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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 5 months

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hoodie season || Chan x Reader

Summary: You're not stealing Chan's hoodies. He's not happy about it.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings & Tags: Tooth-rutting fluff, established relationship, that should be it.

A/N: Wrote a silly lil one-shot for an idea I got tonight! This was literally written in under two hours, so, uh, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did lol and I apologize for any typos.

Reblogs, feedback and comments are welcome and encouraged!

It starts, without you being aware of it, on a July evening. You and Chan have only been dating for a couple weeks then, and you feel like you’re on cloud nine. For the better half of the night, which you’re spending with his friend group, you’re in his arms, your back against his chest, his chin comfortably resting on your shoulder. Changbin and Jisung tease him about it, but he shrugs it off like it means nothing. He’s got you now, and he likes showing you off, so why wouldn’t he?

It does take you aback when he lets go of you and the cold hits you. It was hot outside all day, and you hadn’t realized that the temperature had dropped by this much. A shiver shakes you to your core, which Chan doesn’t miss, even if he’s being called away to play the guitar.

“You want my hoodie?” he asks, eyes filled with concern.

“No, I’m okay, babe,” you say with a smile. “I’ve brought a jacket.”

He nods, and that’s all there is to it.

It comes back on a night the two of you are spending out. Chan takes you out to this fancy restaurant, and you dress accordingly, always pleased when you get a chance to impress him — and impress him you do. He does that thing that you think is adorable, where he keeps giggling throughout the meal. Under the table, your knees keep touching, and every time, without fail, his ears turn bright red. You love that you still have that effect on your boyfriend of three months.

After that, because you’re near a park, you decide to go for a walk in the night air. It doesn’t take long before you’re shivering in your small, tight dress.

“I’ve got a hoodie in my car,” Chan says, ever the gentleman. “Want me to go get it for you?”

You’re not keen on being left alone in the dark, and your high heels mean that if you go with him, it’ll take much longer than it should. Plus, it would ruin your outfit.

“It’s fine,” you say, arranging your scarf so it wraps around your shoulders. “We’ll be heading home soon anyway, right?”

“Sure,” he nods quickly, and it’s your turn to giggle, because it’s so cute, how Chan always indulges you.

He ends up picking you up when you’re walking back too slowly for his taste, and you protest, but you’re no longer cold when you get to his car.

The subject — which, by the way, you still haven’t realized is a subject — comes back yet again on a night you’re spending in his apartment. You’re coming out of the shower, a towel wrapped around you, and you’re going through your bag to find the clothes you’d planned on wearing for the night when something lands on the bed in front of you. You glance up to find Chan looking at you, leaning against the door frame.

“Just in case you get cold.”

You have, slowly but surely, made your way into November, but Chan’s place is warm, and you know you’ll have a human radiator, so you grin at him.

“I have a feeling I won’t be needing it tonight.”

Chan grins — but his ears turn red, even now.

You do a Secret Santa, a few days before Christmas, with Chan and his friend group, at Changbin’s place. It’s an incredibly nice house, but it’s big and it’s old, and you soon find yourself huddling against Chan for warm. It makes him laugh at first, and he presses a kiss into your hair, arm solidly wrapped around you as he rubs your arm. When you don’t appear to warm up as the night keeps going, he disappears for a few minutes, ignoring your protests.

He comes back from his car and hands you one of his signature black hoodies.

“You’re my savior, babe,” you sigh as you pull it over your head.

Chan beams.

His victory is short-lived, though, because you pull away from him after that — with the hoodie, cuddling makes you too hot.

You leave the hoodie neatly folded in his car when you both go back to your place for the night.

It’s just a few days later that you meet Chan’s family for the first time. You’re all dressed-up, determined to do your best so that they’ll like you, even if Chan’s promised you that they would, no matter what, because he loves you, and that’s all they care about.

He dropped the word so easily, and you were left speechless. You haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

Even now, when you’re sitting next to him, making small talk with his mom and listening to his sister tease him playfully, you have butterflies in your stomach. The hand he’s placed over yours on the table, again making it look so natural, so easy for him, isn’t helping.

“Wanna go for a midnight walk?” he offers, later that night. “It’s kind of a family tradition.”

“Sure,” you say, voice squeakier than usual, and he tilts his head as he studies you, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“You’re not dressed warm enough,” he warns you, and before you can say that you’ve brought appropriate clothing, he’s taking off his hoodie and pulling it down over your head. “There. All good.”

It’s late when you come back, so you both wish his parents a goodnight before Chan drives you back to your apartment. You wait until you’ve made it up the stairs and you’ve opened the door to put your arms around him and pull him down for a kiss. It’s soft, slow, and filled with all of your emotions.

“What’s that for?” Chan whispers against your lips. He’s warm against you, his hands on your hips, and you feel so grounded by him. You always do.

“I love you too,” you whisper back.

The hoodie ends up forgotten on the floor.

You celebrate New Year’s Day with Chan’s friends, again, but really, they’re your friends by now. You get at Changbin’s house early so you can help with the cooking and decorating the place, and end up teaming up with Felix and Minho in the cooking department, while Hyunjin takes over the decorations and forbids everyone from approaching him while he works.

It’s not because he’s shy. It’s because he thinks you’re all terrible.

Chan arrives kind of late minute, busy working on songs, as always, while you’re putting out the drinks you’d brought with you. You greet him with a quick kiss. You still have a million things to do.

“I’ve got your hoodie in my bag, you should put it back in your car,” you just tell him as you rush back into the kitchen.

You miss the way he pouts at you.

It’s later that night, but still with a couple hours to go until midnight, that he approaches you while you’re outside, staring up at the night sky and enjoying the fresh air after hours cooped up inside. He wraps his arms around your waist, buries his head in your neck. You lean back into the familiar touch with a satisfied sigh — until he mumbles something unintelligible.

“What was that?” you ask with a frown.

Even with the only light coming through the windows of Changbin’s house, you can tell he’s blushing when he pulls away from you.

“Why aren’t you keeping my hoodies?”

You blink at him.

“…because they’re your hoodies?”

He opens his mouth, closes it.

“Yeah, but they’re kinda… your hoodies too, y’know?”

You tilt your head slowly, and soon, you’re unable to fight the grin that’s spreading on your lips as you watch him get increasingly pouty.

“Do you want me to steal your hoodies?”

The blush spreads.

“Do you like it when I wear them?”

You’re just having fun now.

“Yeah,” he answers, before cocking an eyebrow at you. “Think it’s hot, by the way.”

You burst out laughing, and he tightens his hold around you when that takes you away from him. God, do you love that man. Once you’ve collected yourself, you reach a hand up to gently cup his cheek.

“Okay, I’ll steal your hoodies. Anything for you, love.”

He smiles, satisfied, and kisses you softly. He brings a hand to cover yours, entangles his fingers with yours.

You don’t tell him, but the truth is, you feel warm and fuzzy all over inside whenever he’s around.

