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yeonboy · 1 year

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𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ♡ choi yeonjun.

If you had known that a fun night out eating junk food with your best friend that you have always harbored a crush on would turn this sour because he misunderstood your words, you would have kept your mouth shut. Now Yeonjun has gone radio silent on you and if you want to salvage your friendship, you will have to get over your feelings first because he will never forgive you if he finds out. Right?

❧ choi yeonjun x f. reader | 16+ | college!au ♡ best friends to lovers!au ♡ angst ♡ humor ♡ fluff

❧ 7 k words

❧ warnings! inaccuracies wrt college sports/scouting/ice hockey, profanity, suggestive language, suggestive scenes, discussion and exhibition of puck bunny behavior, mentions of slut-shaming, misunderstandings, miscommunication, jealousy, some pining, yeonjun is stooooopiiiid, yn is also stooooopiiiid, one (1) singular heavy makeout sesh that gets a little out of hand hehe (:

❧ note! hi, world! this is a sideblog i created v v recently, but you won’t find links to my main anywhere bec i’ve decided to be a catfish on this one (: LOL jk, i just wanted a fresh start. i will be cutting back on the hoeing around i used to indulge in w my writing on that blog, and keep this place as sfw as i can - we’ll focus on tummy-aching angst instead! w a happy ending ofc bec ya girl is a softie 😔

leave me feedback if you like this! follow for more! (:

❧ masterlist | inbox ⁘

"Dude, this has gone so fucking soggy, it's like chewing leather. Please stop eating it."

Your words of disgust and grimace of distaste were, unsurprisingly, nothing to deter your best friend from munching on the cold fries he'd left for the last when he'd been too busy gobbling down his burgers. Stuffing a handful into his mouth like an actual ape, he in fact wiggles his eyebrows at you in a challenge.

"I feel like I've seen an orangutan eat exactly the way you just did, Choi Yeonjun. Please stop."

That makes him giggle and clear his mouth, finally raising his hands in surrender. "Kay, I give up. They do taste like leather."

"Not even gonna ask how you know that… But this is why you're supposed to have your fries with the burgers and not after it."

"But they mess up my palate!"

When he pouts like that, it's so hard for you to believe that he's the university’s senior ice hockey team’s ace, their Center, their captain, and that he’s looking to get scouted professionally, this year. When he pouts like that, he takes you back to the time you first met him on the first day of your high school, both clueless freshmen with wide, innocent eyes full of huge dreams about your future.

Dreams that you're both very, very close to making a reality, now – him as a professional hockey player, and you interning at the law firm of your dreams.

Damn. Time sure flies fast.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Yeonjun tilts his head and you blink away from your thoughts, averting your gaze from his to instead stare at his shitty, soggy fries.

“Yeah. Stupid. A lot of it.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes and rips a tissue out of the dispenser on the table to dab around his mouth just in case, and that gives you room to breathe in and out and try to will away the heat you can feel in your cheeks.

See, now, the thing is – you don’t necessarily have romantic feelings for your platonic best friend of eight years. That’d just be absurd and kind of creepy. But you sure as heck have always harbored a crush on him.

It’s just impossible not to!

Guy has always been literally the most gorgeous human being you’ve ever seen, even at the universally ugly age of fourteen. He’s a gentleman, always kind to every single person in his life, would probably cut a limb off for a friend in need, and ever since your sophomore year of college, he’s gotten into manically coloring his hair, which…is seriously injurious to the onlookers’ health because dear God, the dirty blonde of his hair with the dark roots peeking through from his middle part? Makes your heart literally pound.

And he isn’t even doing anything! Other than being gross with a tissue paper and inedible fries, which should absolutely turn you off from ever liking anything about him, but it does the opposite.

That is another thing about him – he’s too freaking smooth and sexy about every damn thing in his life. The day his hair turned from black to blue, nearly two years back, he developed all these flirty charms on top of his kind ones. Now he isn’t just an insanely handsome dude who’d hold your hand to help you cross the road, but he’d also freaking wink at you when you thank him for his kindness.

You as in a person, not – not you. He’d never wink at you, you're too friendzoned for that. And it's kind of a blessing because you’d probably run the risk of jumping back into oncoming traffic if he did.

Wow.

You can’t count on one hand the number of times you have had to tug on the reins of your heart when it’s tried to take a flight, jumping off the cliff of your very inconvenient crush and into the bottomless abyss of having actual romantic feelings for him. Because that would be catastrophic. And not just because you fear he'd reject you and you’d lose the one person who means the most to you in the world.

“Should I get more burgers?”

Your gaze snaps to him in surprise. He’s pouting again, this time looking at the greasy fingerprints laden menu card kept on your table. The anxiety that had started to churn in your stomach at the prospect of your very concerning crush turning into something more, suddenly leaves and you huff out a small laugh.

“You’ve had six in the past hour, Jjun. I’d say stop for the night, maybe?”

“Hey, I have a big appetite!” He scowls at you. “And it’s close to midnight, already! You know I begin my diet for the season from tomorrow!”

You groan. “Well, then, why did you ask?”

“To be encouraged, of course! To be comforted.” He widens his eyes and blinks at you. “Or did you forget I’m also supposed to be nursing a broken heart?”

The groan you release at that is loud, drawn out and filled with a year’s worth of exasperation. This is the other reason why you catching romantic feelings for him would be catastrophic. His emotional quotient is seriously questionable when it comes to the matters of heart. If he could love a partner half as much as he loves dogs, maybe he wouldn’t be ‘nursing a heartbreak’ because of the fifth person that has dumped him since your final year began. And you aren’t even done with your mid-sems yet.

But you don't tell him that, instead patting on his leather jacket clad forearm with a fake sympathetic expression. “Ah, yes, poor you. My deepest condolences to your heart.”

He knows you and your bullshit and you know he does, so the attack that his hands launch at your throat in the next two seconds doesn't surprise you, and your defensively raised shoulders don't surprise him.

You're both dissolving into giggles, then, having nothing short of a wrestling match across the small cafe table. "I really liked Lea, okay?"

"Oh yeah? You didn't even—oof, that tickles! You didn't even know she was Kai's sister!"

At that he lets go of you and slumps back in his seat with a scowl. "Please don't remind me. I still worry he's gonna stab me in my sleep someday…"

You place a palm over your mouth to stifle your laugh. "To be fair, Lea shouldn't have been indulging in puck bunny behavior if she didn't want to be treated like one."

"Don't say that wo~rd," Yeonjun whines with his whole head thrown back. "She's Kai's sister! And she's younger than me!"

"Just by four months! Stop being dramatic, Jjun. She's a junior at college – she knew what she was doing."

Yeonjun doesn't look convinced. "I mean… I don't think she was with me only because I'm hockey captain. She knows all of HK's friends personally."

You wonder why he is defending her. Did he actually, genuinely like the girl? Romantically? What are the odds of Yeonjun finally making an attempt to open his heart up to someone and them ending up dumping him? He doesn't really look that dumped, though, so you figure that this must be out of some misplaced protectiveness he feels for one of his best friend's sisters.

Man should've thought of that before he dated her. Sigh.

"Yeah, which makes it worse." You wince when he frowns. "Come on, Jjun. She's known you since middle school but decides to make a move now? Only to break it off in three weeks because others are 'slut-shaming' her”—you make air-quotes around the term, rolling your eyes—“when they call her out for wearing another guy's jersey in preseason when she's supposed to be dating you. Can't tell me that's not manipulative and experienced puck bunny behavior."

Yeonjun’s eyes are wide when you finish speaking. “What…?”

“She didn't have feelings for you, Jjun! I mean, you obviously didn't have any for her either, but I hope you keep it that way with these girls. I highly doubt Lea even tried to get to know you at all, given how busy she was posting pictures of y'all on all her socials." His expressions haven't changed much, so you try to conclude your point quickly. “All I'm saying is, it is actually a good thing you’ve never taken these relationships too seriously. There’s more business than emotion with these clout chasers, Jjun.”

Yeonjun is gaping at you now and you're a little confused as to how to take it. Is he surprised at the revelation about Lea? You doubt that to be the case when the entire tale of their romance had been broadcasted all over the campus this past week.

So then…is he surprised at your opinion of things? You sure hope he isn't about to pick a fight with you because you're in no mood to concede. Not about this. Not when you've died multiple deaths every minute that Lea has spent being a pick-me by your best friend's side.

"I… She did have feelings for me, Y/N. They—the girls that I date all have some feelings for me, come on." He gives a small chuckle that is so wry, it makes you fidget in discomfort. “I haven’t taken these relationships that casually. I'm – I’m not some vain playboy, sleeping my way around the college.”

Okay, hold on – what?

What?

How did he take that away from your rant? He's really defending himself when you never even attacked him? When you never would attack him?

"Yeonjun, no… That's not what I'm trying—"

"Let's – let's just drop this." He looks distressed, and the frown on his lips makes your heart hurt. More so because you are the one who put it there. "You won't get it, anyways."

Now that – gives you a pause. "I won't…get it?"

He gets up, unbothered and unabashed, and walks with his tray of empty wrappers and inedible fries to dump it into the trash can near the exit of the cafe. You wordlessly follow, tilting your head in an attempt to catch his eye, but Yeonjun's got some 5 inches on you so you can't really force him to look at you when he doesn't want to.

And now he's walking out of the cafeteria.

"Jjun?"

He sighs and stops, looking over his shoulder, straight into your eyes with a bored stare. "What?"

"What? You're, like, not even gonna explain that last sentence?"

This time you're the one with the wry chuckle while Yeonjun fidgets in discomfort.

"What won't I get, Yeonjun?"

"Look, it's… well. You’ve always subtly looked down upon all the girls I’ve dated in college, and that was fine. You’re my best friend, you’re allowed to be a critic.” He shrugs with a nonchalant look in his eyes, but his lips are still twisted sourly. “But… I never realized you thought I was the problem. Someone so vapid that my only appeal is the fame hockey gets me.”

No… literally when did you insinuate that?

You're rendered mute, taken aback by how badly Yeonjun seems to have interpreted your words. He exhales and it sounds very loaded. You don't miss the way he keeps avoiding your gaze; nor the disappointed frown that decorates his forehead.

