knows you’re struggling since the beginning. He’s been considerate in more ways than you could’ve imagined, in his own soft, subtle way to the point where you didn’t realize he’s taking care of you.

It took you quite some time to realize, but it makes sense because you can recognize the pain that flashes through his eyes too from time to time. As two owners of broken fate, it’s not surprising that you recognize one another.

The sound of the door creaking brings you back from your head, and you see Minghao looking a little lost when the door opens, probably wondering why the house is dark and quiet.

“Why are you out of bed?” You scold him softly as you make your way to him. You usher him back to bed, but Minghao insists his body hurts from laying down too much and he needs to stretch a little.

So you make him sit on the sofa instead, which he whines at because it’s not that different, but his heart softens at your concerned whine so he decides entertaining you shouldn’t be too bad even if he feels like walking around the house.

“Drink some water.” You hand him his usual mug, then plops beside him as your palm automatically reaches for his forehead, cheek, and then neck. Minghao doesn’t say anything as he stares at you, though he shivers at your touch because your palm is cold when it meets his skin. “Your fever has gone down, I think."

“Were you worried?” his voice asks softly. Almost hopeful, even. None of you bothers to turn on the lights, though the light peeking from the kitchen helps just enough for you two to see each other albeit dimly.

You think Minghao might be a little delirious, but Junhui did say Minghao gets needy when he’s sick, so you do the least you can do and decide to throw away all of your thoughts for the night. What matters right now is that he’s sick and you want to take care of him.

“I was. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” It’s funny the way you’re both talking like it’s a secret. Your soft voices barely heard throughout the house even though it’s loud enough just for the two of you.

Minghao shrugs, not offering you any explanation. But you see it in his eyes, in the way he hesitates and shakes his head. He probably didn’t think it was okay to tell you.

“Tell me next time, okay? Though it would be better if you don’t get sick again.”

He hums and it’s silent after that. Minghao turns to the window, looking at the dark night outside. “Did Junhui go home?”

“Yeah. I told him I’d take care of you.”

“Did you?” His voice gets even softer when he says this, both hopeful and afraid. But before you can say anything, he cuts you off and asks again. “And Jeonghan?”

“Took Junhui home.” You pause before you continue. Is it a good time to bring it up now? Would it be better to do it when you’re both awake and well? Listen to your heart, okay? It’s okay to put your guard down sometimes. Jeonghan’s words from earlier ring in your head. “Said that it’s not him I need to be with tonight.”

If he’s surprised, Minghao doesn’t show it. But his stare seems to pierce through the dark and you can’t find it in you to look away. Mingyu appears once again in your mind, but you try your best to suppress the thought before you find yourself deep into it.

“Is there anyone you need to be with tonight?”

“Mmh. Maybe.” You try to be nonchalant, very conscious of the way your heart is beating loudly against your chest. You look out the window before you start talking again, a pensive look on your face as you contemplate your words. “It’s weirdly dark tonight, huh?”

Minghao follows your sight and nods, waiting for you to say more. You gather your hair and move them to your right shoulder, and from where he’s at, he can see the black stars peeking behind your left ear.

“It’s Cassiopeia, my mark.” You start, your eyes still locked on the night sky. “I tried looking them up once, but I suppose I’m not smart enough to actually understand the story. Mingyu did though, and he’d pop up a quiz from time to time to see if there’s anything I retain from all the time he babbled about our identical marks.”

He doesn’t know where you’re going with this, but his hand finds yours and he’s glad you don’t pull away, simply holds his hand tighter as if you’re looking for something to keep you going. His heart cracks at your weak smile, but he knows you have more to say and he’s more than willing to listen.

“I ended up liking them though; the celestial objects. The moon, the stars, planets, everything that’s up there in the sky. I found fascination in them and I’d find myself buying stuff with their patterns.”

Minghao can’t see you clearly because of the dark, but he imagines your eyes are watering up by the slight tremble of your voice.

“And then it stopped when Mingyu died. I don’t hate them, but it hurts to see them and… if you remember my drawing those months ago, I suppose that’s why my drawing was so dark even if I did it unconsciously.”

You pause to take a breath, your hand tightens around Minghao’s. “I think he took all the stars with him the night he left. That selfish jerk.”

His heart clenches painfully at your weak chuckle, at the way your hand reaches up to wipe your own tears, and at the way you take a deep breath in determination.

“But… But it’s okay even if we can’t see the stars, right?”

Minghao gapes at his own words from that day you drew together, words that he said without much thought but seems to hit you in ways that he would never imagine. He tightens his grip on you, and then pulls you to his shoulder before taking his turn to speak.

“You probably don’t recognize it. But forsythia is my soulmate mark.” He says as he caresses your knuckle, his mind taking him back to the exact day you referred to just seconds ago. “I knew it took a lot for you to be there. And even though I didn’t know exactly why, I could tell it was hard. But you pulled through and I thought I should do the same. So when you asked me to draw a flower, I knew I had to draw the most beautiful forsythia I could ever draw in my life.”

“I used to hate them, you know?” You can hear him smile even though you’re buried in his shoulder, his arm that has made its way around you pushes you more into himself. “But you saw that drawing like it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. I didn’t think much of it at first, but I saw you carrying around that keyring everyday and it’s… something. I’ve heard a lot of people compliment my works, but I’ve never seen someone appreciate it as much as you do. It wasn’t intentional, but I think you helped me get through it without even meaning to.”

You pull away to look him in the eyes, and for someone who claims you don’t find beauty in stars anymore, you almost want to dive into Minghao’s eyes that seem to twinkle with all the stars Mingyu took with him.

“Do you know what forsythia symbolizes?” You know he’s not expecting you to actually know, so you shake your head and urge him to continue. “Anticipation, apparently. Because they bloom in spring and signal the beginning of one. I’d like to interpret it as the flower of a new beginning.”

You almost cry again at what it implies; at what it can imply not only for him but for the two of you. Is it too early to jump into that? Is it too fast? Weren’t you just crying about Mingyu hours ago?

“We don’t have to figure it out now.” His voice rings through the night, his fingers caress your arm to shield you from whatever’s in the dark of night. “The morning will come eventually even when the night is long, right?”

“Yeah.” You succumb into his embrace as you smile through your tears. But how can you not when Minghao says those words like Mingyu did many nights ago?

“Don’t think about it too much.” He kissed your cheek and hugged you close to his chest, to shut you up more than anything, really. “It’s not like the morning won’t come even if the night is a little too long. Focus on what you have in front of you, instead okay?”

“But what if–”

“No.” He cut you off, his palm covering your mouth as he laughed at your glare. “No what if. Let’s enjoy the night while we’re at it.”

“You sound stupid.” You rolled your eyes in mock annoyance despite the way your heart swelled in affection.

“You love me anyway.” He grinned cheekily, which you laughed at out of embarrassment because if there’s one thing you could never do, it’s to deny your love for him even jokingly.

“Hao?”

“Hm?”

“You’ll hold me through the night, right?”

He smiles like it’s not even a question, his fingers intertwining with yours as if to make a point.

“Yeah.”

“Even if it’s a long one?”

He clasps your hand tighter, his thumb caressing your knuckle.

“Yeah.”

A/N 2: hi!! it's been quite some time since i write anything along this genre. i've always wanted to write soulmate!au and while this isn't exactly heartfluttering like soulmate!au usually is, i hope you enjoyed it one way or another. this fic got longer than i originally planned, but i hope you guys enjoyed it and please do send me your thoughts through anything you're comfortable with. i know it sounds repetitive at this point, but it's truly your feedbacks that keep me goin<3

A/N 3: did any of u guessed gyu di*d btw

permanent taglist: @kyeomjjigae @stantrash171819 @sebongmochi @luveveryonewoo @thinkinboutwonu @kpopjackie @ursweetener @lavenderautumnx @itsveronicaxxx @shuahoshiscoups @sunshinein17 @leechanniee @twogyuu @hoe4wonwoo @h3h3tm0n @noraehey @seokshook @rubyhoons @02psh @just-here-to-read-01 @listxn @janandbeyond @pearlygraysky @baekhyunstruly

also tagging: @joonsytip

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madfantasy · 3 months

Text

Dear blogging

Wish you peace, always. Considering all, it been extra rough. My guardians were sick, and my fragile of a stability was about to break— but it okay now, and the pendulum of consciousness returned swaying in my head.

Somehow in the middle of everything, I was starting to feel okay and accept that this is the best it can get for this non verbal Mani. I honestly I stopped living as if there was tomorrow maybe the majority of 2023, zero drive or hopefulness, and lately started to accept that there's no denying that I'm not made to survive this life, and dropped all pretence that I'm able, set a 5 years counter. Because if mere looking at people's faces distress me so much that I blank out &/or go mute, since childhood, no amount of me forcing myself to watch videos/ pictures over and over can fix that. That's simply how I'm made and I know that now, and in a way it's bringing me peace.

Because I thought I'm bratting when I wore my headphones to cancel out noise that were literally going to drive me insane, or when I couldn't respond to messages knowing that I can articulate deeply in writing but ignoring all the endless times when I simply couldn't, and have forced myself to eat many things that set me days in nausea and abdominal pain while I only enjoy liquids more and get high off of fruits, I love them so much half my OCs are named after some.. and drew.. drew even before I spoke because it was my only outlit to express because how much I'm told I'm like a robot, I'm so expressionless and non reactive and disgustingly literal, even when they actively beat me black Nd blue to stop drawing, I couldn't.. where do you free those emotions when U can, i needed emotion displays and heartfelt trimmers, thrilling or killing, I needed to do them as if my life depended on it, and I haven't realised it back then, but my life was dependent on them, even when I had 'no talent ' , as I have always been told.