So you don’t see the point in having a hoodie when you can have him instead.

taglist: @lethallyprotected @jisuperboard

Masterlist

#stray kids #bang chan #chan #skz #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #bang chan fluff #chan fluff #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #skz imagine #chan imagine #bang chan imagine #candywrites

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soulcandi · 8 months

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𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 (𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬) | 𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

synopsis: Widowed Jake Sully (sorry) gathers his four children to seek refuge in the isolated territory of the Metkayina clan. He warns them to be on their best behavior, but quickly realizes that it's himself he'll have to watch out for when he meets the eldest daughter of the clan leader.

warnings: jake's pov, alternating povs, mutual pining, written with afab!reader in mind, reader has a na'vi name.

a/n: cross-posted on ao3 and Tumblr <3 noticed some people on tumblr kinda ripping off my work so ig i need to establish dominance on this hellsite too. not sure if i vibe with the pov dividers yet, but they're there regardless.

word count: 2,092

masterlist, next chapter

The foreign white sands seemed to sink under my weight as I dismounted my Ikran. One arm held my youngest daughter against my hip while the other gestured for my three eldest children to stand down and lower their guards. I felt the weariness and apprehension radiating off of them, and understood it, but knew more in the ways of diplomacy than I ever thought to pass on.

The people emerged from their dwellings in droves, peering out into the open sands at the new arrivals from beyond the horizon. Tuk began to stir in my arms as I hoisted her up higher. My legs threatened to buckle underneath my body with every suggested movement. I hadn’t stepped foot on solid land since we first disembarked from the forest floor. I couldn’t afford to.

A low hum rose from the curious silence as the people’s wonder turned to fear. Who were these people? Why have they come to us?

I threw my head in every direction, searching through the many faces for that of Tonowari, who met the sky people in battle alongside me many years ago. He of all people would understand our dire situation. My stomach churned when out of a thousand faces, all melted into a rippling sea of coral blue, none made any move to come forward. Instead, I began to take notice of the pointed spearheads prodding out of the makeshift barricade. They were arming themselves.

A commotion behind me made me whip my head around just in time to catch Neteyam making a grab for the bow strapped to the saddle of his Ikran. “Tiftang,” I hissed. Stop it. If these people saw us as a threat in any capacity, it would be onto the next clan, then the next, and the next, until we came across someplace stupid enough to harbor five fugitives from the forest.

Neteyam met my eye and hesitated before lowering his arm helplessly to his side, a dejected look quickly masking the curiosity that I detected in him immediately after landing. Just as soon as the whispers ceased, they returned tenfold. When I looked back down the beach, it didn’t take long to establish why.

A single figure emerged from the wall of defensive clanspeople, stepping across the platform of pliant sand as if it were a marble runway. It was effortless in a way that should have made me uneasy but instead inspired a rush similar to adrenaline in my cold and wind-beaten body.

The very first thing I noticed was the flowing white cloth draped over your waist — a type of fabric I would have assumed was cotton back on Earth, but on Pandora, I couldn’t be too sure. A long slit ran all the way to your outer thigh and billowed like a sail on the open sea. Strings of beaded pearls twisted around both your legs like thin aquatic vines, and when you grew closer, I would soon notice how similar beads had been woven into the hair framing your face.

I had never seen anything quite like you – on my native planet or this one.

Swallowing, I lowered a wriggling Tuk to the sands where she quickly disappeared behind her sister. I intended to meet you in the middle of the small peninsula, but as soon as I found the strength to move, you had already come within a few feet of where we landed.

There was something so regal in the way you composed yourself, with a sense of majesty that commanded the attention of all those around you, including myself. Anyone could have whispered in my ear just then and told me you were something ethereal — something larger than life — and I would have had no choice but to believe them.

I immediately moved to make myself smaller, afraid of coming off as too imposing. Before I earned the respect of the Omaticaya, I was the oaf, the fool who didn’t consider his own size before running blindly into conflict. I refused to inherit that same legacy here.

Touching two fingers against my temple, I brought them down in a wide arch away from my body. “Oel ngati kameie.” I see you.

Boy, did I ever.

You met my display with a bow of your own, bringing two fingers to the space between your eyes. Your wrist was cluttered with bracelets woven from strong green fibers and I studied you shamelessly, assuming your eyes were closed when in reality, you were studying me back beneath your curtain of long eyelashes.

You heard them well before you ever saw them — the mighty flying beasts whose wings beat up the waters flying low over the edge of the reef. You were raised on stories of the Ikran and of the Toruk who ruled over them in the forest regions. But more often, you were ensnared by tales of Toruk Makto who fought alongside your father in the war against the sky people — those who hunted your tulkun siblings over the horizon.

You were barely able to hold your own in those times of great sorrow, buried in your studies as you learned the ways of the Tsahìk – the role you were blessed to one day inherit from your mother. You long outgrew the audience of the village storyteller, but you had to have been blind not to recognize who now stood in your presence, bowed to offer you his deepest respects.

“Oel ngati kameie,” he spoke, voice low and tinted with a guttural edge. His eyes, a startling yellow that rivaled the burnfibers that grew in the underbrush around the clan border, moved not once from yours.

Your face began to burn from the heat of his gaze – evaporating whatever seawater still lingered on your cheeks from your morning swim. A man who not once in his life reduced himself to beg was now pleading before you, empty hand still outstretched as if for you to take.

In an attempt to hide the effect he was having on you, you quickly moved to fulfill your end of the gesture by touching your own two fingers to your temple. It was only polite by way of your people. Before you could part your lips and repeat his own words back to him, however, you heard furious footfalls upon the sand and staggered backward as your brother Ao’nung appeared out of nowhere and drew you close behind him.

“We have no peace with these forest people,” he seethed, turning back to glower at you before glaring straight forward at your unexpected guests. You were six cycles his elder, but no one would ever guess it by how closely he mirrored your father in both leadership and combat. Despite this, Ao’nung was undeniably a child; a child who did not yet wield the power of clan leader.

Your brother had far to go in his studies, but if he were to become Olo’eyktan one day like he so planned, the village was better for it.

You watched as Toruk Makto — Jake’sully — drew his ears flat against his head like a wounded animal. Only then did he finally drop his hand and a wave of regret washed through you for not showing him his owed respect when you had the chance.

Planted all around him was a small army of children, all cowering at his side. Two boys looked around Ao’nung’s age, or close. Beside them, bearing no signs of fear, only weariness, a girl with choppy black hair who reminded you very little of your sister stood before an even smaller child who was too far hidden behind the others for you to see clearly.

“That is Toruk Makto,” you whispered in warning, placing a hand on your brother’s shoulder. He huffed at your display of seniority but did not back down. “Ao’nung.”

“His title makes no difference to me,” he scoffed. “Outsiders are unwelcome.”

Pursing your lips, you stepped back. “Where is father?”

Any efforts you could have made to remedy the situation proved to be in vain as both your parents surfaced from the flood of villagers standing at the shoreline. Neither of them looked as forgiving as you might have hoped to be.

You could stand up to either of your siblings in a heartbeat, and you’ve done it a thousand times before, but both you and your brother knew better than to test them. Especially now, when human gunfire could be heard over the horizon in the deadly stillness of night.

Stepping aside, you allowed the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk past so they could cast their own judgment upon the forest refugees.

There was a flurry of mixed reactions when Tonowari announced to his people that my family and I would be allowed into the village. More whispers, which were expected, but no thunderous applause. Definitely no applause.

The Metkayina looked down upon us like one would look upon a child struggling to stand, but with pity where hope should have been found. I could only swallow the last of my shame and give all the thanks I could muster.

“Dad?” Tuk tugged on my tunic, wet with ocean spray and sweat from several days’ travel. I lifted her once again over my hip, using my free hand to unhook the leather satchel that hung from the saddle of my Ikran. Kiri and the boys watched me closely, waiting for the go-ahead to do anything but stand there rigidly.