“You won’t get it because you don’t want me, you’ve never wanted me – and that is absolutely cool! But just because you like to have me as a comedic relief character in your life doesn’t mean that no one sees any depth in me.”

“A… comedic relief character?” your voice comes out low and hoarse and almost tattered, a little shrilly from disbelief. You're not even gonna touch on his 'never wanted him' claim because the rest of his speech has your brain actually spinning. “What the hell are you talking about? This isn’t about you – it’s about these girls… You’re my best friend, Yeonjun!”

“And yet you can’t find one reason why these girls would like me beyond using me for clout.” He gives a shrug and finally meets your eyes again. But his stare is absolutely vacant and unreadable. “You don’t use me for clout, though, and yet you keep me around. You obviously don’t care about my opinions, or you wouldn't have exchanged numbers with Changbin when I told you he was bad news. What else is there to our friendship other than laughing together, then?”

His words are like death blows – each syllable laced with a different kind of poison. Every inhale you take from the air his words have contaminated seems to sear a painful path through your lungs. Breathing hurts. Looking at him hurts. Your eyes are filling up and your tummy is aching.

There’s so much wrong with everything he just said, so much misinterpretation, so many actual blatant untruths, that you don’t even know how to begin correcting them.

How did you even get here?

You’d only been trying to warn him about girls that might use him. You were only trying to protect his heart.

How did that turn into him thinking you don’t value your friendship with him? That you don’t value him?

“Oh, and by the way,” he continues, pushing both hands into his leather jacket and looking into the distance, “Changbin’s probably gonna ask you to cheer for him this season, which is kind of a big deal because… you know, this out final session and there will be professional scouts present and all. So if you decide to say yes…” He pauses and turns to look at you again, gaze tired and eyes lidded. “If you say yes, I hope you know it’ll mean a lot more.”

Why is he bringing up Changbin again? You’d only exchanged numbers to get that guy's incessant ass off your back – you haven’t even responded to a single text he’s sent you in the past two months. Cheering for him? In a season as important to their careers as this one?

Absolutely out of the question.

Does Yeonjun not know you at all?

You’re about to tell him that, when he suddenly pulls his phone out with a sigh. “I’m planning to hand my jersey over to Chaeyoung – you know, running for senior cheer captain? Thought I’d ask for your opinion, but… You’ve already made that pretty clear tonight.”

Angry tears blur your vision and your heart hurts as if it’s dying a slow death in your chest.

Chaeyoung, really? So he’s skipping seamlessly from Lea to Chaeyoung.

Of course.

Why did you even bother worrying about his heart when he clearly doesn’t even have one. How could you forget.

Maybe it’s a good thing you never let yourself fall for Yeonjun beyond a crush.

“For what it’s worth,” you finally manage to mutter, brows furrowed and gaze focused on your worn out sneakers, “I’m sorry. I was trying to look out for you, not – not hurt you. You’re the most important person in my life, Yeonjun. I could never hurt you.”

You don’t wanna wait around to hear his response, so you just wordlessly walk away. Your dorms are hardly half a mile from here; you can shut yourself in your room and sob into your pillow in less than twenty minutes from now.

The fact comforts you enough to make you walk faster.

And also helps you ignore the pain that runs across your entire body when Yeonjun doesn’t even attempt to stop you.

You haven’t checked your phone in a while now but it has to have been over six am currently because you can hear your roommate moving around. Stealthily, you pull the comforter down from your face to peer into the dark room, only to hear a loud sigh echo around the place.

“You’re seriously still up?” Yuqi’s disappointed voice calls out. “The crying sounds stopped sometime after four so I reckoned you fell asleep.”

You wince in guilt. “Fuck, Yuqi, I’m so sorry I kept you awake—”

“Woah, what?”

She turns the lights on, suddenly brightening the room. Your roommate’s dressed in her cheer outfit, probably on her way to early morning practice. She is running for captain as well and the voting concludes in five days.

Cheer captain… Chaeyoung…

You can feel another bout of tears coming on, the back of your raw eyes stinging anew. Your head is pounding like someone’s cracked your skull open, but it still doesn't hold a candle to the ache that originates from your heart and makes your entire chest cave in on itself.

“Oh my God, babe, you look worse than you sound!”

You click your tongue and rub at your eyes. “I… Ugh, it’s been a weird night, Yuqi.”

She kneels beside you on the floor, face drawn in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” You try to sit up with her help. “I guess?”

“Oh, babe…” Yuqi sits next to you and draws you in an embrace. “What happened?”

“Y–Yeonjun,” you can barely articulate his name before your throat closes up again.

“Ah, man. What’d the idiot do this time?”

Yuqi has been your roommate and your closest friend since freshman year. Needless to say, she knows all about your friendship with Yeonjun and more than a little about your crush on him. She believes he’s too oblivious and doesn’t particularly like him for that reason. More often than not, you’re batting for his defense against Yuqi.

Right now, though, you feel like you’re gonna agree with every colorful word she uses for the guy.

So you tell her exactly what happened – give her a play by play of all the words said and reactions given, receiving hisses and grunts of annoyance in response, until you mention what he said about Changbin and Yuqi breaks your narration with a gasp.

“What the fuck?”

You just sigh and shrug a shoulder. “And he’s picking Chaeyoung to to wear his jersey for the most important season of his life, so I guess it’s whatever.”

“You know, it seemed to me like he was upset and acted out defensively… which would have been okay to a certain point, a misunderstanding that could be cleared out – had he not pulled that Changbin card. Why would he ask you to go after a teammate?” Yuqi tugs at the end of her ponytail in frustration. “And Chaeyoung? Literally the enemy? Now he's just an asshole.”

That last bit makes a small chuckle tumble out of you. “How… how is she, though? As a person?”

It’s so stupid of you to still attempt to look out for Yeonjun when he just dismissed your whole friendship. But you cannot help it.

“She’s… not a bad person, to be honest. As much as it pains me to admit.” Yuqi sighs. “She’s friends with the entire cheer team, friendly with the players, never been a bully to anybody. Hence why she’s running for captain alongside me.”

Should that comfort you? You believe it should. You warned your best friend about girls that might try to use him – and Chaeyoung sounds like she might not be that kind of a person. That’s good news, right?

So why does your heart seem to ache even more?

“Everything just...hurts, Yuqi. So much.” You tip your head against her shoulder. “What do I do?”

“Admit to yourself that you don’t just have aa crush on Yeonjun, for starters?”

You turn to look at her with surprised wide eyes. “What?”

Yuqi just rolls her eyes. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t move on if you don’t admit to it first, can you?”

Move on…?

Is that what you have to do now? Maybe.

If you want to attempt to salvage any bit of your bond with Yeonjun, it’s best if you at least get rid of the affection that permeates the boundaries of platonic friendship.

“And then maybe text Changbin back,” Yuqi continues. “He’s their goalie. I’ve talked to him a couple of times, he’s nice. Kinda cute? If nothing else, he'll help take your mind off of Yeonjun and Chaeyoung.

You just exhale a deep breath. “Maybe.”

16:37 | changbin (: congratulations to yuqi! tell her i knew she would make it :D

↪ Haha thanks! Will do!

soooo our first match’s three days away kinda wanted to ask u something before that meet me at the lockers after practice today lol?

↪ Oh it’s Monday already right? ↪ I’ll see you at the lockers, sure! ↪ How does around 7 sound?

perfect~~ just like your eyes >.<

“Ew, man, ewww…”

You press your phone to your chest with a gasp, turning to glare at Yuqi. “Hey! It’s rude to read over someone’s shoulder!”

“No, what’s ruder is you not telling me how cringey this guy is!” Yuqi is very close to rolling on the floor, and you really can’t blame her.

You’ve been texting back and forth with this Changbin guy for over a week now. He’s definitely nice and definitely more than a little cute, Yuqi didn’t lie to you.

But – the way this dude flirts? Good God.

Cringe must be an understatement. You have permanent goosebumps at this point because of how often you experience full body shivers out of the absolute secondhand embarrassment he has made you live through, every single day.

On the other hand, there's been radio silence between you and… him. Your best friend. His name sends a painful pang through your chest, so you've been avoiding even thinking about him. And Changbin's been a great distraction on that front.

That is not to say it has helped any feelings to blossom in your heart for the guy. His sweet but cringey self is a friend, at best. Your heart…is obviously elsewhere.

Things became so much clearer once you let yourself think everything over without any pressure and pretense, and admit to what you feel for your best friend, like Yuqi suggested.

Turns out you were wrong, after all. You really haven't succeeded at managing to stop yourself from falling further than a harmless crush for Yeonjun, because this constant hurt that has made home in your chest ever since he stopped talking to you? The wave of gloom that overtakes you whenever you so much as think about him? Surely a lot more harmful than what a crush warrants and surely surpassing best friend territory; by a leap.

The next step was attempting to move on with the help of Changbin, but that clearly fell flat on its face.

Exhaling a tired breath, you send a blushing emoticon back to the guy, and wonder why you're responding to his flirting when you know you've already failed and this is gonna end in tragedy.

“He sends you congratulations for making captain, by the way," you inform Yuqi when she's finally stopped giggling.

“Aw, did he say that was cool? As cool as your hair, maybe?”

You just groan and roll your eyes. “I’m gonna go see him tonight. He’ll probably offer me his jersey…”

That sobers Yuqi up. “Oh. So it’s time, huh? What’re you gonna tell him?”

You give her a wry smile. “What do you think?”

Understanding flashes across her face as Yuqi pats your shoulder in comfort with a sympathetic smile. “Well… At least you tried, yeah?”

Yeah… and failed spectacularly.

And are now hopelessly in love and helplessly heartbroken.

The locker rooms are nearly empty when you get there by seven. According to Changbin's text, he'll be there in the next five minutes and you are to wait by the rows immediately opposite the entrance to the bathrooms.

For a men's locker, the place is fairly clean and pleasant smelling.

You're in the middle of inhaling a chest full of some citrusy fragrance when the pitter-patter of a feet reaches you – and then abruptly stops. The small gasp that meets your ears before you've even fully turned around is enough for you to recognise him.

Why're you bumping into him here of all places?

He's been a ghost around the campus, as absent from your shared classes and the cafeteria as he is from your inbox – your life.

But here he shows up – to catch you waiting for a guy he's always warned you against and only told you to accept when he was mad at you.