(commissioned by precious Julia ♥️🖤)

And besides drawing my needs, I actually, physically, started to feel better when I didn't do what my body said it literally can't do, all my life:

-Walked away from my guardians arguments, my chest stabbing pains became less frequent.

Stopped "practicing" my voice &/or facial expressions, I talk for 2 minutes, immediately my whole face muscles hurt, voice is cracking and gone, I don't feel like my eyebrows hurt as much. I'm okay being the monotone no expresso train c:

-stopped eating what I "don't like" (I mean it's not like I have much choice, but stopped feeling guilty over refusing it cuz food be tight) Nd now I can actually drink more water, and my tummy aches are on lower levels now

-i stopped dealing with Discord, or group chats in general cuz I don't expect accommodation over things I can't deal with. Stopped stressing over doing engaging material that no body seems to care about, cuz I'm not a good judge of demand, or stressing over either I should be thanking everyone who spams me with likes or not, (while I appreciate it to the moon) 90% of the time they don't respond Nd Im forced to think like I've done something wrong. I'm now at more ease with posting — (literally I have to fight the urges to delete my socials daily) just with interacting with who addresses me (I lov U guys sm) and I've been more relaxed from it.

I returned to "speaking in riddles" cuz if I don't use the words my brain spews no matter how weird they R, a tire will pop somewhere on the other side of an AU- idk lo'

-i rock, hum and laugh OUT my maniacal laugh, hard and strong, continued loving and talking to my plushies as I used to do, the easiest thing I could do to feel calmer again. As everyone should do

.. I stopped saying the word sorry. It's a naughty Mani era.

Accepting these facts and many, even with having no will to live had me saner than I ever been, at least I hope so.

I just know that I have a few to be grateful of: that I'm still here somehow, even with my dwindling income, Nd my internet not worth costing 120$± I'm always grateful for the sudden one or two commissions that keeps me here and buys me coffee and pumpkins seeds..

I still struggle horrindously with sleep. But I'm grateful at least I'm at pure ease playing games. Games been my go to media for knowing basically all based on books they were made about, like Severus and Tintin, I still play their ps1 games! Tho I got stuck on this game & their sleep has given me so much ease lo

I'm at my happy place rn, heh.

Bonus panel: ye they R hungry for that SHI- lo 🙈

And an honorary appearance of my OC with Tintin hehe

Stay safe, don't feed the overconsumption machine, don't give up on your heartstrings's stringers, don't worry— there are people who think and feel like you always between the crowds, and I'm thankful that I share the same timeline with you♥️🖤

Sweet dreams 🌃 19.2.2024

#text #drawing journey #non binary artist #on the spectrum #personal

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idolatrybarbie · 8 months

Text

the world tipped on its side

chapter five - satellite

series masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

word count: 5.1k

rating & summary: explicit | you reflect on the concept of love.

warnings: smut, swallowing like a champ, references to past physical injury, reference to frigid parent dynamics, dead parents, reader has a disability, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, emotionssss, pathetic!frankie moments.

notes: @wannab-urs gin hurt my feelings so now everyone must suffer next chapter but enjoy this while we're here. i kind of think this is trash garbo but (at the time of queuing this) i'm in a weird headspace coming back home for the first time. also it's late and i've been traveling all day so i'm choosing to ignore myself. goodnight and enjoy.

Friendship. That’s what this is.

Friendship with a man who called you the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Said that you’re so beautiful it’s scary. Who you had just sex with.

You don’t see much of Frankie on set, except for the few chaste and directive conversations between you, himself, and Ashton. In those moments, the very last thought on your mind is whatever is going on with you and him. It’s work, that’s the priority. Not that you give a shit about the movie, but it’d be nice if everyone wrapped and returned home in one piece.

Every time you try and talk to him, someone else pulls you away. This goes on for the first two days of filming in the woods. You don’t know what this is—this pull that keeps you circling him, even if you never quite seem to gain on Frankie in the chase. The sun and moon, bouncing light between each other at all times. You’re trying to figure out which role you are playing.

You catch him in a personal moment on day four, just getting off the phone with someone behind a production trailer. He looks momentarily startled, but not deterred by your presence. A good sign.

“Hey,” Frankie says. He sounds exactly like he did over the phone.

“Hi,” you return. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Yeah. I figured,” he says. “I mean, me too. Just with the—” He’s motioning vaguely at the helicopter parked thirty feet from you.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I don’t want to do it here. Maybe you could come over, or…”

“I’ve got my daughter this week,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Oh, shit. Right. I’m sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be. Things are just really…tight right now. Time-wise.”

The pager at your hip buzzes. Ashton calling everyone back to set.

“I’ll call, okay? I promise,” Frankie says. The words make your chest cold and you hate it. This is selfish, surely. The man has a kid, for crying out loud. Who are you to deny or resent dad duty?

But you do. At this moment, you really do, wishing that the small being he has called his pride and joy would cease to exist for an evening. It’s horrible, so you nod and that's that. Back to work you go.

You wait until the end of the week. Frankie does not call. You hate, hate that you’ve been reduced to the girl in movies that would pine over the phone and wait for that special boy to call. Because really, are any of them all that special? Is Frankie?

Sure, he touched you and it felt like a match to your insides, but does that mean anything? You’re out of practice. He’s the first person to pay you any mind in that way since you became disabled. The more you think about it, really think about it, the more the argument for Frankie Morales falls apart.

Mia comes over on a night where missing Sam makes her heart ache a little too much to be alone, bringing with her a shitty bottle of rosé. You’re half a glass deep when she starts to ask that needling question, What’s wrong? And finishing the bottle by the time you sigh as an answer to her asking for the millionth time. You agreed to be open after the—spat? Blowup? Long overdue reuniting best friend fight?—but it still takes some time. She is prying open a mussel to find a very shitty prize.

“It’s stupid,” you say. “I’m stupid.”

“You’re not, and it isn’t,” Mia says, a frown on her face. Your lips stay sealed in a pout and she turns on those evil, adorable eyes. “Tell me.”

You hold out for about five minutes, some action flick moving quietly across your flat screen before you finally give in.

“Jesus! Fine,” you relent. “It’s like being waterboarded.”

Mia grins with satisfaction before her face snaps back to sober (as much as one can be after a whole bottle of wine) seriousness. “Spill.”

“You’re going to say it’s dumb,” you say.

“You’re projecting.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I slept with Frankie.” A bomb explodes on screen, illustrating what is most certainly happening inside Mia’s skull at this very moment. “Yeah…”

“Was it good?”

“Mia!” you scold, swatting at her knee.

“Hey! You can’t blame me for asking. I love Sam but I have eyes,” she says. “He reminds me of all the guys we went to school with that have photos with fish on their Tinder profiles.”

“You’re terrible,” you sigh.

“You know it, baby,” she smiles. “So you slept together. What next?”

“We haven’t talked about it.”

Mia holds her tongue for a moment, trying to formulate this sentence in the least explosive way possible. “Do you want to?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say.

“I have to ask. You’re not exactly the talk it out type of person anymore,” Mia says.

Ignoring that, you say, “He’s busy. I’m busy. I hate it.”

“Call him,” Mia tries.

“Did that. Not really an over-the-phone kind of conversation,” you say.

Mia hums thoughtfully. “Okay, well. Try it out with me first.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re going to say to him, say it to me. I know exactly where your mind is going with this—oh no, he has no time for me. Is it even worth discussing this matter that is very important to me if I project unimportance from the other party onto my feelings?"

You don’t say anything, willing another bottle of wine to appear next to the empty one on the coffee table.

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong. It’s what you do,” Mia says, confidence in the way she straightens up against the couch. And she isn’t wrong, but maybe you aren’t either. Frankie isn’t her. Frankie isn’t your best friend. He’s friendly, and you fucked.

“Okay, fine,” you say. You focus in on Mia’s eyes, imagining a different pair of them staring back at you. “I just—I want to tell you that what happened…was a first. In a long while. And I don’t know how to say it like a normal goddamn person, but—”

You can’t focus, words flying out of your mouth too fast for your tipsy brain to keep up. Your feelings are a jumble in your head, a vintage game of Scrabble lost to time. Mia’s not Frankie either. You’d have to explain it and provide all this context that you can’t even put words to for her to understand. For this to feel any ounce of real. Frankie would simply get it. But he won’t, because at this rate you’ll never get to tell him.

“I don’t know,” you sigh.

“Well I can’t make you do anything. I know you, and you’ll do what you think is best. Even if you know the alternative might be better,” Mia says. You can’t help but laugh. “I kind of get it, how your dad felt? When we were at school.”

The mood turns. Not sour, not quite the same. Your living room has a palpable edge ebbing through it now, carried through the occasional waft of alcohol between you, Mia, and the open, empty bottle.

“Do you remember him when we were in college?” you ask, voice quiet.

“Your dad? Of course. He was so, I don’t know—hands-on? He was around way more than my parents were,” Mia says.

He showed up every third weekend of the month with a few containers of leftovers; macaroni pie, frozen meatloaf and mashed potatoes, fresh tomatoes from his garden.

A man who only softened when you elected to up and leave. A man you resented until the day he died. A man you still resent, deep down in your soul. Yet you miss him.

The first time your heart’s been activated in years to throw you off assured feet and your first instinct is to run home to Dad. He lingers in your car, in the way you hold the gravy boat at Mia’s Thanksgiving dinners; his gloves are what you wore in the months of a tiresome film shoot amid an unending New York blizzard.

You hate him. He loved you. For the sixth time this week, you ponder driving home to clean up his grave. You can’t right now, because of work. Maybe when the summer’s over. The leaves will have started to fall. The headstone could use a good power wash.

“Where’d you go?” Mia asks.

“Hm?”

“You disappeared on me for a second,” she says.

“Thinking,” you say.