I nodded toward their Ikran. All three had been locked in a conversation entirely their own, comprised of clicks and caws I couldn’t even begin to understand. Not like Kiri miraculously could. “Get your things,” I commanded. No time to sit around and sunbathe. Not while Ronal could easily whip her head back around and overpower her mate’s decision to allow us refuge, sending us right back out into open seas with nothing but the last of our rations and a week’s worth of exhaustion.

They snapped to it immediately, grabbing the netted sacks that held the last remaining fragments of their previous lives and dismissing their Ikrans to the skies. I followed suit before turning to face the village, our home for the foreseeable future, for a final time.

Everyone else had long since wandered off, returning to their duties just as Tonowari ordered. Those that remained sprinkled across the sands were doing a half-assed job of pretending there weren’t five foreign faces walking amongst them. They watched from the shadows of their straw buildings, or from underneath the surface of their crystal clear waters.

But you?

You were standing right where I left you, hands clutched together in front of your body with a gentle smile pulling at your lips. I tried not to replay your first impression of me in my head for fear of ruining a second. I see you, I repeated to myself in the furthest reaches of my mind. I see you, I see you, I see you.

“May the great mother look upon our meeting with favor,” you beamed like you had been waiting your entire life to roll out the welcome wagon. Considering the clan’s attitude toward outsiders, this was likely the case. “I will show you to our village. May I?”

The last of your words were directed solely to Neteyam, who was struggling to haul both his and Kiri’s luggage over his arm. He froze instantly in the presence of your warm smile and did nothing to deny you as you stepped forward and took his bag into your hands.

You made a point to greet each of the children with a welcoming smile, even going as far as to offer Tuk a private giggle before meeting my gaze with a neutral, diplomatic air. “Right this way, please.”

A true leader in the making.

If I stopped to ponder it long enough, I could force myself to remember you. In my first tour of the neighboring clans, when Toruk Makto was called upon to unite them against the sky people, you had been there. Hidden behind Ronal, I remember your eyes as clear as day. They were your father’s eyes, though brighter and filled with hope rather than wise resignation.

When your back was turned, I watched my eldest son gulp and shift his remaining bag higher over his shoulder. Lo’ak snorted and socked him roughly in the arm before taking off after his sisters, who hounded close behind your retreating figure as if it were a beacon in the dark.

#atwow #jake sully x reader #jake sully #atwow x reader #avatar 2 #avatar x reader #avatar #avatar fanfiction #candywrites #dreaming (of all the possibilities)#dreaming

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gamexplode-gxp · 2 years

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BitLife

If you want to know how each of the choices affects a person’s life, download and try BitLife MOD APK, a simulation game that allows you to experience a whole new life. In the event you‘re a lover of cellsimulation video games, BitLife – Life Simulator could also bean idealalternativefor you. This recreationpreciselysimulates life inside thedigitalworld. It permits you torework right into…

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#BitLife #BitLife 3.2.11 #Candywriter #LLC #Menu #Bitizenship #God Mode #Simulation

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untitled69807 · 10 months

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BitLife MOD APK v3.9.4 (VIP / Unlocked Bitizenship)

If you wish to know exactly just how each of the options impacts a person’s life, download and attempt BitLife MOD APK, a simulation game that enables you to experience an entire brand-new life. Presenting BitLife BitLife is the latest simulation game of the author Candywriter. They are not so prominent on Msn and yahoo Play, however with simply 4 games, they have made a big effect on the gaming…

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#BitLife - Life Simulator #BitLife - Life Simulator 3.9.5 #Candywriter #LLC #Simulation #Unlocked Bitizenship

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thrifteabunny · 2 years

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i've been v busy w life and playing more bitlife than sims, but i will b back with the glenns eventually!

#i miss posting ;-;#bunny blabbers #bunny.txt #shut up bunny #bitlife is fun! even tho sudddenly everything costs and candywriter isn't v transparent abt a lot of things

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mackthemuser · 2 years

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Bitlife: I Became a Black Widow and Made Millions

Welcome, Bitizens! I’ve been killing time recently with an app called Bitlife. I’ve written about it before on my site but Bitlife is perhaps the zaniest mobile game on the App Store. It allows players to live out their best (or worst!) lives imaginable. Want to be a CEO racking in billions of dollars from a start-up business turned entrepreneurial empire? Bitlife has you covered. Want to join…

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#Bitlife #Black Widow #Black Widow Challenge #candywriter #Debbie Jelinsky #husbands #murder

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roundaboutthebend · 1 year

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I doodled this, and then my darling partner @candywrites made it better with their coloring <3

#optimus prime #megatron #megop #roundabout art

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classroomx · 5 months

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Exploring the World of Unblocked Games: Classroom 6x and BitLife Life Simulator

Unblocked games are becoming increasingly popular among both gamers and students in the constantly changing world of internet gaming. BitLife Life Simulator and Classroom 6x are one such interesting combination. These unblocked games go beyond the confines of conventional gaming to provide a distinctive and captivating experience. We will examine the features, gameplay, and reasons behind the popularity of Classroom 6x and BitLife Life Simulator as we delve into their fascinating worlds in this post.Classroom 6x unblocked games

Sixth Grade Classroom:

A browser-based game called Classroom 6x has captured the interest of pupils seeking a brief but enjoyable diversion from the demands of the classroom. The game, which is readily available and unblocked, is about unruly students taking on roles in a virtual classroom. The goal is to make your way past a variety of difficulties and barriers while staying out of the teacher's way.

Gamers may easily immerse themselves in the virtual classroom thanks to the game's basic yet effective interface, which features vibrant graphics and straightforward controls. The difficulties include giving notes to fellow students, playing practical jokes, and evading the teacher's notice. For those looking for a fun gaming experience, Classroom 6x is an appealing option because it incorporates strategy and timing, which provide an intriguing twist to the gameplay.

Classroom 6x has gained popularity in schools and other educational institutions as it is no longer prohibited. During breaks, students can engage in a brief game session that promotes teamwork as they work together to overcome the virtual obstacles. The game is a great option for anyone who want to relax and have some fun with friends because of its humour and realistic circumstances.

BitLife Simulator of Life:

BitLife Life Simulator, on the other hand, provides a more intricate and stimulating gaming experience. BitLife, a life simulation game created by Candywriter, has become incredibly popular because it lets users make choices that affect how their virtual lives unfold. In contrast to Classroom 6x, BitLife takes place over a character's whole life and is not limited to a classroom.

In BitLife, players begin by building a character and making decisions that impact every facet of their life, ranging from relationships and personal growth to employment and educational options. Because the game is unblocked, players may freely access all of its rich features, which makes it a top option for those looking for a realistic life simulation experience.

The variety of options available to players and BitLife's meticulous attention to detail are what make it so appealing. BitLife mimics the nuances of real life, whether it's choosing a professional path, forming relationships, or figuring out the complexity of personal finance. Players are kept on their toes by the game's randomness and unpredictability, which encourages repeated playthroughs to investigate various routes and endings.BitLife Life Simulator

Bringing BitLife and Classroom 6x Together:

The striking difference between Classroom 6x and BitLife Life Simulator is what makes their pairing so intriguing. Classroom 6x provides a lighthearted and funny perspective on the difficulties of school life, whereas BitLife explores the intricacies of maturity, spanning an array of decisions and outcomes. When combined, they give gamers a varied gaming experience that suits a range of moods and tastes.