You're beginning to regret this whole thing you began with Changbin even though you're here to end it tonight.

Swallowing, you swerve on your heels to come face to face with a freshly showered Yeonjun, dressed in a fluffy hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, head filling up with thoughts of burying yourself in his embrace. His hair isn't fully dried yet, with some of it sticking to his forehead, but…what draws your attention is how gaunt and tired his face looks.

There are large purple bags beneath his eyes and permanent frown lines around his lips. You're willing to bet this is not all due to the season's stress, because the last time you saw Yeonjun with dark circles was when you came down with a bad flu in high school and were bedridden for a week. He stayed by your side the whole time, despite both your mothers warning him about catching the infection, and barely slept.

You know it's a little unfair of you to think this way when you're the one that hurt him first, even if unintentionally, but you can't help wondering whether Yeonjun would still care if you caught a flu now. Would he even bother checking up on you, now that he's made it clear that he believes you don't think much of him and your friendship.

Does he still value you and your bond, despite the conclusions he's drawn about your feelings?

"What are you… oh."

Those are his first words to you in over a week, and the absolute disappointment on his face kinda makes up for the lack of verbal cues.

Your fists tighten on your sides, hating the way his eyes fill up with nonchalance and the way his lips purse. Why's he acting like he doesn't care? He should care!

But at the same time, you don't want him to think of you even worse than he has been. So you clear your throat and try to explain, "I've… I'm gonna clear things out with Changbin. Tell him I'm not interested so that he doesn't – he doesn't hope for anything more."

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow up, setting his jaw and lowering his eyelids. "You're good at that, aren't you? Ensuring that people aren't living with false hopes?"

Hearing his voice after so long fills your heart up with an emotion you're probably too inarticulate to explain. But his words, as snidely delivered as they are, confuse you. "What…?"

Rolling his eyes as if explaining himself to you is a waste of time for him, Yeonjun waves a hand in dismissal. "Nothing at all. He'll be heartbroken, though. Was really counting on you cheering for him. Are you absolutely sure you're not interested?"

His patronizing tone is a little too much for you, and even the lower pitch of voice he's using – one that you have always secretly fawned over – isn't able to curb your frustration. "Yes, Yeonjun, I'm sure. He'll live, he'll find someone else." And because you're beginning to feel irritated and jealous, you add, "If his second choice isn't Chaeyoung, that is."

You see the way a vein pops in his forehead and a sense of satisfaction runs through you at having struck a nerve. "Oh, so you've got words to say about Chaeyoung too, then? I thought you'd let her pass because she's famous enough by herself. Cheer vice captain, and all."

He's throwing you bait to rile you up, you know that – but you can't help the fiery fury that overtakes your senses either way.

Stalking up to him, you push a finger against Yeonjun's chest and glare into his wide, surprised eyes. "If you really think she's interested in you for you, go ahead and date her. Don't goad me into giving an opinion when you won't even care about it."

He brings a large hand up to wrap around yours, holding it tight in obvious anger. "Like you care about mine?"

"I'm literally here to say no to Changbin, Jjun! What the hell is your problem?" you yell out, pushing at his chest with your free hand – but to no avail because he holds your other wrist with his other hand as well.

"My problem is that you're saying no because you think this is beneath you!" he yells back, leaning from his towering form to bring his face to the same level as yours. "You think my girlfriends, my lifestyle – everything's beneath you!"

Your mouth falls open in utter shock because once again – this was never about him! "Yeonjun – no! For the last time, no, I don't think that! I don't think you're vain or unlikable, or that anything you do is beneath me, I just – I just fear someone will break your heart if you're not careful!"

"Is that so? You're not judgemental of the girls I date? Didn't you call Lea a – a puck bunny?"

"I didn't mean it like that!" you scream back and lean towards him, leaving barely inches between both of your fuming, frowning faces. "I was just getting metaphorical and, hell, maybe I was jealous because you've never asked me to cheer for—fuck…"

Panicked, you pull away from Yeonjun's loosened grasp, looking away from his raised eyebrows and open mouth.

You did not mean to say that. Not like this, not now… maybe never.

Face heating up like a damn furnace, you stumble away from your frozen best friend in a hurry. If he thought you were sabotaging your friendship before, he's going to absolutely hate you for harboring feelings for him. It's a blatant breach of his trust.

Shit, you should've begun to distance yourself when you first felt the tender tendrils of affection for the cutest fourteen year old guy you'd ever seen. You shouldn't have let those feelings fester – you shouldn't have let them grown into this beast that now stands to swallow your years' long friendship.

Tears prick your eyes, but there's no time to mourn right now – you need to get back to your dorm and bury yourself beneath a pillow before that.

But you've barely made it to the gates to the locker room when a firm hand grips your upper arm from behind and twirls you around. Back pressing into the wall, a gasp is torn from your chest when Yeonjun's huge, twinkling eyes cage you in. His arms resting on the wall next to you are completely unnecessary; you'd stand still through an apocalypse if he pinned you with this gaze of his.

"What…what do you mean you were jealous I never asked you?" he breathlessly questions, literal stars sparkling through his dark irises at you.

Now. If you were not adept at reading your best friend like a book, maybe you would have wondered if coming clean right now would make his eyes brighter or dim them instead. Maybe you would have debated whether lying your way out of this situation and apologizing later would be a good idea. Maybe you would have ducked from under his arms and made a run for it.

But because you have known this boy for more than seven years now, have observed every single expression of happiness and excitement that his face is capable of producing, have admired how adorable hope and anticipation looks on him – because you've loved him since the time you could barely even understand what love meant…you have no reason to doubt.

"I mean I wanted you to ask me, Jjunie. I wanted to be the one that'd be by your side, wearing your jersey and cheering from the stands for you," your voice comes out as a hoarse whisper, but Yeonjun clings onto every single word, given the stutters you can hear in his breathing. "I… I wanted you to look at me when you scored, point at me and tell everyone around us that…"

Your gaze flickers down his face, running across his nose to land on his parted, plump pair of lips. They spread a little to allow an airy chuckle to pass, and then form a wispy, questioning: "That?"

He's moved incredibly close to you, nearly touching your foreheads together and leaving an inch of space between your mouths. You look up into his eyes and they are hooded, spilling happiness, adoration but also something sincere.

"That," you rasp quietly, slowly in the small space between you, "that I'm your girl."

Yeonjun's exhale of minty toothpaste breath washes over your face, forehead tipping over yours and nose sliding against yours. When he speaks next, his lips brush the corner of your mouth and your body grows taut like a bowstring, ready to snap at the barest flick of his hands.

"Are you my girl?"

His voice has gotten incredibly lower and guttural and you just bring your hands up to clench into the fabric of his hoodie to ground yourself. Your eyes slide shut against the intensity of his own, breaths coming shorter and faster.

"I'd – I'd like to be. If…you'd have me?"

"Of fuck, baby, don't you know you've always owned me?"

You barely get a moment to process the term of endearment and the acceptance, let alone the actual depth and true implication of his words, when the softest pairs of lips you have ever felt brush against yours. Tentatively, so lightly that they almost tickle. Gasping in an exhale, you part your eyelids to find Yeonjun looking at you through a similarly shuttered gaze.

"Can I kiss you?"

Oh God, oh God, oh God—

“Yes, please.”

The words have barely exited you before Yeonjun is erasing any remaining space between you completely by pressing his mouth fully against yours. His lips feel even more softer than they look, molding against yours like a pair of clouds. Combined exhales of relief leave the two of you, breathing just as in sync as your bodies are. Your hands move from his jacket to run across his broad shoulders and your fingers wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

As if waiting for you to do just that, Yeojun guides both his hands to your waist, bringing you closer to him, before one of them detours to run past your waist and down your thigh to hook around your knee. His mouth opens against yours, then, teeth biting into the flesh of your bottom lip. With a shuddering gasp, you hold onto him tighter and allow him to lick into your mouth, lost in the taste and feel of him.

His hand grips onto your leg to lift it from the ground and wrap it around his thigh, allowing him to slot his hips against yours perfectly. You can feel yourself spiraling, unable to form coherent thoughts beyond the heady rush of electricity that zaps through you with every pull of Yeonjun's lips. When you begin to grow breathless, his lips detach from yours to slip down your chin and press against your throat.

A mixture of gasp and whine escapes you, making his grip on you tighten and his lips turn bolder in their exploration of your neck. You feel his teeth scraping over your collarbone and shivers run through you, causing your back to arch and press further into his body. He groans against your skin and runs his hand up your leg to caress the delicate skin of your thigh.

You realise this is getting kind of out of hand because you've just confessed your feelings and you're still in the damn locker room, but your eyes can't help but clench shut as your fingers tug on his silky soft hair, silently asking him to keep going.

But Yeonjun is far more in control of the situation than you are, given the way he turns his kisses from hungry to chaste, slowly. Pressing a closed mouth peck to your cheek, he rearranges his grip on you to pick you up with his hands beneath your thighs, and carries you to a bench. He sits down and drapes your legs over his own to make you straddle him, holding you firmly but softly in place.

He plants a soft, sweet kiss to your lips and rests his forehead against yours. Your eyelids part to the blurry sight of his shining eyes. It takes you a moment to realise you have tears in your eyes – and that he does as well.

With the softest smile that you have ever seen on him, Yeonjun brings a thumb up to your face and flicks at the corner of your eye.

"I've liked you ever since high school, you know?"

Your lashes flutter in fascination. "Really? But you never… you always…"

His cheeks grow pink when you scrunch your nose up instead of finishing the sentence, and he shuts his eyes. "You just never really showed any interest… You never looked jealous or bothered by my love life."

"I was being a good friend!" You chuckle when he rolls his eyes. "Besides, I had plenty to say about the girls you dated?"

He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, still looking at you with a soft gaze, but his lips have twitched into a devastating smirk. "But you never said I could date you instead."

A blast of heat flushes your entire face at his words. Remember when you said he never flirted with you and you were grateful for that? Yeah, you still stand by that. Your heart's racing so fast, it's a wonder it hasn't malfunctioned yet. Yeonjun reads your face, too, and pecks your nose with a giggle .