“Mm, don’t do too much of that. You’ll break your brain.”

“Already broken.”

“That’s too bad,” Mia smiles. “Had some pretty great thoughts sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“All the time,” she corrects. Mia gets off the couch, taking a minute to steady herself. “I’m calling a ride.”

“Excellent idea,” you nod. “See? Look at you. Responsible, quick-witted. You can do the thinking for the both of us.”

“Slow your roll, Romeo,” Mia cautions, staring into her phone. She looks up at you. “The night is still young. I’m only going home because you’re dry.”

“There’s a reason you keep alcohol at your place and I don’t,” you say. There have been some days, far behind you now, where you might’ve just drank the pain away. Certainly not the way to go.

She leaves you with another laugh and a smile, promising to text you when she gets home. The apartment stills as soon as the door shuts. You almost open it again, reaching for the knob to lean out into the hall and call Mia back. You don’t, instead letting the quiet envelope you. This doesn’t feel the same as the loneliness that would lurk in the shadowy corners of the room. Your lamps finally feel tall enough to reach those spots, dawning light on them and banishing the feeling.

You let yourself sit with it. Not lonely but alone. This isn’t permanent and it’s not a death sentence, as uncomfortable as it feels right now. Mia is there, along with an assortment of friends whose names you’ll have to dust the cobwebs off of soon. Even if Frankie never calls, you’ll be okay. A bittersweet realization for this dull and itching moment.

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you pass the bathroom, you pause. You watch yourself, not in judgment like the last time. Plain observation. You blink three times in one minute before moving on.

It’s odd, looking without really looking. You’ve oscillated between dissection and avoidance of yourself for the last handful of years. This is a new skill to build. Look, there she is. A blink in passing.

Wherever you go, there you are. Get used to it.

Back on the studio lot for the rest of the week, you don’t see Frankie. The occurrence becomes less and less significant as the days pass. You almost delete his number from your phone altogether. Almost.

At lunch, you go through your phone to his contact, finger hovering over the trash button. In the end, you decide against it. It’s a number you might need for work. It’d be a pain in the ass to have to go down to payroll for his contact information—like you don’t have the digits memorized. Mia joins you at some point, minutes blurring together as you eat in pleasant silence.

Shooting goes over almost two hours because of rain leaking through the roof onto a set piece. You get home close to midnight. The street lamps bathe everything in a warm glow. Puddles have collected in the divets of the road, water reflecting the artificial light alongside the cold moon.

The elevator ride up to your floor should be like any other. Your instincts know better. Watching the digital numbers change as the metal box ascends, your stomach flips in your gut. You’ve always been acutely aware of the environments you found yourself in, bullshit meter finely tuned to warn you when shit was about to hit the fan.

It’s an instinct your father grew and nurtured in childhood. Because of him, all hard edges and unreachable wells of emotion. He was iced over solid. You found yourself carefully skating over that surface, around and around again for years until you left.

When the elevator doors open, you half-expect to see him standing there. Risen from the grave like a corpse from your dreams. The wall of shiny metal parts into two, and you see someone. Not your father. The breath caught in your throat flashes from crisp to boiling, a tube of Icy Hot slathered across your lungs.

You’ve never told Frankie where you live. So what is he doing here?

Before you’ve even made it to your door, you ask him.

“Thought I’d missed you,” he supplies as an explanation. “Or that you were ignoring me from inside.”

“I can ignore you from outside, too,” you say, setting your bag down. Taking keys from your back pocket, you avert your eyes as you get a grasp on the one for your front door.

“Listen,” he begins, watching as you turn the lock. “I—”

“Look, Frankie. I don’t have time for this. Or you, or your games.” Turning the handle of the door and pushing it open, you grab your things and step inside your apartment. “You said you’d call. You didn’t. End of story.”

“The phone works both ways,” he says. You try not to be shocked at the audacity.

“Well this,” you say, pointing between the two of you, “doesn’t.”

You’re shutting the door when he gently rests a hand on the reinforced wood.

“Please just—let me explain?” Frankie asks. You don’t close the door but don’t open it any wider for him. At that, he says, “Thank you.”

Glancing behind you to find the living room clock, you say, “You’ve got two minutes.” Two minutes to midnight.

“I wanted to call, but I—” Frankie cuts himself off. “I was a coward and that’s not fair to you. I’m sorry. I don’t usually feel this way about people. Not in a long time.”

His words are scratching at your heart. You hold your steely gaze against him, ignoring your insides slowly melting behind the door.

“I really like you. More than I’ve liked anybody. More than I like myself most days. That night in Florida was confusing for me. You wanted me there, and I wanted you. And then you said it was scary and I realized just how terrifying it is. This is.” Frankie takes a breath. “I didn’t want this to be weird. Didn’t want to box you into a corner with all of this shit I’m feeling because that isn’t fair and—”

He’s been avoiding focusing on you, instead staring at the nice tile scuff between the doorway and his boot. Frankie looks up, words playing straight on his face. He looks like he’s seen a ghost when all he’s looking at is you.

“And now I’m some fucker on your doorstep begging you to listen to me tell my sob story.” From the sounds of it, that’s the last thing he wants.

“Sometimes things don’t work out. That’s life,” you say. You’re telling yourself that this is the smart decision. Ice him out and your heart stays safely in your chest. Close the door and he’ll forget all about you.

Frankie’s eyes are wide, expression raw. He isn’t observing or puzzling over you, he’s barely hiding anything on that face of his. Frankie is bleeding emotion all over your door. You want to take him in your hands and kiss it better. Lick the gore from his mouth, words crimson and dripping off his chin.

So you do.

Setting your bag down in the corner, you open the door wider to see all of him. He stands tall, all broad shoulders under his slubby blue button-down. You’re kissing Frankie before you can consider anything else. He takes ahold of the frilly sleeves of your blouse to pull you closer.

Licking at your teeth, Frankie walks you backward into the apartment. The door is still open. You maneuver around and press your back against it, closing with a thud. He breaks the kiss to murmur another apology against your cheek. You let him, pushing your tongue back into his mouth again.

Gripping the hair that sticks out at the nape of his neck, Frankie moans into the kiss.

“Are you—? Can we?” he asks, whisper-quiet. “Should we?”

No. Yes? You aren’t sure that it matters much anymore. “Do you want to?”

“Always.”

“Okay.”

The kiss is gentler from there on, moving through the front hall and living room with Frankie attached to your face. He almost trips himself taking his boots off. You both make it to the bed, thighs catching at the edge of the mattress. Lying down, he joins you. This is immediately better than that shitty motel, and you haven’t done anything yet.

Frankie moves onto his side, distracted by your lips as he works at the front zipper of your pants. You move your hand to join his, pulling the silver tab down over metal teeth like you’ve done a couple hundred times by now. He huffs in a wordless thanks, pushing your pants down until they are bunched at your ankles. You toe them off along with your socks, leaving you in nothing but underwear from the waist down.

He’s looking at you like an eclipse, utterly fascinated. You begin to shrink in on yourself under his gaze, but he gently runs the pads of his fingers over your cheek. You lean into the warm touch, three matches dragging against your skin to set your face alight.

Frankie kisses down your body, undoing a few of the buttons that sit over your chest. He doesn’t take the shirt off of you, instead pushing it up as his lips kiss over your stomach. You jerk, the soft feeling sending a jolt through your body.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please touch me.” You hate that you’re begging, but love to hear yourself do it.

Frankie does too, moving his mouth over you as he keeps your underwear on. He licks at you over the lycra material, soaking the already damp fabric where your clit sits beneath it. Dipping his tongue low against the gusset, he slips two fingers under your waistband and tugs it away from your skin. The panties peel off of you.

Frankie bunches them in his hand, leaving them beside him on the bed. Without warning, he’s on you again—really this time. He licks at your cunt fervently, like this is the last chance he’ll get to give head. You close your eyes and pull his head closer to your body, small moans slipping past your lips.

This is still a bit of an apology. The thought comes to you amidst your fuzzy haze as you drip onto his tongue. Frankie groans below you, taking your right thigh in one hand and hoisting it onto his shoulder. He’s attached to you again, a different set of lips.

Most of his attention is focused on your clit, his tongue swirling at it between moments when he presses it flat against the whole of you.

“You’re always so sweet for me,” Frankie mumbles. “Wet and pretty. D’you like it when I fuck you with my mouth?”

“Yes, fuck—always,” you sigh.

Dragging him up by the hair, you kiss him again. You need to before you say something stupid. One hand is held softly at your jaw while Frankie’s other hand works you over, pressing hard against your clit.

“God.” Your heart is racing underneath your skin, beating too fast to be quite comfortable.

Frankie’s so close and everything smells like him. Frankie and sex; two things this room has never been exposed to in your tenure here. You should make a candle.

You scratch at his chest, half-hoping to draw a bit of blood as you whine his name.

“Yeah honey? That good? Nice and slow, or—?”

You nod and he slips a finger inside of you, pressing against the front wall of your pelvis. This returns you to begging for more, for anything. For him.

At the edge of an orgasm, Frankie’s fingers leave you in search of a condom. You reach out to the drawer of your bedside table, yanking it forward. Amongst a stash of pens, sticky notes, and batteries is a handful of them. Frankie takes one and opens it up, sliding the latex over his cock. One day, you’ll get your mouth on that thing. Right now you both have other plans.

He works his hand over himself a couple of times before sinking onto the mattress with you. His arms cage you in at either side as he slides in slowly. He’s only halfway inside you when you nod to yourself, a hum barely audible.

“What?” he asks.

“Noting that you’re a missionary type of guy,” you say.

That pulls a laugh from him, morphing into a squeezed moan as you hook one leg over Frankie’s hip. He’s pushed the rest of the way inside of you, breathing heavily at the surprise.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Would that be so bad this way?” you ask. It’s hard to keep up the sarcastic banter when you’re so full of him.