With Classroom 6x, players can begin their gaming session and take pleasure in the nostalgia and simplicity of school humour. They move to BitLife, where the immersive simulation of the game enables a deeper investigation of choices and the unpredictability of life. Both games' unblocked status guarantees a smooth transition between them, making for an interesting and varied gaming experience.

In summary:

BitLife Life Simulator and Classroom 6x are two distinct and engaging options in the realm of unblocked games. These games offer a great blend of humour, strategy, and realism, whether players are looking for a quick escape into the naughty world of a virtual school or a full simulation of life's journey. Their unblocked availability adds to their allure and makes them available to a large audience that is keen to explore the various game genres.

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pdj-france · 8 months

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Image: Candywriter Certains défis Bitlife vous demandent de créer de véritables monstres, avec un exemple clair de cela étant le Butcher Challenge, qui vous charge de créer un tueur en série condamné qui décide d'émigrer dans un autre pays. Découvrez comment terminer le Butcher Challenge dans Bitlife. Guide du défi du boucher Bitlife Vous pourrez terminer le Butcher Challenge dans Bitlife en étant né en Roumanie, en y devenant boucher, en assassinant 5 personnes alors qu'il travaillait comme boucher, en vous évadant de prison, puis en émigrant aux États-Unis. En relation: Comment relever le défi Full Glam dans Bitlife Vous pouvez découvrir des guides rapides sur la façon d'effectuer chacune des étapes mentionnées ci-dessous. Comment naître en Roumanie Vous pouvez créer un personnage né en Roumanie dans Bitlife en sélectionnant le pays parmi ceux disponibles sur l'écran Nouvelle vie, puis en sélectionnant Démarrer la vie "Nom de votre personnage". Comment devenir boucher dans Bitlife Après avoir terminé vos études secondaires, vous pourrez devenir boucher dans Bitlife en vous dirigeant d'abord vers Occupation, puis vers Jobs. Une fois à l'emploi, postulez et obtenez le poste d'apprenti boucher. Après avoir obtenu le poste, travaillez avec diligence pour être promu boucher à part entière. En relation: Comment relever le défi du miel, du miel dans Bitlife Comment assassiner des gens en travaillant comme boucher Vous pouvez assassiner des personnes dans Bitlife en vous rendant dans Activités, Crime, puis en sélectionnant Meurtre avant de choisir parmi vos connaissances celles que vous souhaitez tuer. Pour terminer la tâche rapidement et tuer 5 personnes tout en travaillant comme boucher, nous vous conseillons d'éviter les moyens standard de faire l'acte. Comment échapper à la prison Après avoir été arrêté pour une raison quelconque, vous pourrez vous échapper de la prison de Bitlife en vous rendant dans l'onglet Prison, en sélectionnant Espace, puis en complétant le mini-jeu Évitez les gardes. Comment émigrer aux États-Unis après avoir échappé à la prison Une fois échappé de prison, vous pourrez émigrer aux États-Unis en vous dirigeant vers Activités puis vers Émigrer avant de sélectionner les États-Unis parmi les destinations disponibles. Si votre entrée dans le pays est refusée, ce qui arrivera très certainement compte tenu du casier judiciaire de votre personnage, sélectionnez simplement Emmigrer illégalement et espérez que vous ne vous ferez pas prendre. Ce guide a été réalisé pendant la lecture de Bitlife sur Android. - Ce post a été mis à jour le 19 août 2023 A propos de l'auteur Franklin est écrivain et journaliste. Passionné de jeux vidéo avec plus de 3 ans d'expérience, son travail peut aussi être vu sur des sites tels que The Click, Games Atlas et Try Hard Guides. Lorsqu'il n'écrit pas, il fait très certainement pleurer son portefeuille en jouant à Gacha Games ou en mettant fin au règne des cristaux dans Final Fantasy XVI. En savoir plus sur L'Attaque du Fanboy :

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letter-soup-cheat-ws · 2 years

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 11 months

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jealousy, jealousy || Lee Know x Reader

Summary: "Sure, Minho missed an opportunity to spend more time around you in a relaxed setting, but is he upset about it? Does he get annoyed when he hears you talk with the guy behind him? Does hearing you chuckle at the guy’s stupid jokes, probably just to be polite, ‘cause he’s not that funny, make him want to claw the dude’s eyes out?

Well. Yes."

Or: You're working with a different partner for a group assignment, and Minho's totally chill about it.

Word count: 4.9k

Genres: college AU, coffee shop AU, strangers to lovers

Warnings & Tags: jealousy, kissing, minor language, tooth-rotting fluff, seriously this is so fluffy, reader is implied to have social anxiety, Thunderstorm

series masterlist

A/N: This is the second story I've written where Lee Know's a barista and cats are involved. It probably says something deep about me, but what? I hope you'll enjoy the fic, please consider letting me know your thoughts and reblogging the fic if you do~

Minho doesn't know exactly when he noticed you, or when you started appearing in his life. It’s kind of annoying actually, because he knows he noticed you because he kept seeing you around, but he has no way of pinpointing it. What he does know is that you started showing up at the coffee shop where he worked, twice every week. That wasn’t that big a deal, you were far from being the only one the only one, but it was a shop that was pretty out of the way, near an old building that was only used for a few classes, as far as he knew, so it wasn’t that frequented.

In fact, you could almost say that the people who bothered to come here were the weirdos who wanted to avoid the other permanently full coffee shops on campus. Which was fine by Minho, who wasn’t paid enough to deal with that sort of crowd.

Anyway, at some point, Minho’s brain had to have put together he was seeing you around quite a bit, and finally he managed to figure out that it was because you were in one of the classes he was rudely forced to take outside of his major. In his defense, it took him so long because he didn’t really like people, as a rule, and he paid as little attention to them as possible. His friends were enough of a hassle to deal with already.

It makes it all the more frustrating that he can’t tell what it was about you that caught his attention. It has to have been something. Once he starts trying to understand it, more things come to light. Like the fact that your lips move but your voice doesn’t come out when you thank him for giving you your order, or the sigh of relief you always seem to heave out when you let yourself fall at your favorite table, the one in the corner, where you sit with your back to the window.

Actually, from what he can see, you appear to do your best to stay out of people’s way. It’s a multitude of little things, from how you always sit in the middle of rows in the amphitheater and wait until everyone’s cleared out to leave, to how you keep close to the walls in the hallways, eyes usually on the floor, to how, on the couple of occasions when your voice can be heard in class, it’s only after the professor’s been waiting for an answer for an increasingly embarrassing amount of time.

The first time it happens — the first time Minho notices it happening, anyway — he has to make you repeat yourself louder, and it seems almost painful for you to raise your voice.

Then there’s that time when someone accidentally backs into you and the books and papers you’re carrying spill onto the floor.

“Shit, sorry,” they say, and you reply immediately, like it’s a reflex, “Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it”, but afterwards, as you kneel next to the papers, you let out a defeated sigh, just staring at the mess for a few seconds. And that’s when Minho can’t stay in place anymore.

“Oh, thanks, you don’t have to do that,” you say, again, with that cadence that makes him feel like these are sentences that pour out of you without you getting much of say, so deeply ingrained in you that you can’t control them.