"I'm so sorry it took me so long to figure it out, baby," he then whispers to you, sounding so forlorn that the sound of his voice, especially with that pet name, makes you wanna cry again. "I should've realized you were jealous…"

"I'm sorry, too, Jjun," you whisper back, hands coming up to play with the drawstrings of his hoodie that your eyes focus on as well, suddenly hesitant to meet his open gaze. "I wasn't careful about my words and hurt you. I was a bad friend."

He chuckles at that, which draws your eyes back to his own again. "To be honest, I was more hurt because your words made me conclude that you would never like me back. So you literally don't have to apologize at all."

A smile blooms on your face. "Can I kiss it better, then?"

"Oh, you can always kiss it better, baby." Teeth flashing and eyes squinting, Yeonjun nuzzles into your neck, full of giggles that you mirror as well.

Right then, a call of your name resounds across the locker rooms.

Wait…

Fuck.

Changbin!

Yeonjun's wide eyes look at you with questions. You just sigh and shrug your shoulders.

"Back here, Bin!"

"Bin?" Yeonjun raises an eyebrow with his eyes narrowed, making you stifle a giggle.

"Should I try Binnie, then?"

He gasps in outrage, threatening to bite into your cheek, while you lean away to escape him, still suppressing your laughter.

Footsteps echo across the hall before a gasp is heard at the end of the aisle you're seated next to. Changbin stands rooted to his place, mouth agape and eyes wide. You've corrected yourself in your seat, but – your seat's still kinda Yeonjun's lap.

"I… um?"

You purse your lips in apology. "I'm sorry, Bin. I can't accept your jersey."

"I… can see that, I guess…"

To his credit, Changbin doesn't look a lot upset. Just very confused. You decide to try and help him.

"I can, however, get you Song Yuqi's number if you want?"

Instant fireworks explode in his eyes. "What? The – the cheer captain, Song Yuqi?"

"Mm hm. Cheer captain, my friend, my roommate. You know, the one."

"Wow, Y/N, that'd be so cool, man! Thank you!"

And then Changbin's hopping his way out of there without another word. Yeonjun breaks into laughter the moment he's out of sight.

"Poor guy kept asking me if it was okay to approach you and I kept saying we're just friends. He must be so confused, right now…"

You look at the boy who's still cradling you in his lap. "So. We're not just friends anymore, I hope."

He tightens his grip around your waist, eyes doing that thing where they switch from being rounded to suddenly narrowed and intense. "That depends. Do you kiss your just friends like that?"

You nudge his nose with your own, heart thumping at the intensity of his dark eyes and the reality of your changing dynamics with him. "Only the ones I intend to do more with."

Yeonjun's eyes widen in surprise and then narrow further with mischief. "Is that so, baby? Well, how about I take you to a nice dinner date tonight and then we can discuss what more can happen later, hm?"

"I'd like that very, very much." Swallowing past the lump of emotions that suddenly lodges in your throat, you bite your bottom lip and smile.

He smiles back, but then brings a thumb up to tug your lip free. "Don't bite your lip, baby. You've got me to do that for you, now."

And then he kisses you again.

#txt #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun imagines #txt imagines #txt x you #yeonjun x you #txt fanfic #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun fics #yeonjun angst #txt angst #yeonjun fluff #txt fluff

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prettyboykatsuki · 7 months

Note

fang now you got me curious... thoughts on ex boyfriend bakugou? 👀

he is a wet cat kdjhsdkjsd

i really think bkg is a "mate for life" kind of a guy. if he's in a serious relationship he does not plan on breaking up ever. very "i'd rather start over with you than anyone else even if we have to do it 100 times". so if you're breaking up - the chances the break up isn't a hot emotional mess is slim to none

and the chances that bkg was the one to initiate is fucking zero. once you're in the relationship you're in it, and while he's not gonna stop you from backing out, you're basically it for him. like. forever. he has a hard job and love was alr the bottom of his priority list.

to be honest i think he's a little bit more of a soggy guy than we'd like to believe. everyone thinks he's going to be really...? angry about the situation. but he's actually just. alarmingly sad. there's something really hollow about him and he's still very very kind to you and very amicable but he always sort of looks like he's in pain. he speaks much more gently and is way less playfully gruff in a way that's very gutting.

even once he gets over that, he doesn't know how to butt out of your life. he wants too so much. he really does but he can't. you became his person so long ago and now what? you want him to pretend that's not true?

bkg will respect ur boundaries if you enforce them. and he certainly won't chase after you if he feels like you don't want him anymore.

it's not him who chases after you but his friends dfkjkfhs. bkg is a person who by all intents and purposes - is defined by the relationships he's made. and his friends know more intimately than you ever will, how much you mean to him. they're also ceo of meddling lmao so just. one after the other you get messages like hey....... and its so insane

they all meddle trying to get you two fall back in love like a shitty hallmark movie. you practically never see bkg cry, but once the two of you are alone in a room and you ask if he really misses you, he sort of turns his head and says fucking obviously - all while sniffling a bit. and it just sort of strikes you that maybe it's worth it trying to work it out one more time

i would love to write him in a hot sexy way but i actually think he gets DEEPLY pathetic as an ex in a very not fun way KJSDHKJF. our emotionally well-adjusted but ultimately riddled with attachment issues king.

#return to sender #katsuki <3 #my pookie wookie bear hes so soggy #i love him but i genuinely dont think he could handle a break up #just like i dont think he can do hook ups #hes very sensitive lol #a.bnha

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andiwriteordie · 1 year

Note

andi !! here’s a prompt that is so self indulgent but i know in my heart you would write so well!! mike and will in college in a big city, running to catch a late train home from dinner/a club meeting/an event. it was raining outside, they’re out of breath, will has crashed into mike from the momentum of being pulled inside the car, and mike’s got his arms wrapped around will and doesn’t seem to be too keen on letting go. (oh. and at a second glance— the car is deserted except for the two of them.)

hehehehehe okay this one was fun, and i flipped it just a teeny bit, but here you go my dearest suni <3 some modern byler in nyc together!

—

i get lost with you.

It’s raining outside.

It’s raining outside, because of course, it is, and Mike’s Converse are water-logged, and his socks are soggy and gross, and he’s completely soaked to the bone—so much so that he probably looks something like one of the sewer rats that New York City is so famous for. It’s raining outside, and look, rain definitely wasn’t in the forecast today, because Mike had checked—many, many times, thank you very much—before leaving his dorm this morning and making the three or so hour drive to Will’s place for their date.

Then again, Mike supposes he didn’t really pay much attention to what the weather would look like at nearly two in the morning. Truth be told, he’d expected the night to look a little bit different—that he and Will would go out for dinner at whatever place Will had decided on (since this is Will’s city, and he knows it far better than all the shitty travel websites Mike had been trying to look through), maybe walk around a little bit and do some sight-seeing (since Mike’s only been to NYC a few times and is nowhere close to being familiar with his boyfriend’s home), and then head back to to Will’s place for some much needed alone time (since it’s really a pain in the ass to go from seeing each other every single day over the summer to only seeing each other every couple of weeks).

But then tonight, things hadn’t exactly gone like how Mike had planned. Though, if Mike’s learned anything this year, it’s that sometimes the best things happen to him when life doesn’t go according to his plan.

(Will Byers?

Not exactly part of Mike’s plan.

Will Byers?

Absolutely, without a doubt, the best thing that’s ever happened to Mike.)

So yeah, Mike’s vague plan to get dinner and sightsee for a few hours before going back to Will’s place had been all but thrown out the window in favor of a much more spontaneous, chaotic kind of evening, stretching into the darkest hours of the night. Honest to God, Mike doesn’t know how they ended up this far away from Will’s place in Manhattan, and it’s not really that reassuring when Will takes out his phone and pulls up the Maps app and sheepishly admits he doesn’t really know where the two of them are at. But at the same time, Mike can’t bring himself to care.

He hasn’t laughed this hard or had this much fun since—well, since camp earlier this summer, back when he was with Will and with the rest of the Party. College is great and all, and yeah, Mike has a handful of friends at Brown. But none of them are the Party, and none of them are Will.

And truthfully, Mike feels most like himself when he’s around Will anyways, so that’s why it doesn’t matter that Mike’s Converse are water-logged, or that his socks are soggy and gross, or that he probably looks like one of New York City’s rats.

All that matters right now is that he’s with Will—right where he belongs.

“Come on!” Will laughs, and he looks up from his phone, turning around to look back at Mike. There are rain droplets caught on his eyelashes, and his cheeks are a slight shade of pink, probably from running around the streets of Brooklyn or the Bronx or whatever the fuck burrough they’re in right now, because Mike lost track a while ago. “There’s a station right up there!”

“You said that a block ago,” Mike points out, unable to keep a cheeky grin off his face. Boyfriend or not, it’s still fun to see Will get a little riled up, and besides, Will looks really cute when he rolls his eyes.

(Mike would know. He’s an expert at making Will Byers’ eyes roll.)

Will indeed rolls his eyes, and then he narrows them slightly at Mike, playful and fond but also exasperated. “Sorry,” he says dryly. “I thought it was closer than it was.”

“Yeah, well,” Mike replies easily, and he grins again as Will’s eyes narrow in suspicion, “I probably shouldn’t have trusted you to navigate us in the first place. God knows you have no sense of direction—”

“More than you!” Will huffs, spinning around and pushing on Mike’s chest lightly. There’s an offended look on his face, but he’s also clearly trying to hold back his smile. “I’m not the one who got his entire cabin lost in the woods for six hours—”

“That was one time, and I wasn’t even a counselor yet, so really, it was Jonathan’s fault—”

“It was definitely more than one time,” Will interrupts, rolling his eyes again at Mike. There’s a smile tugging at his lips still and a fondness in his eyes that both seem to say, You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot.

And God, he looks beautiful, wrapped up in the windbreaker Mike’s glad now he grabbed on his way out this morning, ecause maybe a couple hours ago, Will had gotten chilly, and of course, Mike had given him the windbreaker without any hesitation. And honestly, it’s more to Mike’s benefit than it is Will’s because of the simple fact that Will Byers wearing his clothes is something that Mike’s not sure he’ll ever get over.

“I don’t remember there being any other times,” Mike whispers back, just to be stubborn and just because it’s stil fun to tease Will like this, to get him riled up, to see if he’ll take the bait, to jump back into the push and pull that is their relationship.