Frankie sighs. “No.” The word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips, the force moving you up the bed half an inch.

What you would give to have him fuck you into the headboard; pound you into the mattress. He can’t, shouldn’t, and seems to know it already. Frankie grants you your wish of laying on you though. Just lightly, a feather of a man on top.

Frankie’s cock kisses the end of your cunt before he pulls out again. You hold onto him, pressing him closer as you keep your face in the shadow of his neck. Picturing the scene, pants off and shirts on, almost makes you laugh. Another punch of his hips fucks the thought from your head as you sink your teeth into his skin. Frankie hisses, losing his rhythm with a slight stutter.

“Do that again,” he says, waiting. You do, kissing at the tender skin of his throat this time before you bite him. The flesh between your teeth is soft and elastic, pulling away from his body.

In Frankie’s absence, your appetite has grown. Maybe that’s what it is: starvation. Waiting for days to get your fill once again. You need him inside you—in your cunt, under your skin, between your teeth. You would devour him if he’d let you.

“You feel so fucking good.” His words come slow, contrasting the small gasps he pulls from you on every thrust, leaving you breathless. Frankie is holding you in almost a cradle now. Claustrophobia settles between your bodies deliciously, the world shrinking down to a pinhole as he fucks you.

It doesn’t quite feel like fucking, though. The way Frankie touches you is too soft in some places, and the way he’s looking at you is killer. His eyes flash with that unexplainable thing, stirring your stomach as you feel your peak again. This is a murder. He’s returning the favour.

The next kiss Frankie gives you is bruising. The heat of your skin against his boils over, the oxygen blur caused by your faulty lungs and the slap of his hips against yours doing you in. You come with a groan, panting into his mouth as he continues to thrust into you.

“So pretty when you come,” he says beside your ear. “So pretty always, sweet thing.”

He pulls out of you, jerking himself off through the condom over your body. You shake your head, removing the thin piece of rubber. You pick up where he left off, spitting on him and stroking Frankie’s cock with the tight circle of your hand.

“Fuck,” he moans, long and loud. “Honey, slow down. Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth.” Testing, you give him a kitten lick at the tip of his dick.

“Oh god.”

You shake your head. “Just me.”

He comes with a few more strokes, striping your tongue, your lips, your chin. You let him go to gather it from your skin onto your fingers. It’s only a little shiny here in the half-dark. You can feel Frankie watching when you press your index past your lips, tasting more of him.

He groans. Again, he says, “You’re gonna kill me.”

Frankie lays down on the empty side of the bed. You brace for his after-sex questionnaire, but the conversation never comes. He rolls onto his side to face you, slipping his arms around your torso as you face away from him.

Eventually he asks, “You still like me being here? Now that it’s here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Florida, it’s a vacation. This is a little more…” Permanent. Memorable.

Whenever you went home for the summer, your childhood bedroom plagued you with thoughts and memories long buried of your amateur firsts. Your brain still sort of worked like that—you’re sure that if you went back to your old unit in California, the handful of PAs and dolly grips you spent nights with would be one of the first things on your mind.

“Yeah,” you say, answering the question. “This is better.”

“Better?”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you mumble into the pillow.

“Too late,” Frankie says.

You sigh. “How can you be the coolest guy ever and an absolute donut at the same time?”

“You think I’m cool?” he asks.

Unlike him, you’re honest. “Unfortunately.”

Frankie hums, the rumble of his chest sinking into the bones in your spine easily.

This is all easy. Listening to him breathe, letting him in your space, falling asleep against him. If you weren’t so thoroughly fucked and tired, the simplicity would freeze you, desperate to scramble away. All you can do is lay there, falling asleep in his arms.

When you wake up, Frankie’s gone. Again.

Something painful seizes your chest, an icy claw poking razor-sharp fingers through the slats in your ribs. The sheets on the empty side of the bed still have the faint glow of body heat. He must’ve left recently, or maybe he’s still up. You can catch him before he puts his boots on and walks out your front door—out of your apartment, out of your life.

Franke interrupts your thoughts when he returns to your room, a mug in his hand.

“Did I wake you?” he asks. His morning voice is low and gravelly. A feast for the ears.

“No,” you shake your head. “I thought you left.”

“Moved my boots. They were getting dirt on your nice carpet.” Right. You remember him leaving them somewhere in your apartment. “I made coffee.”

“I’m okay.” You let your breathing even out as he sits back down on the bed with you. “We should…talk.”

“That’s all we ever do,” Frankie says. “Well, that and…” The other thing you two are so proficient at these days.

“I mean really talk. About this,” you say.

“Right,” he nods. Frankie sets his mug down, steam rising from the top. “I guess I do owe you a secret.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“It doesn’t,” he agrees. “I want to tell you.”

When you told him about the accident, about everything that changed, you’d handed him this soft and precious thing of yours that no one else had ever seen. With the roles reversed, your palms itch. You can’t help but think that you’ll drop his.

“But you have to promise me something first,” Frankie says. “Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay? Please.”

“Okay.”

A long moment of silence draws on between the two of you as he stares at your bed sheets. Frankie’s mouth twitches, filtering through his vocabulary to find the right words. Then finally, he speaks.

He tells you about a region in South America called Tres Fronteras. About a phone call, a decision, a heist. The money, most of it lost to the unforgiving land and sea. Frankie lost a friend, a wife, and a life he was trying to carve out for himself. All for riches that were never going to be his.

“I killed people. I was good at it—that and flying planes. And then all of that ended with the service. For a while there I was…a bit of a trigger-happy coke head,” he says, almost rolling his eyes. Frankie can’t seem to look at you, the same way he couldn’t in the hall. “Took a long time to clean up my act.”

You understand what he meant on that beach, an apology waiting behind your teeth as you keep your eyes on him. You don’t verbalize it. Instead, you take his hand into yours. Gently, you squeeze.

“I guess you aren’t the only one squirrely about secrets,” Frankie whispers.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Frankie surrenders, face drawn when he meets your eyes.

“That’s not the person you’ve shown me. It’s not the guy that I see. We change. For worse or for better.”

You would be lying if you said that his admissions don’t unsettle you; that this is an easy pill to swallow. But you know him. You want him. He and you are cut from the same cloth in the end. This changes nothing.

“Which one do you think you are?” he asks.

“Worse.” But that can change. Is changing, even as you sit here.

“And me?”

At that, you smile. “Better.”

You want to tell him that the promise of seeing him had been one of the only things getting you through the slow, thick haze of summer. That the thought of him never calling was a little devastating, no matter how sad that sounds. You miss his touch and want his eyes on you always. You’ve never had such a quick turnaround in opinion about anything. It’s selfish, really.

“I’m kind of a bad person,” he says slowly. It’s half warning, half realization.

“Good and bad are concepts from make-believe. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“So what do you worry about?” Frankie asks.

“Reality,” you say. “My whole life is centered around making other people believe in something fake. Concentrating on what’s real? That’s been keeping me sane lately.”

Mia’s words. Frankie’s attention. That tangible feeling of warmth, different but the same, when you are around both of them.

“And you’re real,” you say before he can ask. “A bit of a fuck up, but so am I.”

“That must be why we get along,” Frankie says.

“Must be.”

You want to add you’ll be okay to that list of real things. You need it. You’d kill for it. Silently, with your head against the pillow, you make a decision.

tags: @wannab-urs / @anoverwhelmingdin / @iamskyereads / @for-a-longlongtime

#pedrostories #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal fanfiction #fic: the world tipped on its side

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klausysworld · 1 year

Note

Hey…. So would you be into writing something where reader is with Klaus and she’s pacing outside of his study, he knows reader is there as this is not the first time and he knows to just let it be. Reader then walks into the study finding Klaus at his desk. Reader start rambling about how amazing there sex life is… reader blurts out that she wants him to bite/feed from her next time they have sex

Bite me

I paced the length of the hall continuously, i must have gone past Klaus’s study nearly 50 times. I don’t even know why i’m nervous. I’m sure he’d probably love to feed from me but he hasn’t ever seemed to actually want it. What if he thought it was weird that i would want that?

Eventually i decided to just walk in, i closed the door behind me and looked directly at Klaus. I smiled anxiously and watched as he leant forward in his seat, an invitation for me to begin.

“something’s on your mind love, what is it?” he questioned tilting his head slightly

“well- i was just think…about us. Nothing bad, actually good things, very good things. Like um when we uh”

“is this about sex love?”

“yes! and you are phenomenal at it, so so great, i mean really fucking great but i was just thinking like, what if we tried something? something um fun? no- not fun as in what we do isn’t fun, i mean different! like uh like you could um…” i struggled to physically say the right words as i suddenly felt very hot and my eyes remained on the ground

“y/n…if there’s anything you want you mustn’t be embarrassed to ask for it, i would gladly give you whatever you wish, especially for your pleasure” he said softly yet suggestively standing up and walking towards me before resting his large hands on my shoulders

“i want you to bite me” i blurted blinking in surprise at my own choice of words. He stared straight back at me also some what shocked

“bite you?” he questioned

“like feed from me…during….” he stayed stood there emotionless for another minute and i sighed slightly

“i’m sorry- i’m just having a weird day so i’ll just stop and get going back to um my… day” i began to leave but his grip tightened and he took a step closer. He leant down slightly and pressed his pink lips to mine, he sucked lightly on my lower lip his teeth just scraping against it making me whimper into his mouth. He pulled away just enough so our lips were barely touching

“you want me to bite you love? want me to drink from your pretty neck?” he husked dropping his head to nestle the area. His tongue darted out to dance across my throat, i brought my hands up to him, one holding his head close to me and the other gripping his back. Excitement rushed straight to my core as his teeth nipped at the skin. When open mouthed kisses became love bites being sucked into my delicate skin i couldn’t help but let out a desperate moan. His hands were running up and down my body leaving a trail of fire in their path.