Then you glance up at him, and your eyes widen, little mouse caught in the cat’s gaze. He feels his lips curving into a grin. You recognize him, and you’re being very obvious about it too.

Cute.

“Thank you,” you repeat, taking your stuff from his hands and dipping your head to stop looking at him once you get control of yourself again.

“Vanilla latte, right?” he asks, and he probably shouldn’t be this amused by the way your head snaps back up and you freeze, but it’s— It’s kind of adorable. Though you’re obviously trying to reign yourself in, there is something so sincere about it that he can’t help but be enticed by it.

“Um,” you say. “Yes.” And then you visibly search for something to say next, rolling your lips together as if they’ll figure something out of a list of socially acceptable answers. As fun as this is, Minho decides to put you out of your misery.

For now anyway.

“I’ll give you a discount on the next one,” he says, and then he’s gone before you can start saying “You don’t have to do that”.

He actually slides the next one to you over the counter and tells you that it’s ‘on the house’. You hesitate for a few seconds, and he thinks you’re going to refuse, before you bow your head politely and thank him for it. You don’t quite look up at him after that, but a bright smile has spread on your lips.

Cute, he thinks, again, and then he doesn't think of it much at all. A part of his brain was intrigued by the novelty that you represented, and that part has been satiated now.

At least, that’s what he assumes.

You get his attention again a few weeks later. It’s fairly early in the morning and, as Minho does whenever he gets a chance, he’s behind the half abandoned building near the café, setting up some food for the cats that have taken residence here. It’s something he’s not really allowed to do, but also he’s never asked permission, so no one's told him that yet, which means that he’s not not allowed to do it either.

Still, when he hears footsteps approaching as he’s surrounded by a chorus of meows, there’s a part of him that considers making a run for it.

But then he’d have to run.

Which he doesn’t like doing.

You appear at the corner of the building before he’s made his decision. When your eyes meet, he half expects you to turn around and pretend you haven’t seen him. He’s pretty sure you’ve done that after a class, recently. You swallow, but you keep walking towards him, kneeling by his side and petting the cats as the braver ones rub themselves against your legs.

Whoever said that the surest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach clearly wasn’t obsessed with cats, because liking cats is maybe the most important requirement for Minho.

“Hi,” you say, at a surprisingly normal volume, and then, cadence a little too fast, “I have some cat food.”

Is it weird that he finds that attractive? It’s probably weird.

“Have you been stalking me?” he says more than he asks, vaguely aware of the fact that there’s something ironic about him saying those words.

Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head.

“No! I— have classes in there,” you point at the building, “and I’ve— seen you come around here. We’ve been told we couldn’t feed the cats,” you add with a slight pout. “We still do it when we can get away with it, but it's good that someone is also taking care of them.”

And you break the law for the sake of cats. Isn’t this amazing.

“I can help you buy food,” you say. “If you’d like.”

He doesn't reply right away, and when the silence stretches a second too long, you start speaking again, faster and your voice lower now.

“Or not, you know, I don’t want to impose anything, I mean, I didn’t want to intrude—”

On the one hand, that seems more like you, based on the glimpses of you he’s been getting, and on the other, he’s not sure how to shut that down. The truth is, he can barely fit the expenses in his budget. He literally can't afford to refuse your help — but he doesn't think he’d do it if he could.

“You can help,” he says, interrupting you in the middle of a sentence where you’re basically apologizing for existing, and that seems to knock the breath out of you.

“Oh,” you say, “that’s good.”

He wonders if you walk into interactions with a prepared set of sentences and panic when anyone goes off script. That sounds kind of exhausting.

“I’ll bill you,” he adds, and the feeling he gets when you let out a light laugh is one he can’t quite explain. There’s a sense of pride in it, but also some much deeper satisfaction at the feeling of having gotten you to let that guard slip, even for just a few seconds.

“I have to go to class,” you say, getting up while you rummage through your tote bag to hand him a package of dry food. “But I’ll, uh, see you around?”

There’s an expectancy to your tone, a hope even. He wonders if you’re aware of it. Either way, that sincerity, which he’d noticed before, remains pleasantly refreshing.

“Sure,” he says.

The next time you show up at the coffee shop, Friday a few minutes after six, like always, he has your vanilla latte ready.

After that, Minho finds it fascinating to see how differently you react to him, depending on the situation. Every now and then, you meet him behind the building, usually early in the morning, before there are too many people around. They would probably recognize you, and then you’d get in trouble, you explain. Your voice is lighter then, your body more relaxed. You manage to chat with him, to make small talk.

‘Manage’ really is the word for it, because your behavior is worlds apart when he sees you in class. It’s clear by now that this just isn’t your element, so you stick to your script, and Minho just isn’t a part of it. He doesn’t take it too personally, considering that no one else seems to be either.

It’s obvious to him that you get there with the objective of being in and out of the building as efficiently as possible, and with as little interaction with others as you can get away with. He does approach you still on a couple of occasions, one of them being when the classes before yours ran late and everyone was waiting in the hallway. You're focused on your phone then, and you jump when he says your name.

“How are you doing?” he asks, leaning against the wall next to you.

“Oh,” you say, which he thinks is just your filler word to give yourself time to figure out what to say next. “Um. Good. How are you?”

“Good.”

Someone else would bristle at the awkwardness of the exchange, but Minho is mostly amused by it. After a few seconds of very visibly searching for something to say, you come up with “…and how are the cats?”, though your tone is hesitant, unsure.

“They’re good too,” he grins. “Went to visit them this morning. Also, I might have found an association that could them spayed.” He certainly can’t afford to pay for it.

“That’s great,” you say.

This time, he’s the one who takes it upon himself to save the conversation, casually pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Wanna see my cats?”

You light up at the question, and Minho feels the same sort of pride he does when Dori jumps into his lap to ask for pets — instead of ungratefully evading him like the little shit he is.

It doesn’t last long, the class before yours ends soon, and after that you get back to your ‘just getting in and out’ state. It’s almost physical when it happens. The smile disappears from your lips as you press them together, you straighten your back, but the most impressive change is the way your eyebrows tighten, a small line forming between them. Minho almost wants to reach out to wipe it from your forehead, but he doesn’t. Baby steps, that’s what you need, not him invading your personal space by that much.

He doesn’t ask himself, even for a second, why he’s willing to go through that much trouble to get closer to you. He just goes with the flow, as he always has, and that works fine for him.

He doesn’t sit next to you in class, thinks it would only stress you out more, make you too aware of his presence and of how you react to it. Instead, he takes a spot right in front of you, where he can’t see you but can easily check on you if he wants to — which he does. He refrains from doing it too much though, because on more than one occasion, he caught you looking at him, and you averted your eyes quickly, acting a little too invested in your note taking.

He still thinks it’s cute, but he doesn’t want to make you go in hiding, so he holds himself back.

Which comes back to bite him in the ass, rudely, when the teacher announces that he wants people to work in pair for an assignment.

He turns around to ask you to work with him, and sees, right in front of his eyes, as the guy sitting next to you asks you the same thing in a casual manner. You reply too fast, one of your knee-jerk answers, he can tell, but it’s still done before he even got the time to open his mouth. He also knows, instinctively, that you’ll feel embarrassed if he asks you now, so he doesn’t, turning to his own neighbor while holding back the strange urge to hiss at the guy.

…maybe he spends too much time with cats, actually.