Of course, it’s Will, and he takes the bait—because God forbid either of them let the other one have the last word. He narrows his eyes again, that playfully exasperated look stillon his face, and he takes another step towards Mike, pressing on his chest lightly.

“You got lost last summer in the woods with Dustin and El,” Will reminds, his voice low and teasing. “Lucas, Max, and I had to come find you and your campers. Remember?”

Rain continues to fall from the sky above them, and Will Byers stands right in front of Mike, with his playful little smirk and his rosy cheeks and his eyes full of a dare—challenging Mike to finish what he’s started, to join him in this dance of theirs, and to find an adequate enough quip to keep this argument going.

And truthfully, Mike can’t find it in him.

The rest of the argument’s there. The bantering’s there too. The playful back-and-forth, back-and-forth that they’re both so accustomed to—that’s all still there, buried somewhere in the back of Mike’s mind. But right now, Will Byers is right here, shivering a bit still from the cold and the rain, and his hand is still pressed gently against Mike’s chest, and he’s here, he’s here, he’s here.

And all Mike wants is for him to be closer.

It feels natural when Mike reaches his own hand up, curling his fingers around Will’s wrist. The touch is still like electricity, even now, and Will must think so too, because his breath catches as Mike pulls him closer and kisses him—slowly, carefully, deliberately.

Will’s lips are slick with rain water, and the faint taste of the strawberry ice cream he’d ordered a couple hours ago lingers still. With his free hand, Mike reaches out towards Will, wrapping his arm around his waist and pulling him close, close, close but still not close enough. Immediately, Will’s other hand reaches up to cup Mike’s face, and his fingers are gentle but freezing against Mike’s cheek.

The closer now that he is, the more Mike can notice just how much his boyfriend is shivering—an unfortunate reminder that, as much as he’d like to stay here in this moment with Will underneath the street lamps in some shady Brooklyn or Bronx or whatever neighborhood, the two of them should get out of the rain and go home.

“We should get going,” Mike mumbles, though he makes no effort to pull away.

“Yeah,” Will whispers back, just as breathless as Mike feels right now, “we should.”

He doesn’t move away either, still looking up at Mike with a softness in his eyes reserved only for Mike. The street lamp above them shines right on Will, casting him in a gentle, golden glow, and when he smiles again at Mike, less playful and more tender now, Mike feels a bit weak in the knees.

It’s funny in moments like these to think about everything that brought them here. All the chaos and the fighting and the drama that brought them here—to these little moments stolen for the two of them, where Mike looks and where all he can see is Will Byers.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s too soon to tell… but Mike gets the feeling that moments like these are only the beginning for the two of them.

So, he leans forward, pressing another brief kiss against Will’s lips, before pulling away and smiling. “Come on,” Mike says softly, “we should get home.”

The subway station’s dark and empty, Mike counts at least two rats that scurry past them on their way down, and oh yeah, the train’s about to leave.

“Shit,” Will swears as the two of them make it down the last of the steps and catch sight of the subway doors closing. “Shit, shit, shit—”

And look… look, Mike’s only been to New York City a few times with his family, and God knows that they were not taking the subway on those trips to the city. His first time riding on one of New York's world famous subways was, in fact, just earlier today, and it’d been a rather harrowing experience, if Mike’s being honest. Will had definitely given him shit for it, but that’s nothing new.

Anyways, Mike’s experience with New York City and its public transit is fairly limited, but he knows the stupid subway system runs 24/7. If they miss this train, then that’s fine, because then, they can just wait here until the next one comes in.

All of that to say, Mike doesn’t really get why his boyfriend—his “used-to-be-on-the-track-team” and “doesn’t-get-breathless-chasing-after-six-year-olds-at-camp” boyfriend—is currently hauling ass towards the subway like the world will end if they don’t make it to the subway car this time. But whatever reason Will has for hauling ass towards the subway, Mike is getting dragged right alongside him—Mike, aka the “horrible-at-every-sport-but-especially-track” and “does-get-breathless-chasing-after-six-year-olds-at-camp” boyfriend in this relationship.

It’s great.

Somehow though, Mike manages not to trip over his own two feet, and he manages not to fall to certain death when Will pulls him into the subway car right as the door closes. The momentum does, however, send him crashing right into Will’s arms, and together, the two of them stumble backwards, barely able to stay upright until Will’s back hits the metal pole in the middle of the subway.

“Ow,” Will mutters with a wince, but still, his arms wrap around Mike, grounding him, holding him close, and steadying him. He’s still soaking wet—they both are—but not shivering as much as he was moments before.

“Sorry,” Mike breathes. He doesn’t make an effort to pull away, because this time, he doesn’t need to. This time, they’ve got nowhere to be, and they’re no longer caught in the rain and the cold, so Mike can just be here. He can just enjoy this moment with his boyfriend.

Will blinks the rain droplets out of his eyes, and he gazes up at Mike, a small smile forming on his face. His arms are still wrapped around Mike’s waist, and he’s pinned up against the metal pole in the middle of the subway, Mike’s body flush against his own. Surprisingly, he’s just as breathless as Mike is, though Mike thinks it’s not from their little sprint into the subway car.

“‘S okay,” Will whispers back, resting his hand carefully against the small of Mike’s back.

A beat passes.

There’s nobody else in the subway car, Mike notices. That’s a little surprising, especially for New York City, but hey, he’s not complaining here. Alone time with Will is something that’s awfully hard to come by—especially being in a long distance relationship—so Mike will take any time the two of them can get alone together that the universe is willing to give them.

“You gonna let me go?” Will murmurs, his voice low and his expression teasing. That playful look from before has returned to his face, and he knows exactly what he’s doing, goading Mike back into their familiar back-and-forth, flirty dynamic. Will has Mike exactly where he wants him, or maybe Mike has Will exactly where he wants him.

“Never,” Mike whispers back.

And then, without another moment of hesitation, Mike’s lips are crashing into Will’s, and his hands are cupped around Will’s face, pressing him back into that metal pole even more and keeping him right where Mike wants him. A small, muffled noise escapes Will’s lips in the briefest moment of surprise—to which Mike nearly has to laugh, because Will knew exactly what he was doing and really shouldn’t have been surprised.

There’s something to be said about the way that kissing Will makes Mike feel—that even after all this time, a kiss from Will Byers would still feel like electricity, like a lightning strike during the middle of a storm, like every single one of Mike’s senses has been awakened and brought to life by the sheer proximity to Will. It’s no wonder that Mike so consistently has felt drawn to him, even in those years where he’d never admit it, and it’s no wonder that every single step towards Will Byers had sent Mike Wheeler careening towards a point of no return.

Every single bad decision that’s brought him to this point just fades away, because Will is here, his body still a bit cold and damp just like Mike’s own, his arms pulling Mike closer to him and pressing the two of them together, his lips soft and warm and pressed against Mike’s—never once giving a moment of respite because that’s not Will. Because Will’s always kept Mike on his toes, always met every single challenge with one of his own, always pushed Mike and pulled Mike, and always made Mike better because of it.

And in this moment, the rest of the world seems to disappear, the way everything always does when Mike is with Will. Everything about Will demands his attention simply because he’s Will, and his presence is intoxicating and magnetic, continually pulling Mike closer and closer and closer to him without any effort at all.

“You,” Will mumbles against their kiss, and he runs his hands underneath Mike’s shirt, causing Mike to shiver at his touch, “should come visit me more.”

It’s not a demand, because God knows that’s not Will either. For as long as Mike’s known Will, he’s known Will as the type of person who only asks for something when he really wants it.

That fact causes a smugness and a warmth to bloom inside Mike’s chest, and he pulls back, just enough to breathe and to smirk at his boyfriend. “Should I?” he whispers.

A smile tugs at Will’s lips, and he rests his hand gently against the small of Mike’s back, pulling him closer still. “Yeah,” Will breathes, his voice low and raspy, “you should.”

He kisses Mike again now, slowly deepening the kiss with each moment that passes—and Mike hums, leaning into the kiss and running his thumb across Will’s cheek carefully.

“Okay,” Mike murmurs, his lips still lingering against Will’s, “but only because you asked so nicely.”

Will huffs out a little laugh, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “And because you like me,” he teases back, and he adds, with a kiss between each word, “You. Like. Me. So. Much.”

This time, Mike can’t help but laugh, and he smiles back at Will as the two of them meet his eyes.

Just like before, the argument’s there. The bantering’s there too. Their playful back-and-forth, back-and-forth—all of that is still there. Mike doesn’t think that’ll ever change. He hopes they never change.

But right now, all Mike can do is smile at his boyfriend and kiss him in an empty subway car in the middle of the night somewhere lost in New York City and whisper, “Yeah… I really do.”

#andi's asks #byler #byler ficlet #hehe!#this was fun #andi writes not dies

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moonyssmommyy · 8 months

Text

My Marauders Headcanons Pt. 3 ~ Remus John Lupin

(Daniel Sharman as Remus Lupin makes sooo much sense, in my head. I mean he is soggy, wet dog of a man like Remus. He plays a werewolf on Teen Wolf. He has the hair, and if cocky, cool Remus is your thing he can pull that off too. Also there's a pic of him in a cowboy hat for all the Cowboy!Remus going on rn)

Hes an old man at heart and he always has been

He's very awkward, like if it weren't for the marauders he'd probably have like no friends

He actually gets along with everybody despite the facts he's awkward as hell

Became friends with The Pantheons/Slytherin Skittles/The Emeralds (whatever your preferred term is) after the prank

Light Academia aesthetic

He looks so funny sitting there wearing his light clothes next to them in all their dark ones

Still as cute as ever

He is not the smartest marauder

I mean in book sense yes but absolutely nothing else

He's awkward as fuck, and he's about as creative as a piece of cardboard

He's not emotionally intelligent either he gets even more awkward when people start crying

He has some psychological/ mental intelligence but not much

He's become best friends with Evan and Regulus

Barty reminds him a lot of James and he's thankful for that because he really missed James

He didn't talk to Sirius for months after the prank

Didn't talk to James either as he was on Sirius' side

Remus had expected it but it still hurt

Peter was there though and he'll forever be grateful for that

When he finally did start talking to James again it was like nothing had ever happened, but when he started talking to Sirius again everything was different

Remus' words were calloused, and cold he hadn't called Sirius padfoot or pads since the prank

Sirius hated that

Hated Snape even more after the prank too

His favorite color is actually brown, he says it's green to seem less boring but that's actually his second favorite color

Smokes Marlboro Light 100s

Fav class is Astronomy but best class is DADA

He's thoughtful and very, very observant

His fav muggle candy is Mr. Goodbar's

Tried on Sirius' leather jacket once and wants to get one of his own now

Really enjoys being the little spoon but he's so tall (that's why Barty is a good snuggle buddy)

Love Languages are Quality Time and physical touch

He prefers to receive physical touch and just spend time with you bc he doesn't really know how else to express himself

Mama's boy just like James

But he really loves his dad too

He fucking loves dinosaurs

So does Peter, they can talk about them for hours

Remus and Peter are variants of each other

Remus is a nerd from hell 😭

It's ok he's cute tho

Remus is naturally left handed but he learned to write with his right hand bc writing of the superstition that surrounds it

James and McGonagall are the only ones who know

So everyone thinks Remus has super shitty handwriting, when it's actually really good

He writes very small and neat

Didn't actually make up with Sirius until there were only a couple months left in their last year

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sunnydayroleplay · 1 year

Note

PLEASE PLEASE I BEG OF YOU I NEED YOU TO WRITE SOME SHAUN COMFORT IT COULD BE ANYTHING I JUST NEED MY CATBOY TO COMFORT MEEEEEEEEE Thank you and have a good day!

