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#franz my man. you good

burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 8 months

Text

HONEY, I’M HOME ─── jackson rippner ✧♤

ೃ⁀➷ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” — ‘Letters to Milena’, Franz Kafka

pairing. jackson rippner x assassin!reader

summary. jackson hires a prostitute the night before meeting his target. only thing is, you’re not a prostitute— you’re an assassin hired to kill him. but he catches your eye, and instead, you keep him for yourself.

warnings. swearing, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, slight housewife kink, kidnapping, drugging, pretty toxic relationship lmao, somnophilia, dubcon, hate-sex kinda, guns, choking, stockholm syndrome, cervix fucking, jackson gets a taste of his own medicine basically😭, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. OKAY i know i said it was going into the direction of dom!reader but i got possessed and now,,, now we have this hate sex filth🫡

When Jackson comes to, the very first thing his mind registers in your perfume. It’s sweet and vanilla-y and entirely intoxicating, sending his mind whirling back to prehistoric days, childhood days, a vague mother figure he’d long forgotten about pressing sugar cookie dough onto a metal pan.

Instead, as Jackson’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the bright, warm lamp-light curling around him and the various furniture in the room, he sees you, sitting in front of him on the floor.

Your knees are pulled up and tucked under your chin, and it seems you’ve fallen asleep, your face peaceful and serene as soft inhales and exhales of breath leave you.

You look like a pure angel, dolled up in a silk lace dress and neat bows so pristinely Jackson swore he could see a halo resting above your soft locks, but he knows you’re someone who can kill — has killed.

Jackson had been staying in a motel, readying himself to meet the target he was stalking the next day — some politico's daughter, y’know, perfect blackmail material — when you’d knocked on his door, dressed in a skanky skintight dress and garter belt, promising some fun for a flimsy fifty.

Prostitution was illegal in this state, but Jackson had some money and time to kill — plus, if he didn’t get something now he’d probably fuck his target, which wasn’t really encouraged considering he could get attached, all that bullshit job professionalism. He wouldn’t, obviously, but his higher-ups didn’t think the same.

So he agreed; you looked stupid enough, and with that nice pair on you, those sweet curves, you were bound to be a good fuck. And you were definitely enough for him to handle— handle killing, he meant. It’d be easy: get you a little tipsy ‘cause it was his “kink” or some shit like that, kill you when you’re coming, dispose of your body, and meet the target in the morning.

But then you’d kissed him, hungry and desperate and rough, and totally, completely, slipping the pill tucked under your tongue down his throat.

Jackson realized immediately, his hands darting to the gun he had tucked in his belt, but you punched him in the stomach and the jaw before he could even undo the safety. And then he’d done it: he’d swallowed the drug, and the effects were instantaneous, the connection between his thoughts and his limbs losing focus, body sluggish like he was wading through water.

So suddenly had the situation had gone from him hiring a prostitute to getting fucking drugged by one, and he felt his composure slipping, the outrage burning in his lungs. Jackson thought himself to be a logical, well-thought out man who planned things to the tee, and this was not fucking following his plan.

“What did you - do t’ me?!” He spat, voice growing slurred, bent over and clutching his stomach.

“Mm,” you considered telling him, pursing your lips and watching him sway back and forth, “just a little something to calm you down. But, honey, I think you better sit down… it's not a mild drug.”

“Answer my fucking—“ Jackson started caustically, then felt that familiar pins and needles sensation appear in his arms, then spread to his legs, before finally falling to the floor.

“See?” You cooed, standing above him. You watched him struggle against the drug for a moment, before grinning and pulling him up off the floor onto the bed.

Jackson listlessly fought your touch, slowly thrashing and kicking at you; his limbs may have grown numb, but his inhibitions had not lowered whatsoever, nor his paranoia. Good paranoia, in this situation, just not so good that it kicked in before you shoved a paralytic down his throat.

You rolled your eyes, sitting down beside him and pushing his head onto your lap, digging your elbow into his chest to make him stay in place.

Jackson choked at the pressure, blinking rapidly. “Who th- the -- fuck are you?”