Minho’s fine with the situation. He is. He still gets to be around you some mornings, and you now look him in the eye when you place your order at the coffee shop. You also don’t recoil as much as you used to when he leans over the counter, ostensibly to flirt with you — though he’s like, 98% sure you haven’t realized that’s what he’s doing. He’s making progress in getting you to feel more comfortable around him.

Sure, he missed an opportunity to spend more time around you in a relaxed setting, but is he upset about it? Does he get annoyed when he hears you talk with the guy behind him? Does hearing you chuckle at the guy’s stupid jokes, probably just to be polite, ‘cause he’s not that funny, make him want to claw the dude’s eyes out?

Well. Yes.

He’s been moody about it for days, to the point that Jisung pouted at him, asking him “what was wrong with him these days”, and Changbin looked him dead in the eyes to ask him if he needed help to get a girl, because he clearly needed to get laid.

A conversation he got out of by replying “do you want to die”, which is a card he’s maybe been playing a little too much these days.

He’s been in a good mood today, though. He’d seen you in the morning, and you’d helped him try to make a small shelter for the cats, because it had been announced that there would be heavy rain over the whole week-end. It had been a fun time, and maybe he’d used the opportunity to get closer to you than usual, enjoying how flustered it made you. Just brushing against you as he grabbed some planks you’d sneaked out of the building, totally accidentally touching your hand when you handed him something, that kind of things.

He had somewhat ruined the effect by accidentally dropping a plank on his foot, but that had made you laugh, so, it was— No, it still wasn’t worth it, he didn’t enjoy pain, but it made him slightly less annoyed about it.

So, as he waited for you in the coffee shop, as the skies outside darkened and fewer people than usual showed up, he wasn’t in as bad a mood as he’d been lately.

It started to rain at around half past five. He would have loved to run to get you with an umbrella, but he, unfortunately, needed his job. He did get a towel ready to hand to you, in case you didn’t have anything to protect yourself from the rain.

And then you came in.

Under an umbrella.

Which was in the hands of the one guy that was your partner in that one class.

Violent thoughts of murder flash before Minho’s eyes.

“Hey,” you say as you walk to the counter, giving him a bright smile, “this is Jooyeon, he’s in—”

“Class with us,” Minho completes with a smile that’s very much fake, “yes, I recognize him.”

Actually, technically, Jooyeon hasn’t done anything wrong, but it doesn’t help that he’s been looking at you and following you around like a damn puppy. What annoys Minho the most is probably the fact that you seem a lot chiller around him, a lot more natural than you are whenever Minho’s around. That’s— upsetting. He wants to see these sides of you, too, and not just from afar.

One vanilla latte and an americano later, you and Jooyeon sit by the window, in your usual spot, and Minho can’t stop himself from glaring. Jisung, or anyone, really, would call him out on it in a matter of seconds, because he’s not being subtle about it, but there’s no one around right now. The room, which is rarely full, is emptier than usual because most people rushed to get home to try to avoid the downpour.

That means that there is nothing to distract him from the intrusive thoughts that are trying to convince him to just throw something at Jooyeon. Anything would do.

When it starts becoming a little too tempting, and considering that he doubts anyone would brave the rain that’s falling at the moment, as thick as a curtain separating the coffee shop from the outside world, he decides to grab his computer and try to get some work done.

Of course, because some divinity out there must have decided to target him today, he’s just getting started and finding his rhythm when the lights flicker above him. He glances up. In the distance, the thunder rumbles.

There’s a flash outside.

And everything goes dark.

Fuck. His. Life.

With a sigh, he pulls out his phone to turn on his flashlight. At least, in this day and age, most people in the shop have the same idea, and soon enough he can see what’s happening.

“It’s probably just a power cut because of the storm,” he announces loudly, because it’s his responsibility to reassure the clients — if that had been something they’d tested for when he was interviewed, he would never have gotten the job. “Lights might come back on soon.” Or not, how would he know. “No reason to panic.”

He scans the faces of students, though he’s not sure what he’s looking for. Some people look worried, others, no doubt those who know that this happens semi-regularly on campus when there’s a storm, because why would your tuition pay to ensure that you have reliable electricity in here, just seem prepared to wait it out. Someone’s already gone back to tapping on their keyboard, though the sound of it is swallowed by that of the rain.

But then, he does a double-take, just to check on an impression that he had, and that confirms what he thought.

You’re not in the room. Most likely explanation is that you’re in the bathroom, but he has to imagine that it’s a pretty freaky experience, when all the lights turn off without warning and you’re all alone.

So, without thinking much about it, he makes his way in that direction. He’s hesitating in front of the door when it pushes open, and he’s suddenly blinded by cellphone light.

“Sorry!” he hears you apologize before he can make out your face. “I, uh, is the power out?”

“It looks like it,” he answers, and then his tone softens. “Are you okay?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and he can’t quite discern your expression, because you’ve both lowered your lights. He resists the urge to reach for you, to inspect you to see for himself that everything is fine.

“I’m fine,” you answer. “I just—”

Then there’s the crack of thunder, and you jump, gasping, before closing your eyes in obvious annoyance.

“Fuck,” you say, and he wonders if it’s the first time that he’s ever heard you swear. And if it’s weird that he’s kinda into it.

“You scared of storms?” he asks, trying his best to contain the amusement in his voice.

“No,” you protest, a little defensively. “I don’t like being surprised— Fuck!”

Minho knows he shouldn’t laugh, that making fun of you could ruin the trust he’s been trying to build this past month, but at your annoyance for letting yourself be taken by surprise, and considering your obvious lack of fear, he can’t help it. It comes out higher than his usual pitch, a little airy. You roll your eyes at it, but you don’t seem to miss the humor in the situation, because a smile forms on your lips as well.

At that point, because he isn’t one to let an opportunity slip, he reaches out to take your hand in his. Your palm is soft, if somewhat calloused on the spot under your fingers, and after the first moment of surprise, you squeeze his hand in response.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It should be over soon.” Then a pause. “Or maybe we’ll be stuck here until we have to decide who we’re going to eat.”

You laugh at that, brief and light, and as cliché as it is, Minho thinks that is quickly becoming one of his favorite sounds in the world. Especially when he’s the one making you laugh, and not that jackass Joo— Ah, the kid hasn’t technically done anything, and it feels silly to blame him when you’re here with your hand in his.

So he’ll let it go. For now.

As much as he would like to stay here with you, in the dark, away from everyone else, Minho unfortunately has stuff he needs to take care of right now.

“Wanna go back with the others? I think I have to keep an eye on them.”

“Sure,” you say. You don’t attempt to take your hand from his, and so he pulls you along with him. He’s not going to let go if you won’t.

Things in the café are still quiet, and people don’t pay a lot of attention when the two of you come back, except for Jooyeon, who gets up from his seat.

“That must have taken you by surprise,” he says with empathy. “Everything okay?”

“All good,” you reply warmly, and there’s a pinch in Minho’s chest again. “I think we’ll have to postpone the session though. I’ll let you know when I’m free, if that’s okay with you?”

Ugh. Minho tunes Jooyeon’s response out, only waiting for an opportunity to whisk you away. He probably shouldn’t feel this strongly about it, is aware that you’re entirely within your own rights if you want to pick Jooyeon over him, but from his perspective, that doesn’t mean he has to let it be an easy decision to make. He’s not the type to lie down and just watch as that happens.