Alright alright! You’ll get your daily Shaun needs! Not my fault that everyone lives, laughs, and loves Joseh and Jack!

I agree, he needs more lovin’!! Shaun comfort it is~

Contents Inside: Cuddles, Bathtime with Shaun, Attempts at making dessert..

18- DNI, even though this is a SFW post, the game it is based off of is an 18+ community. It is for your own safety, and you interacting not only jeopardizes that, it jeopardizes mine, and the creators of the games. For SFW + 18- safe content, check out my art page instead. @feralhalfnhalfcreamer

———————————————————

Hypothetically, right now you are in desperate need for some comfort.

You’re sad, upset, you need a big strong man that has a soft sweet cat that is in the mood to do just that!

You’re huddled up in your bed, scrolling mindlessly on your phone, trying your best not to burst out.

Moonpie makes her way onto your bed and rubs her face onto yours, making her way through the opening of your arms.

She dips her head and blinks slowly at you, purring softly before she balls up right by your head.

You put down your phone and pat her soft fur, feeling slightly better.

Shaun comes into the room after going grocery shopping a few minutes later

“I’m back! I’ll make sure to put them away-“

Shaun immediately notices your mood change, and rushes up right beside you.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m okay Shaun..don’t worry-“

“Ah, ah,ah! Don’t you tell me not to worry about you! I know when somethin’s up. Who did it?”

“No one did anything, I’m just..not in a good mood.”

“Would some of my love help?~”

“Ehe, always.”

Shaun laid down beside you, and pulled you in close to him.

He brushed off hair that was covering your face, so that he could actually see it.

A hand grazed your cheek, and the other patted Moonpie’s perfectly smooth head.

You let out a deep sigh and buried your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Shaun let out a giggle.

“Why aren’t you cute~”

“I’m always cute!”

“That you are.”

“Mow!”

Moonpie seems to agree.

The two of you stayed like this for a good while.

Shaun massaged your shoulders, and gently caressed your neck.

He kissed you every time you asked for a kiss.

With the occasional stupid pun.

“Hey, Y/N.. what did the sushi say to the bee-?

“What?”

“Wasabi.”

“Get out-“

“Aha! Please you can’t tell me that wasn’t good!”

“That was terrible Shaun! Terrible!!”

You share a laugh with him, even though he made shitty puns, your shitty mood got better.

You felt so much relief, and joy whenever you were with him.

He was always so nice, and he was always there for your own needs.

He made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

After he cheered you up, he took you out of the gloomy room and decided that it was a fine time to bake.

“Shaun, do you even know how to make cupcakes?”

“I guess we’ll find out!”

“And I guess I should have 911 on speed dial-“

“C’mon, have some faith in me honey-“

“Don’t honey me- At least follow a recipe!”

“I do have a recipe, thank you very much.”

“From what?”

“Let’s bake!”

“Jesus Christ.”

It started off surprisingly well.

Started off..

It only got worse.

The measurements were wrong.

The bowl was either too big or small.

The stand mixer probably caught fire, it smells smokey.

With all of this in mind, you guys’ somehow got something in the oven.

“Bake at 350, Shaun. 350.”

“I know, I know! 350.”

“That’s 450.”

After about 20 minutes pass, or however long it takes cupcakes to bake- you take them out the oven.

They’re burnt yet..raw??

They’re soggy when you eat it, but it’s crunchy?

Can you even legally classify them as cupcakes anymore?

Whatever they are, it’s getting composted.

And you two definitely need a bath.

Shaun shook out at least a cup of flour from his hair, and you probably have egg shells in yours.

At least you guys had fun.

“I think we should take a bath, and then clean up-“

“You think? Silly.”

Shaun rushes over to the bathroom to turn on the faucet and get it to temperature.

You get undressed and wrap your towel aroujs you, holding a few others.

Shaun pours a generous amount of soap underneath the running water.

“That is one bubbly bath.”

“It is a very bubbly bath.”

Soon enough you slip off the towel, and slip inside the bath.

Shaun comes in immediately after.

Your body begins to relax in the warm, warm water.

Shaun pours some water over your head, and grabs your shampoo, making sure to get a lot.

He works it through your roots to the tips of your hair, making sure all that gunk was out.

You couldn’t feel more relaxed and happy.

You flutter your eyes closed as he began washing the soap out of your hair, and work in conditioner.

Once getting squeaky clean was done, you accidentally splash Shaun trying to get up.

In return, he splashes you back.

“Hey! That was an accident!”

“Annnd?”

“Ugh, you’re such a jerk-!”

You had fun.

You definitely felt better than before.

Shaun always knew how to cheer you up, even though you “seemingly” hated it.

You don’t hate it, you love it more than anything.

You love that he’s this big, tough guy sometimes, but in reality he’s just a softie with a big heart.

And that softie with a big heart is always willing to make your day.

#jacktor #sdj jack #sdj jacktor #sdj joseph #sunny day jack #swwsdj #somethings wrong with sunny day jack #sunny day jack roleplay #sunny day jack joseph #sdj jean #swwsdj shaun #sdj shaun #sunny day jack shaun #sdj shaun x reader

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buff-muffin · 6 months

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This is a Drabble I wrote that was originally going to be the start of an actual fic where Mike meets Charlie’s ghost and the two recognised each other and start catching up and helping each other out in their similar goals. But I haven’t had time to really write in weeks and I know after the movie any motivation for this story is burning in the pits of hell. So instead take this:

A drabble based off Micheal Afton getting ready for a work interview after being scooped. So uhh yea, CW for. Um… Grossness and mentions/ suggestions to body horror :)

It was morning. It was piss-fuck early morning. The ancient, dented alarm beside his bed blared with a static screech, almost unfamiliar with how long it had been since he had needed to listen to its shitty morning song. Already, all Mike wanted was nothing more than to curl up back in bed, back into the soothing lulls of sleep where he could simultaneously forget and remember everything terrible about life. With drowsiness weighing his arms like led, he tried to shift ever so subtly to get comfortable, though all it did was drag his mind right back to reality and awareness of his body. The first thing he noticed was his skin, he quickly became conscious of how it was sagged, almost like it was melted and stuck against the soggy old, torn mattress he still hadn’t found time to replace. It wasn’t like he could feel the bumps and spikes of old rusted springs that snapped through the fabric. Not through the tingling numbness that plagued his own dead body. So it was on his… eventually to do list. He had all the time in the world after all.

With glaring awake-ness back into his body, he could do nothing but pull his flesh off the drying liquid that stained the fabric of his mattress and wake up. With a slight stretch and a disgustingly slow peel, he pried himself free and pushed his legs over the side of the bed. Only now, sitting with his back so badly hunched he might completely collapse, did Mike even open his eyes. There was no sleep to wipe away and no light to adjust to. He was just, awake, back in the world of the living once again. It was only when his brain caught up did he look over the shitty apartment space he called home.

It was a studio apartment bathed in darkness from the closed curtains. The living conditions of this run down place was the definition of unliveable, which made it perfect for him. There was a leak of some kind of liquid in the kitchen. He didn’t really have an actual roof as little bits of asbestos would rain down if ever his upstairs neighbour stomped too hard. There was mould in about every corner. A roach infestation and probably a termite one too. But rent was dirt cheap and the old fuck daring enough to sell this piece of shit didn’t care how dead he looked, as long as he paid rent.

It was a good deal. A good deal for someone who can't die of any of the health code violations going on in this place.

Finally shutting off his alarm that only seemed to get more distorted as it screamed, Mike let the reality of the day wash over him. Right, busy… busy… With a resolution about as strong as his endo supported spine, he finally pulled himself up and away from his resting place. Heh. He was in nothing but a pair of boxers despite the November weather, not like he needed to keep much warm after all. So with slow, lugged and lazy steps, he dragged his boneless corpse over the piles of dirty and stained clothes and across to the bathroom; the only other room of the house. What were all those clothes stained with? An orangey-browny sometimes greeny liquid that would leak out from his scars if he laid down too long. Whatever it was, it was also on his bed and a bitch to wash out. So really he planned on throwing them all away eventually too. It was also on his never-to-do list.

The bathroom was no better than the rest of the house, if anything, arguably worse. The walls were caked in black mould and the floor painted with even more laundry that made little mounds to walk on. Under the sink was completely ransacked for its chemicals, the shower curtains were brittle with age and mould. The whole place smelled like mildew and the humidity was so bad fish could breathe in here. Even the appliances inside hardly worked. The water pressure in the shower was so dog-shit it was enough to make God cry. And half the time his sink water would be brown, just cause. Even the counter was covered in junk. But at least the mirror still worked besides the slight permanent fog.