“I’m an assassin, honey. I’m gonna kill you — or, y’know, I’m supposed to kill you.” You beamed at him, “but I can’t do that, now can I? That’d be a waste of such a pretty face.”

Jackson’s brows knitted exasperatedly, mouth contorting to speak, but nothing came out. In fact, his mouth hadn’t been moving at all— his face had grown numb, now blankly staring up at you.

“There we go,” you said happily. “The drug’s all kicked in now, hasn't it? I’ll speak freely, ‘cause y’can’t answer me anymore, not even scream or cry.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping like you were finally able to fucking relax, and began petting his hair before continuing. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you? Stalking that politician’s daughter… were you gonna fuck her? Threaten her dad, have some fun, then kill them both?”

Jackson’s breathing grew more furious, eyes widening— or, they would’ve, if he could move. This was about his job, about the target, not just some fucking freak accident and a crazy prostitute.

You frowned, shaking your head. “You’ve gotta do more research on the people you blackmail, honey— Mr. Politican’ll do anything to keep his little princess safe. Even murder.”

You then got up, and Jackson watched you pull something out of your tights, unable to respond or protest or even fucking move, frozen still on the cheap motel mattress.

“But like I said, you’re too cute to die like that. I think I’ll keep you for myself.” You winked, before pricking him in the neck with the needle that was hidden in your tights.

His breath hitched, but there was no use: black quickly curled into the edges of his vision, and one second passed, then another, then he was out.

That brought him back to now, waking up with his arms handcuffed behind him and his legs tied roughly to a wooden chair. He rustled, pulling against the cuffs as quietly as possible, gaze still obsessively trained on your every micro-movement.

But it didn't matter: your eyes opened the moment you’d heard his breath catch and stutter, and you got up lightly, dreamily, like you were some figment of Jackson’s imagination rather than a psychopathic kidnapping assassin.

“Morning, honey,” you whispered, getting up off the floor, rubbing your eyes and yawning. But he didn’t respond, still pulling at his restraints, eyes thinned and focussed.

“Are you mad at me?” You whined with a frown, circling around his chair and playfully covering his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry. I’ll buy some cute lingerie, give you a little show… do you like lace? Or maybe leather?”

Jackson’s nostrils flared, growing irate and incredulous at your antics, and he snapped. “Do you really think you can keep me here? Make me play fucking house with you?” He shouted groggily, body still feeling the aftereffects of not one, but two, drugs.

You blinked numbly, hand finding his face, and you pressed his cheeks together, making him look up at you. “I won’t make you play house with me, Jackson. But it's the only thing you can do. You’re dead.”

Your tone had gone cold, using his real name instead of your pet-one, expression going blank and completely unfeeling at his words. Then, you fumbled for something on the wooden vanity beside you two before lifting it up to his face.

It read: TERRORIST GROUP LEADER’S REMAINS FOUND IN RED-EYE FLIGHT WRECK.

Jackson’s lips parted, feelings riddled half in shock and half in utter fury, gaze shaky as it flitted back and forth between you and the newspaper you were holding up. “I’m fucking—“

“Alive, I know. That’s kinda the point,” you finished his sentence with a chuckle, shaking your head like any of this was a joking matter. “When a plane goes down and catches fire, burning everybody, they won’t individually check who's who, honey. If there’s a name on the seat, there’s someone in it, and they’re dead… you’re as good as dead.”

Jackson’s eyebrows were still knit, but he suddenly stared straight ahead, listening to you silently and trying to make sure you were still too focussed on explaining theatrically to realize he was about to dislocate his thumb.

He could deal with the stool later — he just needed to get his arms free and escape. What with your grating voice and the fucking pronunciation of death you’d forced upon him, god, his fury was rising quickly, and he wanted nothing more right now than to fucking kill you.

You finished your explanation, peering deeply into his bright blue eyes, and you were about to wrap your arms around his neck and press him comfortingly to your chest when he successfully freed himself, and his hands shot out from behind him to strangle you.