“now i know why your so sensitive when i touch your delicate throat, poor love just wanted me to drain you didn’t you?” i nodded rapidly trying to push his head back to the crook but he continued to pull away making me whine and rest my head against his shoulder

“need you to klaus, please” i muttered letting my hands slide down his body, i rubbed down his chest to his abs before tracing his v-line through his henley, his jeans hung low on his hips allowing me to feel his godly sculpted body. I clenched my thighs together feeling between my legs ache. My fingers played with his belt as i locked gazes with him. His pupils were fully dilated as he helped me undo the buckle before tossing the leather accessory to the floor and tugging my top off of my arms.

I sighed when the cool air surrounded my now hardening nipples, i hadn’t been wearing a bra today as i was just lounging around the house and i now thanked myself silently. Klaus groaned and his hands immediately cupped my breasts, he gave a light squeeze leaning down and licking across the swell of them. He took my nipple inside his hot mouth having his eager tongue playing with the sensitive bud. I leant my head back and my hands went back to his hair holding him in place. He quickly swapped to the other side and used his index and thumb to keep the already stimulated one happy. His teeth grazed at my skin and i let out a gasp. I cast my eyes down meeting his gaze, veins under his gold eyes as his now sharp fangs pressed against me. I nodded my head with a breathy ‘yes’ and he sunk them into my breast. I moaned out right at the new sensation. The strangely euphoric feeling had my heat pulsing.

“fuck i need you to feed from my neck. Please Klaus, please” i whined and he reluctantly pulled away not before licking up any remaining blood. He trailed opened mouth kisses back up to where my shoulder met my neck. He gave it a simple kiss before pulling away from me completely. I groaned annoyed and watched the amused glint in his eyed while he tapped his fingers on my neck

“klaus just do it” i huffed

“what if i don’t want to?”

“i’ll ask Kol to do it, i’m sure he’d be happy to” His eyes grew dark at that

“he’d kill you”

“how about Elijah then?”

“he wouldn’t” i raised a daring brow and grabbed my shirt from the floor slipping it back on before making my way back out the room.

Obviously i didn’t ask Elijah but it was fun seeing Klaus growl every time i spoke to him, for the rest of the day i was followed by a temperamental, childish 1000 year old hybrid.

Now lead in bed he stayed turned away from me making me roll my eyes and shift towards him

“klaus don’t be a baby because you were a dick” i mumbled and he growled as he pulled the covers further over himself

“this is cute but you wanna turn around now?” i asked sarcastically, great he’s ignoring me

“i wouldn’t have actually asked one of your brothers, i don’t trust them enough or like them enough” i whispered harshly. He turned back around and looked to me with that sad little betrayed look on his face

“you and Elijah are perfectly good friends, you like him plenty” he murmured

“yes i like him as a friend, i don’t like you as a friend though do i?”

“that’s not very nice”

“oh god you’re pathetic” i sighed and wrapped an arm around him pulling him closer to me and rubbing his back

“i’m so very sorry that i hurt your feels by leaving you in the middle of your teasing” he snuggled a little closer and i rolled my eyes despite the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“i love you, even though you’re moody” i whispered

“i love you” he whispered back as he rolled on top my body. Immediately i could feel his hard on against my thigh

“really?”

“you left me earlier you can’t expect it to just go away” he whined

“you were upset because i left you alone and horny?”

“i was upset because you left to go speak to my brothers”

“while you were horny”

“while i was craving the one i love”

“uhuh so ho-“

“shut up” he grumbled as he traced my neck with his teeth

“we can try this properly now” he uttered as his fangs sunk into my skin with a groan

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shveris · 10 days

Text

choita, featuring trans!choso but in a way you wouldn’t expect

warnings: blood as lube, masturbation, incest, underage, minor manga spoilers i think??

since the death wombs are basically past sorcerers, reincarnated into new bodies with the help of kenny, i can imagine choso’s utter confusion when the vessel of flesh he now inhibits has a penis. it’s weird, it’s new. he doesn’t mention it when he happens to be alone with his “father”

in the past, when he was born, he remembered his “father” being slightly disappointed by the fact that his perfect first attempt of a human-cursed spirit hybrid wasn’t a boy. boys and men were strong, physically and mentally — at least that’s where society at that point in time was standing at.

girls and women though? weak, emotional, fragile bodies that could snap under a tad of too much pressure.

but kenjaku was determined to make the best out of it, not wanting his almost perfect first attempt to go to waste.

therefore choso was raised as a boy. the training was rough and on good days his “father” let him onto the sparring grounds without the bandages around his chest, which usually kept his plump breasts tightly confined — he could breathe better, move around freely, have his back straight without the harsh pressure on his lungs and rib bones prodding into his organs.

so now he had none of those worries, the body he was now inhabiting the apparent picture of what kenjaku had always wanted from the firstborn.

choso didn’t complain, though, he just wished it came with some sort of instructions. especially when he woke up one morning, around half a moon into staying with yuuji in what was once shibuya, with the appendage between his legs rock hard and rushing with his cursed blood.

his little brother was laying a few meters away from him on the carpeted ground of a hotel hallway they’ve been camping in, sleeping soundly, curled up on himself.

choso was on the verge of panicking, the ache in his lower body almost unbearable and the fabric of his undergarments felt good and weirdly overbearing at the same time. beads of sweat were forming on his flushed skin while he debated what to do.

“yuuji?” his brother stirred, sensing the agitated waves in choso’s cursed energy. the raven swallowed hard, feeling bad for waking up the young boy from sleep he so desperately needed.

yuuji shot up after a few seconds, mind immediately jumping to “emergency” but when his honey eyes set on choso, the alertness on his face was overwritten with confusion: “huh?”

“i- i’m sorry but- something’s wrong. with my body”, choso had never felt this helpless and pathetic. he was supposed to be a guiding light for his brothers, letting them watch him go downhill so they could walk a path without failure.

yuuji slowly crawled to him, hands and knees rubbing on the dusty red carpet. he took in choso’s body in the dim light, scanning him for injuries or other oddities. the crease between his brows was deep: “what do you mean?” choso swallowed, hard, shifting in his spot, and slowly opened his legs to reveal a tent.

“why is it like this? what do i do? is this bad?”, he shifted again, noted how the friction of something moving against it felt nice, “i don’t- my original body didn’t-“ he stopped his bad attempt at trying to explain, only drinking in yuuji’s expression. the boy was absolutely flabbergasted and just stared at the twitching thing.

“uhm, is this a joke?” yuuji looked up at him after a few seconds of utter silence. choso was almost offended at the question: “hah?! yuuji, my dearest brother, does this look like a joke to you?” the raven swiftly undid his robes and awkwardly tugged his undergarments down to his thighs. the chill air hitting the genital made him hiss quietly.

“it looks different too!”, he stated in panicked confusion, pointing at the angry red the head was spouting. when he raised his head to look at yuuji, he saw pure shock on the boy’s face — chin dropped to expose his open mouth, eyes wide. that certainly did not help choso’s state of mind. was he about to die?

“choso you- you can’t just- what the fuck.” choso let out a strangled sound of sheer terror and that finally seemed to snap something inside yuuji into place. the sorcerer ran his fingers through his hair, combing them back so they wouldn’t sit on his forehead anymore. he took a few deep breaths and choso could see the cogs inside his brother’s head turn.

“first of all, you’re fine, your body’s fine, okay?”, yuuji finally looked at choso’s face again and the raven slowly nodded, “and second of all, you’re hard. it’s normal, just means you’re, uhm, horny?” now, why did yuuji sound so unsure again?

“what’s… ‘horny’?”, choso carefully asked, still not used to the modern world’s vocabulary. he’d learned quite a bit from mahito and kenny’s conversations but this was the first time he’d heard that specific word.

yuuji groaned, head in hands, sounding clearly frustrated. he murmured something along the lines of “this is not happening right now” and “i did not sign up for this” before he made eye contact with his brother once more.

“you’re aroused. some hormone stuff, i don’t know man. some times you just wake up with a morning wood”, yuuji explained and something inside choso clicked into place.

oh.

“oh…” heat rushed into the raven’s head in the speed of light, tinting his cheeks and ears in a bright red. the mark on his face began dripping with blood slowly but he barely noticed it, eyes still holding onto yuuji who was now looking at his face with raised brows.

when he was still in his original body, choso rarely felt aroused. and even when he did, he never did more than shoving his hand into his undergarments to carefully feel the tips of his fingers against the wetness between his legs.

“what- what do i do now? does it go away on its own?” he didn’t know why he was whispering, probably because the embarrassment inside him was overwhelming his usual stern self with an immense power. he saw yuuji swallow heavily: “rub it out. take a cold shower. think about gross things.”

choso scrunched his nose unconsciously, the last two options didn’t sound too appealing — showering wasn’t even an option since running water was rare in the current state of shibuya — and “rub it out” didn’t help him further. what was he supposed to rub, his penis? and what was “it”?

“what if i just… go back to sleep?”, he asked before lowering his gaze to look at the situation. the boy sighed in defeat: “it’ll start to hurt if it doesn’t go down on its own.” choso hummed and slowly raised his hand to poke the side of it.

“feels weird, i don’t know, brother”, the half-cursed one stated, lips curled up in discomfort. when he raised his head again, yuuji was massaging the bride of his nose.

“oh my god”, the boy whispered, probably to himself, “wrap your whole hand around it. move it up and down slowly.” choso let out a loud breath through his nose before doing as told. it felt… good? and very warm. he wasn’t sure. it was different, odd to say the least.