Mike didn’t bother closing the door, and looked himself in the mirror. Skin was still as gross as ever. Hairless, purple and a little bit saggy, maybe that was a normal sag? He liked to think it was a normal sag. Like old peoples faces just started drooping once they hit eighteen. Because that’s definitely how it worked. The fact he was an adult now is still a weird one to come to terms with. So much time had passed. So much time he hardly remembered… he hardly remembered…Enard- Staring into the reflection his dead white pupils blinked away thoughts as he was dragged back to reality, right… busy busy. No time to think about months of his life lost to being a flesh puppet. Waking up a little more, he bared his teeth at his reflection, looking over them with a dull exhausted interest. Yellow and stained but unchanged, one would have thought he might have lost them a long time ago but nope. In fact they weren’t even rotting anymore now that he didn’t eat. Score. His tongue on the other hand… Was looking a bit worse for wear. He was no mortician, he didn’t really know how to make it stop rotting, he would just have to hope he could still talk when it fell out.

His eyes were a different story, no longer did he have his fathers diluted blue irises that made him shiver looking in his own reflection. In fact he no longer had eyes at all. Instead his eye sockets were bathed in darkness, with little white dots deep inside that worked as his pupils. Yeah besides his organs they were quick to toss out his eyeballs to make sure they could see when using him like a living animatronic suit. It was a little freaky that he could stick his fingers in his eyes and feel around the sticky and dried flesh. He didn’t like to, but it was kinda cool in a fucked up sort of way. The idea made him want to vomit. And wanting to vomit reminded him that he didn’t have organs. And THAT reminded him of shitty things, so he usually didn’t poke around unless something got stuck in there.

“Fuck. fuck fuck fuck. Interview. Ok, interview. Fuck-I gotta shower. Ok no it’s fine, I woke up early for this I’m still on time.” Trying to snap himself out of damp and depressing thoughts, he slapped his hands lightly on his hollowed cheeks and ignored the gross slapping sound that came from boneless fingers on sewn up skin. Reaching a hand past the slimy and brittle curtain he grabbed a knob and random and spun it a few times. The water dribbled and sputtered before finally coming out enough that he could actually fucking clean himself with.

It took a while believe it or not. Trying to shower without getting water in your stitches that are literally all over your body fucking sucks. Cause then he’d have to drain the water out of his empty body and if he’s unlucky have to do the stitches all over again. And the shitty patch work that covered his body spoke for itself that he can't sew for SHIT. The only upside was that he didn’t have any hair at all, he didn’t have to worry about shampoo or conditioner; just a light scratch to his skull did the job. The only things he actually needed to do was scrub off the remaining residue from his mattress that had plastered itself to his skin. Well, and wash away the smell of physical rot with nothing but a cheap body wash he bought just for today. Actually he bought some other things for this interview too.

Other things being, makeup.

Ok yeah-it sounds a little stupid, but when your skin is a beautiful shade of undead purple, and you're heading in for a work interview at a childrens’ entertainment establishment. The best you could do was just look a little living, ya know? So, once Mike was padded dry using the one clean towel he still had, he wrapped it around his waist and left the bathroom, retrieving the makeup he left out, along with the only nice outfit he bothered to keep clean. Bundling everything in his arms, he returned to the only mirror in his apartment and dumped all the supplies in the sink to get dressed first. His clothes were simple, and styled a little like a homeless man. A pair of long baggy jeans, the only pair that weren’t ripped intentionally or by a robot. A turtle neck that would do a good job of hiding some scars that decorated his freak of a neck, and a purple flannel he stole from his fathers leftover stuff. I mean was it really stealing if his mum was gonna sell ‘em anyways?

When he looked in the mirror it felt odd. He never did look right, no matter what he wore. But the fact his skin now matched his fathers obnoxious plum coloured clothes was enough to make him shiver. As uncomfortable as the flannel made him, it beats trying to thrift at three AM. The last details of his outfit was still stuffed in his pocket, a pair of mittens and an old grey beanie that had been with him through many winters. Thank fuck for the cold weather giving him and excuse to hide more of his corpse skin right?

When he was finally dressed and drowned in deodorant to mask the lingering scent of death, he turned back to the musky and foggy mirror staring down at the products still abandoned in the sink. Foundation, concealer, some weird palette thing that he spent ten bucks on, an egg sponge that was probably important, and one of those weird also kinda egg shaped brushes that seemingly every woman owned. He didn’t know jack-shit about makeup. He was a freshly twenty year old guy with a sister that went missing before she could become a teen and actually get good at this bullshit. And a mother who never had a chance to dress up. The most he was going off of was when Elizabeth would beg and cry to cake his face to look like a bootleg clown. But that was when they were both children.

Alright, makeup, he could do this. Basically like half the population wears this shit, can’t be too hard. Ok first, foundation? Or would concealer be first for him? He does need to conceal like… everything. Maybe if he layers foundation enough it will conceal all his issues? He could probably put concealer on next if needed. Using the sponge, he started smearing his face in what felt like skin colour paint. One layer made him look as if nothing changed. So he added some more, then more. And when he still looked a little bit… freaky, with a purple undertone he added concealer. And well… he didn’t look… terrible?

Well, he still looked like a clown, and his eyes were still glowing lights in pits of darkness and he was still bald as fuck. So like a horror clown from hell. But his cheeks looked less dead and he looked passable for a living human, if only just a little uncanny. His face looked as flat as a paper plate which probably didn’t help. Looking down at the palette thing he was sure he had wasted his money on, he could feel himself cringe. Not what he thought he would be using art class for, but at least it wasn’t a complete waste.

Using the brush, he shaded from jaw to cheek and along the sides of his nose. He even added little highlights just to seal the deal on the idea of being alive. He wasn’t going too over the top with this, it’s not like he was going out for a tea party or some shit. He just needed to look alive. All around, makeup took an hour and he ended with a presentable face and a new understanding of why the few girls he dated were always running late. It was satisfactory. So, deeming himself done, he washed off his hands and the sink that had been splattered in spilled concealer. Once all the shit was dry and his black towel was newly dawned with fresh skin coloured stains he finally walked out of the bathroom to the rest of his decomposing house.

Finally, he pulled on his tattered beanie and dug through the remains of his backpack. The thing was old, rotting and falling apart at the seams. A large stain still sat at the bottom from a particularly rotten apple from high school. But now it was filled with everything he would need for today. Definitely expired meds. A fake resume, that was basically fucking empty besides some good words from a volunteer place he had never actually worked at. Fake ID, for a Mr Jeremy Fitzgerald. Surprisingly, when he called the place, they didn’t have that many checks besides explaining that as long as you had a clean criminal record you would be fine to work.

A particular stain on that shiny old record of his rang in his head. There was no court problem besides other parents complaining about the trauma their children went through. But he was sixteen, and arguably had it worse at the time. So no real charges were pressed, just a note in case he became a deadbeat in the street or something. So they could tie it all back to the trauma of the biggest fuck up of his life and throw him behind bars anyways. But it’s fine, that wouldn’t matter. Jeremy Fitzgerald was a fresh out of high school teen looking for honest work between his studies. A blank slate he planned on tossing away once he got what he needed from this place.

Once he figured out what his father had planned.

With a new found resolve, and his double check done, Michael Afton pulled on his glasses and gloves and slugged his bag onto his back. He looked back to his bed and resisted the urge to collapse on it before he pushed the door open and slammed it shut behind him. Jeremy Fitzgerald had an interview for the nightshift at the new and improved Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. And he couldn’t miss this chance.

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tobiasdrake · 3 months

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Into the Tower of Antsudlo to face our kinda shitty destinies.

So it turns out it's a jetstream, not a portal. I'm disappointed.

This is it. I hope the door that no one could open wasn't this one because it just took two baps with the Coral Hammer on the Coral Bells nearby to budge it. The Docarri build the Coral Bells. Surely they meant something else.

Alright team, let's make camp here at this inexplicably flammable lumber pile half-submerged in water.

So. That sucked and I hated it. We all got put through the ringer on that trip. Except you, Garl, because even total dickweeds can't bring themselves to be mean to you. You're a cinnamon roll. Keep doing what you're doing.

Key takeaway is that we're going to fucking die. That's a downer. But we knew that already so it's not that much of a downer, right? ...right?

...

I'm going to bed in my soggy bedroll. Good talk, everyone.

...that actually means a lot to me.

Okay, maybe we've got this. You aren't even supposed to be here and that means you might be able to change things up! We've got this!

Do you think the Docarri come here and leave all this pottery? There's a bunch of jars and stuff that's definitely not naturally occurring.

No, wait. Obviously the tower isn't naturally occurring, so the pottery may have been left behind by whoever built this structure to begin with.

Sorry, I'm still a bit shaken up.

I'm sure this is fine. We were probably meant to do this, right? Completely normal method of transportation.

SHIT THAT'S THE DOOR

Probably! It's a door, but it looks important! Guys! Break the pipe! Do something! Don't let it pass us by! GUYS.

You guys are fucking useless.

Except you, Garl. You're my bestie.

And you, Serai. We adore you and we're glad you're with us, regardless of whatever might be going on with you.

Zale, I give you a lot of shit but you're pretty cool too.

Everyone else here is fucking useless.

THE DOOR

Great work, team. We all pulled together and made it through. See, Zale? I told you we didn't need to resort to petty vandalism to get here but no, you wouldn't listen to me.

What are we, thugs or something?

Now, this looks much more like an ancient door sealed away that no one has ever crossed through. Look at those markings. There's something almost spiritual about this place. Teaks could probably spend a lifetime examining these carvings.

Well, that's not much of an obstacle. Garl, you still got those pressure cooker bombs of yours?

Just because I deserved this, that doesn't mean I can't be mad about it. Remember me as I was. Crying and shrieking obscenities that can't be published in most sections of this library at the World Eater as it swallows me whole.

Why didn't it open? Aren't we supposed to be children of fate or some shit? Defective-ass fucking prophet gave us some defective-ass prophecies. "You are the Chosen; Go to the door that only opens for the Chosen WHOOPS IT DOESN'T FUCKING OPEN I GUESS I'M LYING."

I hope I drowned that fish before we all died.

Oh you're on the other side of the Liar Door. That's fantastic. Hang on a sec... Zale, give me those papers I gave you. Yeah, the ones we wrote out during training.

Right. Here we go. Ahem.

This here's a court summons. I will expect to see you in the courthouse at Mirth, right after we build one, so that we can settle the matter of false advertisement.

Awfully informal. Are you coming with us? There's still room in Garl's backpack if you want to be Cargo.