His fingers curled around your neck extremely easily, tightening and contracting around the thing snugly. Jackson was seeing red, the anger accumulated from every little insane fucking thing you did to him bursting.

You struggled against him, your mouth opening and closing pitifully, leaning down into his grip— until your lips tilted upwards, a devilishly cheshire smile digging into your cheeks like it was an expression God never intended you to make.

Jackson only realized you’d taken his gun away from him when he felt the tip of the barrel kiss his temple, cold and clammy. He was still disoriented, and didn’t exactly comprehend all the facts ‘till they fucking punched him in the face. Or, in this case, threatened to shoot him point blank.

“L’mme - l’mme go, h’ney,” you whispered raspily, your eyes stuttering in their socket as he pressed deeper. Simultaneously, completely on instinct, you pressed the gun further into his skin.

“You’re too fucking weak to fire that gun,” he growled, digging his thumbs into the neat notch in the middle of your neck, his fingernails scratching bloody marks into your sensitive skin.

But you frowned weakly, and then Jackson heard that all familiar click, making him blanch. The strength in his hands didn’t falter, however— it got angrier, more desperate, like you wouldn’t automatically shoot him if he just translated his wrath into his grip.

“I d’nt- w’nna k-kill you,” you shook your head a bit, but both your threats remained the same: his hands making you go lightheaded, go blue, and the gun in yours making him sweat, the image of you splattering his brain against the wall clear as day.

Jackson felt your finger twitch, and he closed his eyes, grip going tense then faltering completely: if you shot him now, there was no point holding on. But you did the same— you thought he’d snap your neck right then and there, so you pulled away.

Just as quickly as you two had attacked one another, your resolves’ had crumbled, murderous intent clearing the room like someone had opened a window and let it all out. Silence filled it back up instead, a steady tension permeating with it, and it was fucking suffocating.

“What do you - want from me, exactly?” Jackson questioned first, several long moments later, words slow and collected. He’d try to calm himself and hide his anger away for later, because he now knew that you meant for him to meet only two ends here: forever with you, or forever dead— and neither were ends he was intending to have.

To escape, crawl under your nose and perhaps kill you along the way, he’d need to know the rules— play your little game. This cat and mouse mess could be done in a flash, and he fucking knew you had a weakness. He could feel it in your touch, how you gripped him, the lonely warble in your insane words.

Sure, you kidnapped him and were calling him honey, treating him like he was your plaything, but Jackson had always been good at reading people, even before he’d become an amalgamated mess of an assassin, terrorist and blackmailer: you needed someone in your life— be it a husband or a hostage.

You got down on one knee, looking up at him through your wet lashes, breathing still ragged. One of your hands took his own dislocated one, while the other fished through your silk dress pockets, pulling out a gold band ring identical to the one gleaming prettily on your left hand.

You didn’t answer his question saying for you to marry me or for you to love me— both things Jackson would expect you to say, especially with your oddly profound obsession with him (despite the fact he was positive you’d only known him for a few weeks at most.) No, you’d smiled, a lovely duchenne one, rosy-cheeked like a fucking schoolgirl confessing to her crush, not an assassin who’d kidnapped him, and said, “For you to be mine.”

Your hand curled around his dislocated thumb and quickly snapped it, cruel and rough but perfectly back in place, before you slipped the ring onto his finger shakily, and brought his hand up to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“You’re mine,” you repeated in a whisper, sounding every bit like a warning rather than a celebration.

ii.

After a few days of living with— or, more accurately, being held captive by you, Jackson thought he had you all figured out. It usually only took a few days for him and a target to become acquainted anyway; mutual acquaintance or not.

He found that the warmer he treated you, the more freedom he’d have. Like, after you slipped the ring on his finger, you undid the ropes tying his legs. A reward, you’d said, for accepting your… unity.

But you still switched out the clinky metal cuffs for zip ties. “I can’t have you doing that nifty little thumb trick anymore, can I?” you explained. “But I still want you to walk around. Take a tour of the rest of your life, honey.”