“i feel stupid”, he announced and let go, hand clasping and unclasping a few times midair.

yuuji was about to lose it.

he sighed, loud and a bit too exaggerated. the ravenette watched in awe as yuuji sat up on his knees and undid his pants before taking them off completely. then he discarded his boxers, threw them to the side unceremoniously. he changed from kneeling to sitting crisscrossed, mirroring choso’s position.

“if we’re doing already anyways…”, the boy muttered, apparently still talking to himself as if he was grounding his own turbulent thoughts. he caught choso’s eyes staring at his half-hard dick and forced the embarrassment down his throat.

yuuji gathered some saliva in his mouth before spitting in his open hand, earning him a surprise gasp. choso felt stupid? yuuji wanted to bark out in laughter. no, he felt stupid. he was teaching a centuries old being how to masturbate. and as if that wasn’t weird enough, said being also claimed to be his brother by blood.

he leaned back on his dry hand and gave himself a few sloppy rubs with the other. the boy grit his teeth and watched himself get harder by the second before pulling away when he felt his spit dry. he hadn’t had the privacy nor the urge to get himself off since everything went to shit weeks ago — guess he had to thank choso for the opportunity later.

“okay, now do what i did”, he told the raven and watched as he reluctantly spit into his hand. choso’s dark eyes lingered on yuuji’s dick for a few seconds before wrapping his hand around it.

yuuji yelled in surprise, grabbing the half-curse’s biceps with shattering force. choso stared at him, panicked again: “did i hurt you, brother?” the boy could hear sukuna’s blaring laughter inside his head, clearly incredibly amused by their little thing and yuuji wanted nothing more than having his heart ripped out — again.

“fuck, choso- no, no, you’re not supposed to get me off, oh my god!”, yuuji noted how pale the raven’s skin looked in contrast to his’, “and don’t call me ‘brother’, you literally have your hand around my dick!” yuuji did a really good job at teaching choso new vocab.

“my bad”, the half-curse apologised in a low voice before letting go. yuuji could feel choso’s spit cool on his sensitive skin and he brought his hand back to himself, not wanting the improvised lubricant go to waste. biting back a moan he looked up at the raven once again: “c’mon, try it.”

choso spit into his palm once more and tried imitating his brother’s movements. the added slickness helped the glide of his hand as he worked on himself in a slower pace than yuuji. he gasped, caught off guard by how nice it felt, and he almost missed the sly smirk dancing on yuuji’s lips.

“feels- feels good”, choso mumbled, craning his neck to let his head roll back. the boy hummed in agreement, letting out small sounds that stirred something deep inside choso’s stomach. he could get used to this, he thought to himself.

his mind shortly drifted to “what if he tried sating those needs when he still had his actual body?” but that was quickly thrown overboard when yuuji cursed sharply under his breath.

“wish we had lube”, the pink-haired whimpered and choso actually felt a bit proud when he understood what his brother meant. he leaned his head forward again and brought his free hand up between the two. he slowly drew some blood up and began coating both their dicks in the warm fluid, making them both moan at the feeling of it.

yuuji let out a dragged out “fuck” and his thighs began to tremble subtly. he pondered on asking if choso also had a porn magazine somewhere stashed in his obi, but ultimately decided against it because he had a hunch the raven would not understand the joke.

choso let his gaze wander to the boy’s face — to those hooded honey eyes which seemed to glow in the dimmed light — and felt the need to seem them more up close. he’d always thought how pure the color was, a stark comparison to his whole being, and how insanely delicate they looked in comparison to yuuji’s self.

“closer”, he muttered without realising and yuuji didn’t understand what he meant, thinking he was close to coming. but when choso suddenly grabbed his body, and their dicks bumped into each other when he found himself sitting on the half-curse’s lap, a startled yell echoed through the hallway, swallowed by the carpet.

choso let the blood from his mark drip down and wrapped his hand around the both of them. yuuji was too overwhelmed — with the new found and strange warmth against his twitching dick — and immediately swallowed the complains that had already formed on the tip of his tongue.

he steadied himself with his arms around choso’s neck, smearing blood onto porcelain skin, and just stared at the obscenity in his lap. he barely noticed when the raven rested their foreheads together, their sweat and breaths mixing with the now hot air around them. choso’s other hand was gripping his waist like a lifeline, fingers dipping into the soft skin underneath his uniform.

“fuck”, yuuji managed between moans and gasps when the other started thrusting his hips upwards, adding even more friction. the boy quickly followed suit and a guttural groan ripped through choso’s throat. the half-cursed had never experienced such amounts of pleasure and something about experiencing this for the first time with his little brother had this entire mind running in loops.

the knot in his lower body was untying itself with every thrust, every breath, every moan and gasp; the tenseness inside him was becoming undone in such a beautiful way, it robbed him of all his air.

“choso, choso”, yuuji began chanting and the man joined in, the name of his little brother sounding like a beautiful curse the more he said it.

pressure exploded in a way that should be illegal when the boy suddenly started spasming on his lap, a drawn out “choso” coming from deep within yuuji’s throat, and white ribbons painted both their stomachs and choso’s hand. it mixed in slowly with the blood as the raven continued stroking them leisurely, sending waves over waves of pleasure over both of them. they crashed into their minds, shattering any coherent thoughts they might’ve still harboured throughout the ordeal.

choso eventually stopped and carefully released their now softening dicks, trying to take deep breaths to calm his hammering heart. yuuji did the same and let the raven rest his head against his shoulder.

“shit”, the boy managed after a few minutes and then laughed, “that was really good.” choso could only hum, content to bask in his brother’s warmth.

live footage of choso after he processed the situation:

i love him and miss him tons…. i saw a theory on twt abt him being still alive due to todo’s boogie woogie and i’m coping so hard rn

i want him to come back😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

#shveris’ blue spring #choita #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuuji #choso kamo

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k-evans-reads · 1 year

Text

In Living Color

Chapter 9 - Part One

Summary: When Natalie Marton, lead character designer for Buzz Lightyear, meets the voice of Buzz, Chris Evans, the sparks are undeniable. But when their work pushes them away from each other, both physically and emotionally, will the sheer differences between their worlds be enough to force them apart?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Pixar Animator OFC Natalie Marton

Word Count: 5,271

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: None.

Previous | Main Masterlist | In Living Color Masterlist

June 2021

Nat reached up blindly to find the pencil she had stuck in her wild curls that were wrangled up in a bun. She had been sitting in this exact same position for hours, pouring over her graphics tablet as she furiously worked in the quiet of her office. Nat could feel the tightness in her shoulders from being hunched over and rolled them slightly as she kept on working, being so focused that it took her a moment to notice her office door had swung open.

“Hey Nat,” she heard Mark say, finally glancing up with an aching neck to see him hovering in the doorway, her metal water bottle in his hand.

“You found my water bottle! I’ve been looking everywhere for that thing,” she smiled, waving him in as she locked the tablet and put it down against the glass desk.

He gave a half-smile, putting the bottle on her desk and informing her, “You left it in my car.”

“Oh yeah, I remember now,” she laughed, shaking her head as she moved the metal bottle closer to her. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Hey, you want to go get lunch together? We could see if Jamie wants to come.”

“Nat…” he began, clearing his throat and pausing, his hands fidgeting awkwardly in front of him. “Have you checked your phone?”

“No, why?” She asked, a frown on her face as she watched her coworker, but most importantly her friend, carefully. “Why are you acting so weird?”

He sighed, shaking his head and suggesting, “I think you should go on Instagram.”

Nat opened her mouth to ask more questions but quickly closed it again when she saw the concerned look on his face. She didn’t have a clue what was going on and wanted answers quickly, but the ones she got weren’t good. She saw how many notifications she had and started scrolling down the long list of follow requests, hundreds of names and profiles she couldn’t even remember flashing before her eyes, causing her to ask out loud, “What’s going on? Why do I have all these follow requests?”

Mark shook his head, glancing away to look out the wide window at the Disney campus. “Remember that party of Chris’ that you told me about?” He finally asked, a single eyebrow raised when he met her eyes again.

Her face fell, and Nat felt as if she was going to get sick at those words. They’d been careful, not posting anything when they were together, or even referencing the other, since they’d met, but especially since Mark’s birthday, when things took a turn for them. She knew Chris’ world and life was… hectic and invasive to say the least, and while she wasn’t accustomed to it, she definitely didn’t want to be thrown into it. But by the look on Mark’s face, she feared the worst had happened. “Oh no…what happened?”

“The catering company posted a photo and you can see some people in the background if you zoom in,” he began with a sigh, then shrugged and shook his head. “Apparently someone did zoom in and saw Chris with his arms around you.”

“But did- how is it… why… how did people know it was me?”

“I guess some fans scrolled through the people he follows and found you and pieced it together. Now it’s all over the internet,” he explained, waving a hand.

Her frown deepened and the anxious ball in her chest grew, but she was unable to think about anything except her surroundings. While it wasn’t against the rules for employees of Disney to date, it definitely was a gray area. Chris wasn’t an employee in the same way she was, he had a temporary pass, and he was on a way different level than she and Mark were. Mark had known about what was going on between the two, but they’d deliberately kept it from Jamie up to this point because of the gray area and her fear of what Jamie’s – the head of character design, her boss – reaction would be, and the aftermath of the revelation. “Does Jamie know?” She finally asked, eyes wide as she looked up at Mark.

The older man shook his head, jaw clenched as he emphasized, “I don’t think that’s important right now, Nat. You’re everywhere online, people are tweeting about you!”

“From just that one picture?”