So the second Jooyeon’s eyes flick back to his computer, Minho’s taking you towards the counter with him. He checks the register once he’s there — which he definitely shouldn’t have let unattended without verifying that it couldn’t be accessed without electricity, oops, his bad — and after having confirmed that everything’s fine, his eyes go back to you.

The spike in his heart rate when he finds you already staring at him surprises him a little. He supposes that he can’t be that jealous without also having that sort of reaction to you. It’s not… unpleasant, actually, though the strength of it surprises him. It’s not the kind of emotion he usually welcomes, he’s used to them feeling less sharp, duller. But he doesn’t reject that one.

Gently, he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, enjoying the feeling of your skin against his.

“Is there an issue between him and Jooyeon?” you ask, voice soft.

Ah. For someone who’s so completely oblivious about his interest in you, you were sure quick to notice that.

“You could say that,” he replies, and you frown.

“I didn’t know that,” you say, words coming out slow, like you’re figuring out what to say as you go, instead of defaulting to your usual pre-built answers. “Can I ask why?”

Minho raises an eyebrow. Then, wordlessly, he shifts himself so that you’re against the counter, with him standing in front of you. It’s interesting, because he’s almost exactly in the spot where he is every day, and every time he steals glances at you to make his day marginally better. He puts his hands on either side of you, hears you take a sharp breath.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

His voice comes out soft and muted, and as he asks, he feels something squeeze at his heart. Maybe because he’s not sure of what you'll answer. Maybe because he could have misread you, thought that you were oblivious when the truth was that you weren't interested. He could be keeping you away from your one true love, Jooyeon, who you’re going to go on to marry and have three k—

“Yes,” you squeak.

Ok, never mind.

Technically you’re in public, but it’s not like anyone’s looking your way, or like they'd see something other than silhouettes when he leans towards you.

It feels so natural when he kisses you. You lift your arms to wrap them around his neck, his hands find their place on your hips. Much to his surprise, you’re the one who presses yourself into him, lips moving softly against his, and it sends a jolt of electricity through his body. Suddenly there’s urgency running through his veins, desire, and his fingers dig harder into you. He kisses you with more intensity, like he’s trying to get rid of any space left between the two of you, and the soft sigh you let out only spurs him on further.

He’s seconds — fractions of seconds — away from doing something stupid when laughter and claps fill the room.

He parts from you, feeling his ears and cheeks turning red already, and discovers that the lights treacherously turned back on, and everyone is looking at the two of you. Protectiveness rushes through him, and he’s about to say something snappy, thinking that you’d be uncomfortable with it, when he realizes that you’re doubled over in laughter. Yes, you look a little embarrassed, but mostly, you seem fine with it.

Which is good, because otherwise he thinks he might have lost the shop a number of customers.

Everyone looks amused and happy for the two of you. Even Jooyeon’s grinning, though the look he gives Minho says, essentially, “Oh that was your problem”. It doesn’t capture people’s attention very long, but there’s something very sweet and human about the moment and how happy it seems to make everyone. Some regulars even exchange glances that seem to mean ‘I told you so’. Ha, he didn’t think he’d ever become campus gossip.

Once there are fewer eyes on the two of you, Minho leans towards you.

“I’ll take you on a date anywhere, as long as it’s not to get coffee.”

Your face lights up.

“I’d love that.”

Working at a coffee shop is not something that Minho finds very fun. Someone who enjoys human interactions more than him might, but it just feels very repetitive to him. Doing the same movements, asking the same questions, having to deal with the same issues from asshole customers who are different but also fundamentally the same person. The ding of cash register, the one of no contact credit cards, the buzzing of the coffee machine. It’s repetitive, but in a way that fills and numbs the mind.

There’s just one sound that he minds a little less now, and it’s the one the door makes when it opens.

Because, every now and again, it means that you’ve just come in.

“Hey,” you say as you reach the counter. You’re smiling so bright, and he loves it because he knows that it’s another one of those things that you can’t help. You’re smiling because he makes you happy, and isn’t that the best thing in the world?

“Dating the barista doesn’t entitle you to free coffee,” he says as he slides your vanilla latte over to you, though he has used his employee discount on everything you’ve ordered lately and he would very much give it to you for free if you didn’t insist on paying for your own stuff.

“We’re still on for tonight?” you ask, taking the coffee from the table.

“You think I’d let you get out of it?” he replies, and you laugh, before taking off to go to your usual table.

After that, he keeps going, keeps doing the same movements, asking the same questions, hearing the same noises. But sometimes, he glances in your direction and finds you focused on your computer, biting your lower lip as you’re deep in thought, or looking at him with a smile, and it makes it all more bearable.

Because you give him something to look forward to.

Taglist: @lethallyprotected @jisuperboard

#stray kids #lee know #lee know x reader #minho x reader #stray kids imagine #skz #lee know imagine #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #lee know fanfic #lee minho x reader #lee know fluff #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #candywrites

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soulcandi · 6 months

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𝑶𝑵𝑳𝒀 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑲 𝑶𝑭 𝑴𝑬 | 𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭

synopsis: dalton doesn't have the guts to make a move on the cute sorority girl that he's been stalking since orientation, but the demonic entity constantly peering over his shoulder does.

warnings: probs 17+ (just to be careful), stalking, obsessive behavior, paranormal type-shit, reader is stupid and also hot (think jennifer from that scene in jennifer's body where she's flirting with the band), the smallest hint of somnophilia, demonic possession, identity theft (lol), extremely dubious consent, dalton is definitely a little ooc, written with afab!reader in mind, y/n gets referred to as a girl.

a/n: title ripped from the ghost song. i love me some goth masked men. forgot the name of the frat so i just made one up. also, i just imagined a random dark spirit possessing his body, not the one explicitly shown in the film. but you guys do whatever you want. also, this is probably really cringy. I wrote most of it on 🍃 and didn't bother to proofread.

word count: 2078

Dalton’s favorite hobby was a tricky thing. How could he bring himself to tell Chris or anyone else in his life that the first thing he wanted to do after a long day of classes was shut off all of the lights in his dorm and count back from ten until his spirit was standing over your bed, watching you sleep?

How could he ever come up with an answer for how he somehow knew every last intimate detail about you despite never having spoken to you a single day in his life?

The easiest solution was to keep his hobby a dirty little secret right up until he graduated and moved a million miles away from campus. It’s not like he could ever look you in the eye anyway—the cute little sorority girl who approached him shyly during orientation and asked him to help carry a mini-fridge up the staircase of the Kappa Delta house. You were all glitter and smiles and infectious laughter and ignoring you was like trying to ignore sunlight. It just wasn’t done.

Dalton hadn’t smiled since long before the funeral, but you coaxed one from his lips like it was the easiest thing in the world. It was impossible for him to up and forget something like that, especially when, as he went to wipe the sweat from his clammy palms, there was pink glitter plastered across the lap of his jeans. You effortlessly infiltrated every aspect of his life, pumping through his veins like some drug he couldn’t name. His entire world revolved around you and the best part about it was that you didn’t have the faintest clue.

Watching you was more of an addiction than a hobby to Dalton. Not in person, god. Never. The last thing he ever wanted to do was freak you out—to scare you. But what was the harm in flinging his backpack across the floor, shutting off all the lights, and letting his spirit travel to your room on the second floor of the Kappa Delta sorority house? He wasn’t hurting anyone by sitting on the corner of your bed while you flipped through your homework booklets and nibbled on the tips of your perfectly polished fingernails.