Then, you told him you had to go to work — to which Jackson rolled his eyes, considering assassination wasn’t exactly what he’d call work, though, he would also have to call himself a hypocrite — and left. Jackson wasn’t shy about roaming about the house, especially to look for a fucking escape, but he was firstly confronted with the sheer size of the place you’d locked him in.

Where he’d first waken up was the master bedroom, long and wide with a king poster bed and canopy, a pair of couples vanities side by side, two walk-in closets and one large ensuite. The rest of the house was the same, being two stories tall and terribly extensive: Jackson ran out of fingers on his hands to count how many rooms were in it.

By the time he’d combed through the entire house — discovering a measly two possible escape routes in the process — it was dark outside, and you entered through a front door Jackson couldn’t find for the fucking life of him.

It was appalling, firstly how spontaneous and carefree you were whilst simultaneously thinking of everything that could go wrong, and secondly, how up to par your skills were to his. He wasn’t one to gloat, but he knew just as well as his coworkers that he was a large step above the rest— and it seemed you were, too, the only equal he’d encountered in his line of work… and the only person who’d bested him.

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-songed in the hallway, poking your head into each and every room for Jackson’s familiar form.

Jackson had settled back in the master bedroom, sitting on the very chair you’d untied him from that morning, and when you finally found him you cooed. “Aw, baby, you don’t hafta’ stay here all day.” You said, lifting his chin to look up at you.

Jackson grit his teeth, his temper suddenly getting the best of him, and he spat at you. But the effect didn't work nearly as well as intended: you didn’t even wince, merely blinking and bringing two fingers to your cheek and wiping the slick off. You pouted at him for a second, made your eyes real big and pitiful, before kissing him on the cheek… and shoving your spit-slicked fingers into his mouth, making him gag.

It looked like you were enjoying his suffering, before pulling away a moment later. “Well, no matter,” you said, brushing his actions off and regaining your happy mood. “I know you weren’t really here all day, honey.”

Jackson’s lips parted, eyes thinning suspiciously. “What the fuck are you—“

You suddenly pulled out your phone, showing camera angles from all throughout the house… and more startlingly, previous footage of him, scouring the house’s windows and poking through the various furniture and rooms earlier in the day. “You are quite the curious cat.”

“You have a camera?” He asked indignantly. Honestly, he should’ve expected it: it’s like, what do you get when you have a captive itching to escape and an obsessive, head-over-heels captor with plenty of money on her hands?

“Several,” you preened, “so don’t bother escaping.”

Then, you hooked your arm into his and dragged him to one of the (many, many) dining rooms.

“Now, I’ve never exactly had a hostage before,” you offered, pushing him into one of your cushy walnut dining chairs, “so I just realized you haven’t eaten. God, I’m so sorry, honey, you must be starving.”

With that, you ducked into the large kitchen a room away, and then returned holding a steaming plate of something, setting the dish down in front of him. “It’s not exactly, y’know, fine dining,” you said, picking up the spoon hidden in the food and scooping up some peas, “but it’s home-cooked. Not my home cooking, obviously, it is -- was, a target’s. I had a plate earlier, don’t worry, it’s good.”

Jackson stared at you, mind spinning with the information you were nonchalantly throwing at him: you were feeding him, your hand holding the cutlery, his mouth around it like he was fucking six, and the person who had made this food was dead, having had their throat slit or something.

But there was another thing in Jackson’s mind, a tiny, weak voice within him that told him to just shut the hell up and eat the damn food. His survival instinct, probably, but then it went on to think that you weren’t that bad, feeding him and keeping him safe from the police in this nice, grand house— and Jackson squished the voice. No fucking way in hell was he experiencing early stage stockholm syndrome.

At his reluctance, you frowned, and forced the spoonful in his mouth. “Eat,” you scolded, and fed him till the whole plate was finished.

He ate, of course, not because of the little bitch voice in his head, but because of the fact that he actually was really fucking hungry. The gesture seemed to warm your heart, for some fucked up reason, and you later sat in the livingroom with him and loosened his zipties.