“It’s Chris Evans, Nat. If he’s got his hands on a girl, people want to know,” he laughed bitterly, but she could tell he was worried, even more than she was able to feel herself right now. She felt like she was unable to process it fully, unable to understand just how this happened, how someone stumbled across the picture and connected the dots given how obscure she was. Most of all though, she felt… exposed by this, realizing just how easily any one of his “fans” could uncover anything when it came to him, when it came to his personal life, despite what he chose to share with them. And it scared her, it made her feel like this would never work given what they’d have to do to keep it to themselves. Never interacting in public, never acknowledging each other, never even being seen together would be the only ways forward, but what kind of relationship did that leave them with? Chris, who’d work and be seen alone, smiling on red carpets and laughing kindly as people flirted with him, and Nat, who’d keep her head down, never shared anything about that part of her life, and only saw him behind closed doors? It wasn’t fair to her, nothing about it was.

“I just don’t understand how this happened,” she quietly admitted, shaking her head before she looked back up at him with wide eyes. “Mark, what am I going to do?”

Mark sighed, looking out the window again as he struggled to find the words. “I wish I had an answer for you,” he finally told her, rubbing a hand down his face frustratedly.

At that moment, her phone started buzzing, making Nat jump slightly before she lifted it up to see the name on the screen, telling her friend, “It’s Chris.”

“I’ll let you guys talk but come to my office when you’re done, okay?”

Nat nodded as she sat in her office chair, waiting for the door to close before she looked down at her vibrating phone again. Usually she was eager to answer his calls, so happy to swipe that green button and hear his voice, but today she felt… anxious. It scared her to think what might be on the other end of this call but she knew that she had to take it.

“Hello?” She answered, her foot tapping the leg of her desk anxiously.

He didn’t even return the greeting, instead asking tensely, “Nat, have you been online?”

“Um, yeah…” she paused, biting her lower lip as she struggled to continue processing this. “Mark just came in and showed me everything.”

“God, I’m so sorry Nat,” he sighed, mumbling a curse to himself. “I just got off the phone with my publicist and she told me everything. She’s calling the caterers right now and having them take the picture down.”

Nat blinked, almost shocked more by the fact that he could make a call and erase it from the internet practically, although the damage was already done. “Okay,” she whispered.

“She’s going to get back to me but they’re either going to just let it die down, or run something else maybe about the movie I’m working on now to try to bury it,” he explained, speaking quickly as he moved around. “Megan did tell me to let you know to keep your Instagram on private and not to accept any new followers.”

“I won’t,” she assured quietly, almost unable to imagine opening herself up to the floodgates of his ‘fans’ like that, letting them see the private pictures from her life and family, something personal. She’d barely given it a second thought when she shared her account info with Chris and approved his follow request, but clearly she should’ve. “There’s literally thousands of new requests.”

“I fuckin’ hate that this happened,” he said, and the tone of his voice was more frustrated than she could ever imagine hearing it before. “My team is going to try to figure out how to minimize everything though.”

“Do I um, like need to do anything?” She asked, picking a piece of lint off her pants anxiously. “I don’t know how all of this works.”

Chris was quiet for a moment, but when she heard him whisper something to someone she realized he was just distracted, not mulling over her words. “Just don’t accept any new followers and once I talk to Megan again, I’ll let you know of anything else,” he instructed hurriedly.

“Okay,” she murmured, jaw set as a wave of frustration washed over her.

“Nat, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she placated, knowing it was an outright lie. “It’s just… overwhelming.”

“I know and I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am,” he murmured, the words doing little to help the situation than…. Anything else would’ve. “But we’ll get it fixed, okay?”

“Alright.”

“Listen, I’ve got to go back to set but I’ll call you later once I talk to Megan again, okay?”

Nat let out an unsteady ‘Okay’ before the call ended and she dropped the phone onto her desk. She brought her hands up to cradle her face in her hands, tears burning at her eyes and she felt completely sick to her stomach. She felt like she’d been in such a bubble for a while, seeming to forget that Chris was famous, someone who’s life was in the spotlight. To him, he was just Chris, the sweet guy who made her laugh like nobody else, sent flowers to her while she was away and had become her best friend and confidant, ending each of her days on the phone with him.

But this was an ugly crash into reality, seeing that something as simple as him putting his arms around her could cause such an uproar. The attention she was suddenly getting scared Nat to her core, not having a clue what would happen from here. This was unlike anything she’d experienced even on the tiniest level, and the shock that came with it rattled her to her core. But almost worse than that was the way Chris had been on the phone.

She was so used to the sensitive man who always kept her feelings close to his heart… which was something she thought was too good to be true. Never had she felt as treasured and valued by a partner before, but her brain was beginning to remind her that maybe it was in fact too good to be true. In the moment she had needed his support the most, he had been distracted and clinical, treating her like a job to manage rather than a woman he cared for. That one simple thought is what made her feel more sick than anything else.

Nat knew she was against the clock though, knowing that with every passing minute she didn’t tell Jamie about this it just gave more fuel to the fire that’d become her romantic life, apparently. Pushing herself up and out of her office, she fiddled with her hands anxiously as she made her way down the hallway, avoiding the unaware gazes of the fellow employees. It wasn’t likely that any of them kept up with what was going on in Chris’ personal life, and certainly hadn’t realized how entwined it’d become with Pixar itself, but she was hyperaware and almost paranoid, feeling they almost pitied her as they caught her out of the corner of their eyes. But she pushed those fears aside as she tapped on Jamie’s door, poking her head in and asking, “Jamie? Do you have a minute?”

He gave her a half-smile, waving her in as he moved to shut the blinds hanging over the glass wall, hiding them – and thankfully Nat’s already teary eyes – from the rest of the office. “I kind of figured you’d be coming in,” he admitted with a short huff.

“Did Mark tell you?” She asked, frowning as she sat on the chair in front of his desk.

“Yeah, he showed me everything that happened,” Jamie explained, sitting down behind the desk and watching Nat carefully. “He said you were on the phone with Chris so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m sorry for all of this,” she rushed to explain herself, feeling awful she’d hidden this part of her life from him for months now, especially given he was one of her best friends. “I didn’t want to tell you about Chris because of him working here… I didn’t know what you would think.”

“Nat, I don’t care about any of that. I’m just concerned about you,” he assured her, looking at her with nothing but concern on his face. “Are you okay?”

She hesitated, looking away from him as she bit her lip and felt tears pool in her eyes. “...I’ve been better,” she confessed.

“Hey, come over here,” Jamie murmured, standing up and motioning to her. She followed his lead easily, stepping into his embrace as tears spilled down her cheeks rapidly, finally releasing all of the anxieties and fears from inside of her. “It’s going to be okay, Nat.”

“I just don’t see how,” she confessed to Jamie, unsure how they’d make their way out of this.

“I’m sure Chris knows how to handle these things,” he reminded her. “And you’ve got Mark and I to fight off any crazy fans or paparazzi.”

Nat shook her head, stepping away from him and carefully wiped her tears. “Remember that I’ve worked out with both of you and the way that you both hit a punching bag doesn’t give me a lot of confidence,” she reminded, unable to stop the slight smirk that settled on her lips.

“Well it’s the sentiment that counts,” Jamie laughed, but then looked at her with a frown. “You’re going to be okay, Nat. We’re going to get you through this and so is Chris.”

But what hurt was that she wasn’t feeling confidence in that last part.

She finally pulled away from him, wiping at her eyes as she gave him a weak smile, “Thanks Jamie… and I’m sorry for not telling you the truth about Chris and I.”

“You hadn’t done the best job of hiding it so I’m not really all that surprised,” he laughed, a smirk on his lips. And Nat found herself realizing just how much had played out in front of both him and Mark over the weeks, between the game nights with the non-stop near flirting between herself and Chris to the way they basically turned his own birthday party into their own first date. “Just remember that I don’t care about any of the other shit, Nat. I just care about you, and so does Mark.”

She frowned, realizing that was what she’d been missing all this time from Chris – the unwavering support that came along with the assurance that everything would be okay, not that this was a blip on a brand rollout’s radar. It felt transactional, not vulnerable and honest in the way it had up to now. “I know, I love you guys,” she smiled, pushing down the doubts so that she wouldn’t snap again in front of Jamie.

“We love you too,” he assured her. “Are you still planning on going home for your niece’s birthday tomorrow?”

Nat nodded, tapping her fingers against her leg. “Yeah, I think so. It might be good to get my mind off of everything anyway,” she shrugged with a fake smile.

“I think it will,” Jamie agreed, then shrugged and laughed and added, “And who knows, by the time you come back to work on Monday, maybe all of this will have blown over.”

Nat sure hoped he was right, but the pit in her stomach told her that he might not be. This was a big deal and she was smart enough to know that it was probably an ever bigger deal than she was fully aware of. She didn’t know his world or what went along with it and for the first time, Nat was seeing just how wildly different their worlds were.

As she trudged back to her office, closing the door and pulling the blinds to give herself some privacy, there were so many emotions stirring in her that Nat felt completely weighed down. Nat felt pulled in so many directions, part of her wanting to hop on her computer and find out what was going on, what was being said and what truly was circulating around the internet, but the other part of her was frozen, just wanting to bury her head in the sand and pretend this wasn’t actually her life.

Tears were stinging at her eyes as she sat at that lonely desk, feeling completely defeated. She was starting to think things were changing, that maybe she wasn’t destined to feel lonely or have people simply tolerate her. Chris had started to show her that he was different. That he liked her for who she was and that everything else didn’t matter. Nat was so afraid to get into another relationship after the hurt she’d been through in the past, but she felt like with Chris, it was worth it.

But she could see that it wasn’t that simple.

She hadn't been so naive as to think nothing would ever get out about them had their relationship continued, but she hadn’t thought it’d be this soon. There was a constant stream of texts from her sisters, presumably finding out what had happened and wanting to talk to her, but Nat just couldn’t, not right now. She tried to get it all out of her head, just push it away as she got back to work but the longer she sat there, the more she realized that the cause of the pit of her stomach wasn’t really what was on the internet, it was what was between her and Chris.