Dalton’s favorite moments were when he caught you in deep sleep, tossing and turning in one of those silky little numbers that he instantly grew to love. You had them in every color, alternating throughout the week. They hugged you in such a dangerously perfect way, riding up over your plush thighs as you mumbled under a thick blanket of dreams. He made a home for himself in the furry pink armchair across from your bed (when it wasn’t stacked high with laundry, that is), treating himself by watching you breathe. It was mesmerizing how the fabric would ripple across your body while your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

It only took a few days for that guilty pleasure to bleed into his weekly routine. Dalton only realized things were starting to get out of hand when he found himself drawing you.

Doodles on the corners of his syllabi turned into sketches in his notebook, which eventually turned into 24x30 charcoal portraits that took up most of the wall space in his dorm room. Art was his second nature and as soon as he returned from one of his nightly haunts, he was powerless to control the charcoal nub that somehow found its way into his hand. Dalton had to immortalize you on paper. Otherwise, he would have no choice but you seek you out in the dead of night over and over again until your image was burned into the back of his eyelids.

A full week after he first saw you during freshman orientation—informative sorority flyers stacked tall in your arms, barely hiding the Greek letters stamped across the front of your cropped shirt—he turned in his very first sketch of you for an art critique. Professor Amagan was pleasantly surprised by his change in subject matter. Goodbye bloody red door, hello sleeping beauty.

She had wanted to pin it up in the showcase at the front of the arts building but the thought of you ever stumbling upon it made a fiery hot wave of mortification spill over Dalton’s entire body. What would you even say to a lifesize portrait of your own sleeping body drawn by someone you’ve never spoken to before? He would count himself lucky if he wasn’t expelled on the spot.

Dalton hastily accepted his passing grade and shoved the charcoal drawing to the very bottom of his portfolio, never to see the light of day again. Unless, of course, he was cram-studying for midterms and couldn’t afford the time to go and visit you. In this instance, he would lock his door and prop you up beside his desk to steal quick glances at while he worked. But it never sated that itch inside of him—the one that reared its head when he caught the faintest ribbons of your perfume in the air as he marched through the courtyard with his head down.

Dalton wasn’t proud of himself. Not for this, anyway. White hot shame burned at his heart whenever he caught your eye from across the dining hall or the library by accident. You were forbidden fruit on campus—the sweetheart of the most powerful fraternity and the stuff of everyone’s dreams besides. He should have felt forever guilty for stealing your private moments for his own pleasure. But fuck if you didn’t make it so hard for him to quit.

Tonight, like every other night this week, Dalton flicked off his bedside lamp and yanked the nightlight out of the wall, plunging the room into thick and heavy blackness. He counted back from ten until he no longer felt the weight of his physical body holding him down, then blinked his eyes open to see a world illuminated with an otherworldly faint blue light.

The walk to sorority row only ever felt like seconds. The spirit realm was like a highway in that sense. He slipped through the front door of the Kappa Delta house like a ghost. He was a ghost. And you were his all-time favorite haunt.

You were already asleep when he crept to the door at the end of the hallway with your name plastered across the frame in glittery bubble letters. You always went to sleep with your desktop lava lamp flipped on. It painted your face in a warm glow as you slept and Dalton couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you were just as afraid of the dark as he was. The thought coaxed a pleasant shiver down his spine. Maybe you were just waiting for someone like him to come around and tear that fear to shreds.

Your face was buried in your arms, one leg hiked up to your waist over the sheets. A massive sleepshirt clung to your frame, slipping off of one shoulder just enough to highlight the fact that you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

Dalton bristled at the sound of something soft and light floating through the air and reached down to pull the pair of boxy headphones off of your ears, cupping one side close to his face.

♫ “In the silence of your room, In the darkness of your dreams, you must only think of me, there can be no in-between.” ♫

You rolled over, limbs twitching with a sleepy moan as you subconsciously turned your back to the light. Dalton shook his head with a quiet chuckle, folding the headphones and setting them down on your bedside table. You shouldn’t go to sleep with your music so loud, he silently chastised you. It wasn’t good for you. But he honestly would have said anything to make this feel right—to relieve himself of even just an ounce of the guilt he felt for standing there above you in your most vulnerable state.

He liked to think that you felt him there watching over you like some sick and twisted guardian angel. Maybe you actually took notice of all of the little things that he did for you when you weren’t even aware that he was in the room. Killing spiders, plugging in your phone when you were too sleepy to do it yourself, hiding contraband before the Kappa chapter president barged for a room sweep.

Dalton didn’t want to believe that someone could be so effortlessly and unknowingly perfect every single moment of their life. But here you were, leaning into his touch when he failed to fight the urge to stroke your jaw with the edge of his knuckle. A shaky breath shivered past his lips in response to your sleepy exhale.

You were so pliant. So defenseless. Swallowing thickly, Dalton took his opposite hand and brushed a flat palm over your exposed thigh, watching with sick fascination as goosebumps rose across your flesh in the wake of his gentle touches. He simply couldn’t help himself, only flinching when your face screwed up in that adorable way that it always did when someone dared to deny you of something you wanted.

Dalton paused with his hand outstretched toward your body, a sudden tidal wave of realization washing over him. God, I am such a creep.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered before realizing he’d spoken out loud and slapping a hand over his own mouth. He never knew if you could hear him when he passed between the realms like this, but just to be sure he always made a point of never saying anything until he was back in his own body.

You shifted again, pulling the blanket up over your chin to ward off the sudden chill that crept into your room.

What am I doing?

I need to get the hell out of here.

Dalton never considered quitting his little addiction cold turkey. But whatever spell you had put on him for the last few months had finally run its course and he was going to take back whatever semblance of dignity he could before it was too late.

The walk back to his dorm felt decades-long and he took the time to mull over everything in his head, searching for any way to make himself feel right about this. But it was hard to do anything other than mourn the loss of what had quickly become his saving grace while he navigated this new phase of his life. Portals and demons meant nothing to him as long as he could watch you sleep, knowing that he would be there to ward off anything that tried to hurt you.

Dalton stopped dead in his tracks outside his door. It had slid open with ease but the tension in the air was so thick that the thought of crossing the threshold made his blood run cold. His body was there, right in the corner where he left it earlier that night.

Only…hadn’t he been lying down in bed when he left to visit you? Why was his body now halfway across the room? And why was it moving?

“What the fuck?” he breathed, drawing out each syllable as he watched it blink. The eyes of his physical body shifted to an inky black for just a split second—he saw it—before they melted right back to blue. Dalton watched frozen in the doorway as the entity inhabiting his body glanced down to inspect the hands of its new vessel, turning them over to study his palms before squeezing them into tight fists.

Satisfied, its gaze fell to the doorway where he stood in spirit. It couldn’t see him, not truly. But it could still smell the horror oozing from him through the hole he had torn between the realms.

“Hey!” Dalton barked, but his voice was an echo that barely reached his own ears. It bounced off of the empty space all around him. The demon compelled his body forward, walking to the mirror on the other side of the dorm and leaning all of its weight against the glass. “That’s—hey!”

It combed a hand through its hair—his hair—and ran a slack hand over the bottom half of its face. An inhuman smirk grew over its lips and Dalton shivered as it made direct eye contact with him through the mirror, testing his voice like it had gone eons without a set of lungs to force its words through.

“You’re pathetic.”

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