Codes are flexible. They're social structures that only exist because we choose to let them. The only power they have is what we pretend they do.

So that's a "Yes you can" but "No you won't".

Guessing that's the true name of the Fleshmancer, then?

Yep, that's the Fleshmancer.

Shot in the dark, have you ever considered solving the Fleshmancer problem with violence?

Alright, I get it. "The consequences would be dire" or whatever.

GARL NO

Love the enthusiasm but please don't let your mouth write checks that I don't know if we can cash. I am not ready to throw hands at the Dweller of Strife's dad. When I suggested violence a moment ago, that was not me volunteering our services.

Well, the Chosen Ones door wouldn't open for us and we're failing at our prophecies. So. Probably not. I'd say that's a definite no. We are not who all this predestination shit had in mind.

But beggars can't be choosers and I don't care if you're a god or not, those ratty clothes do not imply a man with many options. So we're the best you've got. Deal with it.

Oh, sure. Piece of cake. We live in a tropical paradise so. Y'know. We're definitely equipped to hit up the fucking arctic on a goose chase for a homeless deity who smells of book must and mold.

Oh. Not even going to let us find warmer clothes first. Straight to the arctic.

Okay, but I'm taking three books with me as collateral. If this winds up being a trap and there is no artifact, I'm burning them for warmth.

#sea of stars #drake plays sea of stars #finally we arrive at the divergence point #i don't think we're the chosen ones #but we'll have to suffice

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spritecranverry · 2 years

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In Your Eyes (1)

Description: 2gether vampire AU that I wrote like two years ago that was so horribly formatted that I am now reposting it. Enjoy!

He only played at night.

Tine had come to such a conclusion after seeing the guitarist appear on stage every weeknight, but never in the afternoon. It was strange, the way Tine had only been observing this one guy in particular, but he justified himself by reasoning that he apparently wasn't the only one.

Bright-eyed young women still donning their off-white blouses and pleated skirts had started frequenting the bar, but never drank. Rather, they often crowded the left side of the stage to murmur and point at the musicians. It was only now that Tine realized that they were there for the guitarist.

A soft mass of brown hair obscured much of the man's features. He was tall and a bit lean, his well-ironed shirts always hanging loosely off of his figure. Tine was often far enough from the stage to be unable to make out much else, except for one particular night...

The guitarist looked up, causing his parted hair to fall away from his narrow face. Tine noticed in amusement that the man's eyebrows were slanted in such a way that he always looked slightly displeased. The corners of his lips were downturned, which didn't help his severe expression.

The guitarist surveyed the crowd, causing the audience to erupt in gasps and small- but-audible squeals of excitement. He seemed to be looking for someone, until his gaze seemed to stop at... Tine. Tine told himself that the man was probably looking behind him or at a random wall, but the man's glare seemed to pierce through him. Tine wondered if he'd done something impolite and checked his white shirt for any ghastly stains that might've appeared unnoticed, only to find none.

The guitarist looked up at the crowd again, but it didn't take as long to finally lock eyes with Tine. Tine's breathing quickened as he finally held the man's gaze. The man furrowed his brows for a moment, then nervously averted his eyes, opting to focus on his guitar.

The band stopped after their last song to introduce themselves one at a time, though Tine didn't quite pay attention until the lead guitarist went up to the mic stand.

"Can I skip the introduction this time?" the man asked, disinterest clear in his tone. Unphased by the disappointed groans from the audience, he nodded in resolution and stepped back from the microphone. The lead singer shrugged and continued closing as students trickled out of the bar, some stopping to snap photos before leaving.

Tine was one of the few customers left.

He'd come without his usual group of close friends, so he hadn't spoken to anyone, nor did he plan to. The band had begun to carefully pack up their instruments as Tine looked on. He shifted uncomfortably when the unnamed guitarist threw unreadable glances his way, but decided to at least finish off his drink before leaving.

Tine finally rose from his seat and started making his way towards the exit. On the way out, he still felt the man's gaze searing the nape of his neck. Tine quickened his pace to escape the feeling, only to suddenly ram into another body. The stranger remained in their spot, not uttering a word.

Tine was indignant at the lack of apology, and the alcohol had given him nerve.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked, trying to maneuver around the stranger to no avail. Tine looked up to make eye contact.

"Fucking asshat, move-"

Tine immediately paused his swearing upon meeting the eyes of the guitarist who was on stage a moment ago. The man's eyes were black, much like his own, but somehow deeper. Deep enough to hide something. Unsettled, Tine tried to break the oppressive silence in the now-empty bar.

"W-what's up with you? Quit staring!" Tine blurted, hoping that'd somehow startle the man into moving. Somehow, it worked. The man suddenly perked up, as if he'd been awoken on the train or had snapped out of a trance.

"S-sorry," the man murmured as he awkwardly shifted out of the way, allowing Tine to rush past.

Tine thought the crisp night air would clear his senses, but the man's heavy stare still lingered behind him, as well as the smell of mahogany wood from his clothes. If Tine knew one thing, it was that he'd be taking a break from that place for a while.

Tine shuddered as he read the bold headline that appeared on his screen:

Breaking: University Student Found Dead, Mauled by Wild Animal

"Didn't think we had any issues with wildlife around here," he remarked. There was no response; Ohm, Fong, and Pheuk had left about a half hour ago.

Tine sighed as he closed his laptop and stood up to change out of his uniform. He'd been up all night studying again, and in the back of his mind, worried that he would develop dark circles. Tine collapsed into bed with nothing more than his boxers on as drowsiness slunk into bed with him.

Tine found himself sprinting in the middle of the sidewalk. His legs were working overtime, the wind whipping through his hair and shirt. He turned corners and dodged passerby in a frenzy, chest and throat raw with every breath, but his limbs would not slow until he felt he had lost... whatever it was that was pursuing him.

He stopped in front of the Political Science faculty building, gasping for air. What had he been running from? Tine couldn't recall for the life of him, but he seemed to be safe, for now. Tine aimlessly wandered around the entrance of the faculty building under the pitch-black of night, hating the deafening silence. As if someone had overheard his thoughts, the faint sound of guitar strumming began to fill the air.

Interest piqued, Tine tilted his head at various angles to find that the source of the music was, in fact, the faculty building. Who was blasting music at this time of night?

Hot air emanated from the building's interior, stagnant and hanging as if waiting for something to disturb it. The music was louder now, most likely from a nearby classroom. Tine could tell from the occasional missed beat that someone was actually strumming the guitar... and singing. He stopped in front of the unremarkable brown door of the classroom; the singing was loudest here. Without a second thought, Tine immediately swung open the door.

A man sat on a desk near the rear of the classroom, with a large acoustic guitar. Slowly, the man lifted his head to make eye contact with Tine, recognition crossing his features. Tine knew those clouded eyes from somewhere, but his thoughts began to swim as the man held his gaze. The man's eyes were puffy, as if he'd been weeping. Otherwise, there was nothing off about him until Tine caught a glance at his mouth, and a shiver crept up his spine.

The man's mouth was caked with fresh blood.

He seemed to realize that Tine noticed, as his lips began to quiver. Every muscle in Tine's body screamed at him to bolt out of the small classroom, but he was cemented to his spot, unable to move and unable to breathe.

Tine shot upright, drenched in cold sweat. The sky was only just beginning to lighten, washing the dorm room with a pale blue. It'd be impossible to return to sleep now.

His alarm hadn't gone off yet; it was 4 am sharp, so Tine had woken two hours ahead. Releasing a sigh of resignation, he decided to shower and eat ahead of schedule.

Sarawat couldn't conjure up any memories of the night before, save for the copper-y taste of blood that lingered on his tongue. He assumed the blood was his. Sarawat rose from his small mattress, nearly falling back from the sudden weight. Lightheaded, he hobbled over to the bathroom to wash up.

Sarawat was never one to stop and scrutinize his reflection, but at times curiosity got the best of him. Cautiously, he stood in front of the sink and leaned forward as his face revealed itself. His hair had already begun to grow long, currently a wet mop that stuck to his forehead with sweat. Sallow eyes stared blankly at him through the spotty mirror as he frowned. A rusty brown substance surrounded the corners of his mouth; also blood. If Sarawat had fought someone the night before, well...

He'd deal with that later.

Shaking away the thought, he began brushing his teeth, trying not to notice the copious amounts of reddish-brown spit that went down the drain. He leaned in closer to the mirror with a piece of floss ready between his fingers when a sharp pain suddenly attacked his jaw. It seemed to go away once he closed his mouth, but he still felt the need to floss. Inhaling sharply, Sarawat opened his mouth again and continued. He stopped again.

In between his front teeth and molar, Sarawat's canine tooth appeared larger than normal. He'd noticed this last week as well, but now the tooth seemed to curve. Sarawat smiled humorlessly at his reflection to convince himself that he was imagining things, but his canines were prominent against the straight row of smaller teeth.

The image of an escaping bat resurfaces from the depths of his memory, a hand instinctively flying up to his collarbone and gingerly running a finger over the bite mark. He remembers the pain. Still, Sarawat refused to believe the legend, the stories that floated around campus at night. Even the utterance of the term would've validated them. The possibility that he might die. Or kill.

Turning away from his reflection, Sarawat finally stripped bare and showered. The water was ice cold on purpose, to force his mind to conjure up other things for once. He thought about the man at the bar--who he made a fool of himself in front of--and how familiar his face was. He thought of the soft eyes of the boy he met back in high school. The longer he lingers on the thought, the more the two faces begin to merge into one in Sarawat's mind. How incredibly sad would it be if they were one and the same?

After washing, Sarawat reluctantly trudged out of the shower and noticed the sun casting a solid square of light onto the hardwood floor. He made the mistake of stepping into the square, wincing the second the sunlight made contact with his skin. There was no way it was that hot outside. Sarawat worried his bottom lip, deep in thought. He cautiously stuck out his right hand, far enough to reach the patch of sunlight.

Sure enough, it hurt like hell.

Snatching his hand away, Sarawat felt fear rising in his chest as a revelation threatened to make its way to the surface of his mind. The reddening sunburn marks on his hand and foot weren't going anywhere, whether he liked it or not.

#2gether the series #sarawat x tine #sarawatine #sarawatine fic #soggy's shitty writing

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