Sure, she was scared, terrified even of what was being posted but deep down she knew what was bothering her more than anything was that conversation with Chris. If he had really talked and listened to her, as they had been almost every single day since he left, she knew that the uneasiness inside her would have faded. All she had wanted from him was the kind of comfort and reassurance that Mark and Jamie had given, showing how much they cared for her, meanwhile Chris had treated her more like a problem that needed to be fixed rather than listened to. Instead of helping her be put back together in a terrifying moment, he had been the cause of yet another way she was falling apart.

Nat ran a hand through her wild curls, trying to push down all these feelings. Ever since she was a child, she could remember feeling everything and feeling it deeply. Being a highly emotional person had proven at moments to be a struggle and caused her to not be able to see things with a level head, but she was doing her best to look at it clearly, realizing that this probably had been jarring for Chris too and that he was probably short because of his limited time. Deep down, she believed that when she talked to him again, it wouldn’t be that way. But when she was walking out of campus and toward the parking garage, she was about to find out that what she was hoping for wouldn’t come true.

He forewent a greeting once she answered the call, instead simply asking her, “Are you still at work?”

Nat ran a hand through her thoroughly-ruined hair, tucking a strand back into the bun as she told him, “I’m just leaving.”

“Okay, well I talked to Megan and we have a plan,” he began, his voice low as he moved around on the other end.

She listened, feeling the anxiety and frustration rise at his insistence on how to handle it professionally, not as her partner. Not as someone who is the actor on the multi-million dollar action movie set in France, but as Chris. The guy who sends her dinner as a surprise, wakes up hours before he needs to and calls her so she can hear his voice before bed, and the one who’d been sending her daily countdowns to when he’d be back in Los Angeles and with her. She missed him, and she didn’t want to have to think about how to handle things while taking into account the millions of fans who over-analyzed every swipe of his thumb on his phone. Her frustration flared as she stood in front of his stupid car, the one she’d been borrowing for a little over a week now while her insurance tried to figure out how to handle the carjacking. “Chris, how do I get in this fucking Tesla again?” She asked almost helplessly, close to tears as she stared inside the car, wanting nothing more than to go home and block the rest of the world out with a bottle of wine.

“Push the back of the door handle and then it’ll pop out.”

She did as he said, thankful when it worked and she slipped inside, adjusting the seat when it automatically set itself for Chris’ settings. “Why can’t this just have a regular door handle like everything else?”

He ignored her, instead typing away at something for a moment as she turned the car on and connected her phone to it. Once she began backing out of her spot, he asked her, “No word on your car yet?”

Nat’s jaw was clenched tightly as she headed towards the exit of the campus, waving vaguely at the security guards as she pulled onto the street. “Not other than the police telling me I probably won’t ever get it back,” she muttered. As if she wasn’t overwhelmed enough, the heartbreak of losing the car she loved so dearly only made the situation worse and caused those tears to blind her vision until she rapidly blinked them back.

“That's probably the least of our concerns right now,” he dismissed her simply, making Nat want to slam a hand against the wheel as she listened to him, wanting to be doing anything but talking about this right now. “I talked to Megan and my team has a plan.”

She stared at the road in front of her as she slowed to a stop at the traffic light, eyes locked on the license plate in front of her. Her blue eyes burned with tears as he reminded her of the elephant in the room, the one she’d sworn had all but been standing on her shoulders all day, weighing her down as her hands itched to open up anything – Google, Instagram, Twitter – and search their names, just to get a hint of what was being said. “Chris… I just really want to go home,” she finally whispered, feeling as though the cord inside of her was about to snap at any moment.

And that’s truly all she wanted. She wanted to just curl up with a blanket and hear his reassuring voice, telling her that it’d be okay and that they’d get through this together. She wanted to hear him acknowledge how hard this was on her instead of treating it like a business deal. She knew that he was used to this stuff, it didn’t shake him the way it shook her and she just wanted him to realize that… to recognize how hard it was on her and that she needed a minute before jumping into some ‘strategy’ for his image. All Nat wanted was for him to show he cared about her and she felt like she was getting everything but that.

“This will just take a minute. I’ll give you the rundown while you’re driving,” he assured her, his voice nearly booming in the otherwise silent car as she steered it through the intersection and merged onto the freeway to head to San Fernando. It was one thing she swore she’d never get used to with his electric car – the silence while driving. And right now, the silence felt too loud. “So the original post is down already and I’m doing an interview for ASP tomorrow so we’re going to promote that and try to get that to the forefront.”

At his persistence, her shoulders slouched, the low-grade headache that’d been bothering her finally began pounding, and her eyes burned. “Okay,” she relented, instantly wishing she’d never done so.

“I’m not going to unfollow you on Instagram because it’ll look too fishy, but here’s what we need you to do,” he paused, waiting until she made a noise of agreement, just to say she heard him. “Megan doesn’t want you to like or interact with any of my posts. Make sure you keep everything private on social media and don’t accept new followers. Oh, do you have Facebook?”

“Yeah but I’m not on it much,” she shook her head, her heart rate increasing as she shifted lanes towards her exit. Wiping away a few stray tears, she admitted to Chris, “I didn’t want Shane to see my stuff so I locked it down a while ago.”

“Good, so keep it that way,” he plainly stated. But Nat felt like she barely even recognized his voice, the normally present emotions were removed and for the first time since he’d left for Europe, she could feel that vast distance between them. It was as if he was reading things off his work checklist, not talking to someone he cared about who’s entire life just got shaken up and he instead just kept rattling off, “Then just make sure to remove anyone following you who isn’t really close to you and obviously don’t say anything about it to people you aren’t close with.”

Nat froze at his words, unable to process it fully. She was thankful that she was close to home, but she was all but furious at his words. He was instructing her – with the advice of someone he paid for, which in itself was something she still couldn’t get used to – to keep quiet. To not tell anyone. And in a few days when she could think rationally, she’d probably admit that it made sense, that it wasn’t extreme given his situation. But to know that this was now the reality of their situation, that they’d hide for months on end either until this happened again and blew any remaining cover… or until it ended them for good. It hurt that they lost their relationship as they knew it, but Nat still struggled with the idea that this was clearly something he was used to… so why didn’t he fucking warn her?

“Did you get all that?”

“Yeah,�� she whispered, blinking away the tears and wiping her face furiously as she turned into her apartment complex.

She listened as he let out a sigh before annoyingly pointing out, “You’re not saying much.”

“I got it, Chris,” she repeated, her voice louder and harsher. She navigated into a parking spot, shifting the gears and leaning back against the seat, wanting nothing more than to just hang up and forget this even happened, but with his own frustrated sigh, she was reminded why she couldn’t.

“Are you mad at me?”

Nat knew none of the situation was his fault, but she hated how he handled this. She hated how cold he’d become, how different he was when it turned to his career and she didn’t like it, admitting, “I’m just upset at all of it.”

“Nat, you have to know I didn’t have anything to do with this,” he insisted, wanting to make her roll her eyes. It felt almost patronizing, as if he wanted to just dismiss her feelings because it wasn’t his fault.

She took a deep breath, rubbing a hand on her face before vocalizing her true feelings, “No, I get that. I know you didn’t cause it but you’re not really helping to make it any better.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Chris’ voice sounded incredulous, only heaping on more hurt to Nat’s already bruised emotions when he stated plainly, “I’m doing everything I can.”

“Except ask me how I’m doing! This entire conversation has been like a business transaction,” Nat stood up for herself, honestly telling him what was stirring inside of her and reminded Chris that, “I get that you’re used to things like this but I’m not. My whole life just flipped upside down because I was at a party with you. Do you realize how scary that is?”

“That’s why I’m trying to make this better! Why don’t you understand that?” His words only upset her more with how he completely missed her point and seemed to only look at how this was affecting him.

“I know this is out of your control, Chris. I’m not asking you to fix it, I just wanted you to…” Nat trailed off as the hot tears brimming at her eyes started rolling down her cheeks, her voice cracking when she finished in a voice barely above a whisper, “...care about me.”

“I do!” He insisted, nearly shouting himself. The tone of his voice only brought more tears to Nat’s eyes and she wrapped her arms around herself in self protection and squeezed her eyes shut. “You should be able to see that what I’m doing to try to make this better is because of you!”

He let his words hang, silent and panting after his outburst. She couldn’t believe him, couldn’t believe the way he seemed as though she should thank him for this shitshow, thank him for the thousands of teenagers who suddenly wanted a peek into her life, who didn’t understand boundaries and what private means. She hated it, hated the spotlight he commanded, the world he’d grown to accept. But it didn’t mean she had to.

“Look…” she finally found her voice after a long moment, telling Chris, “I’m going home tomorrow morning for Ella’s birthday and staying in Seattle for the weekend and I think it would be good if I had some time to think.”

“That’s fucking it?”

Nat almost wanted to laugh, completely floored by his response and she plainly stated, “My face just got plastered all over the internet, Chris. I think I deserve some time to think.”

“Fine,” Chris’ tone was so clipped she barely recognized it, but the knife that was already in her heart felt as if it got twisted when he threw out, “I’m going back to Boston for a few weeks after filming. I’ll see you at the end of July, maybe.”

Without more than a scoff, he hung up the phone, leaving Nat to sit in his car, then head up to her apartment, past the cameras he’d paid for, unlock the door with the new lock he had installed, and head into the kitchen… only to see the flowers he’d sent her. Chris. Not the Chris that had been angry, screaming at her on the phone just now, but the one she felt sick over losing. The one she felt like she no longer knew.

A/N: DON'T KILL US! We have part two of this chapter coming on THURSDAY so we hope you'll come back to read it!

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