There was a brief moment, however, that Jackson felt even an iota of fear: when his hands were slightly free, he immediately reached to grab you— he was taller, stronger, and could certainly defeat you in mere moments.

But your sneaky fingers tightened his restraints at the drop of a hat, your head butting his jaw so he fell back on the couch. “Try anything,” you warned, tone suddenly dark, “and I will break your fucking wrist.”

At his tentative, jaw slightly dropped, shaky nod, a cold sweat beaming down from his temple, you dissolved into a fit of laughter at his expression and undid his ties once more. This time, your hand held his in an intimate death grip, thumb curled sweetly around the wrist, that warning still ringing in his head.

He was learning how to play the game, though. His captor’s behavior. What you liked, what you didn’t. The extent of your mercy.

Jackson cleared his throat, searching for a question that might make you open up. “…What’s your name, anyway?” Yes, he didn’t even know your fucking name, and he doubted that the tacky prostitute name you’d given him initially was your real one.

You looked up at him, surprised he’d speak first, nonetheless to know more about you. So, you indulged, and told him your name, things you liked, didn’t like, your hobbies… all normal people stuff— y’know, first date stuff.

“I keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me,” you confessed, leaning your head on his stiff figure, “‘cause I’ve known you for a very long time.”

Jackson’s breath hitched. “How so?” he said, trying not to give away his eagerness; he was going through all the steps he did when first meeting a target, like being kind and sweet, respectful and attentive, really buttering them up and coaxing information from them, before going in for the kill. In Jackson’s current case, the “kill” was a kiss.

It’d be something chaste, nervous, like he was unwittingly slipping into your trap and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling within him toward you, so you would fall into his; hook, line, and sinker… and maybe completely undo his zipties. He’d have to lay low for a few days, obviously, and build up that obsessive trust of yours, before going in for the literal kill.

But then again, Jackson, with that delirious little ego of his, kept forgetting your skills were up to par with his, and you were the first and only person to ever fucking best him.

You grinned thinly, knowing exact what he was doing, noticed the pattern his words went in, trying to shepherd the conversation to get the answers he wanted, and you pulled away from him. “I’ll tell you another day, honey. M’gonna go to bed,” you whispered sleepily, redoing his zipties. “Join me. I don’t like it when you tire yourself out.”

And so you left, and Jackson watched your hips sway, legs carrying you down the long hallway into the master bedroom. As soon as you were out of direct view, he sucked in a sharp breath, seething angrily.

Fuck, he thought, the realization of his predicament settling within in him at last. He’d always been told this: if you didn’t believe you could escape your situation within the first day, you would never escape at all. He thought it a silly mantra, because he’d always devised an escape plan after thinking on it for a few long moments.

Never did he think he’d find himself in a situation where that actually fucking applied, never did he think he’d meet his equal, and never in his entire, terrorizing existence, did he think he’d be helpless.

But Jackson had to persevere. Had to. He had not survived every terrible incident thrown at him in his tired lifetime, just to accept this. And so, he went to bed with you, the zipties rubbing his pale skin raw, and he watched the shadows on the roof shift with every hour that passed.

He did not sleep, certainly not with you by his side, and though it looked like it, you did not either. It was the paranoia of two terribly similar people; gaze dancing in the dark and never finding each others, waiting for the moment one of you snapped and you had to attack or defend.

The next day, and the next day after that, he went to bed beside you. Just like that, turned into weeks turned into months turned into seasons changing, and the zipties became cloth became your hand holding his.

It was a culmination of feigned loving, fake vulnerability, and pretending he’d gotten Stockholm syndrome that got him to this point. Every “honey, i’m home,” or kiss or hug or pet-name you stabbed into him, he returned with a “welcome home, honey”, a peck on the cheek, a hand holding yours, his venomous tone switched like a light into something sweet, soft.

One night, with his newly ziptie-free arms wrapping around you, your back nestling sweetly against his torso, he has to remind himself that it is not real. None of it was real: he was not your husband, you were not his wife, you did not love each other, you were not normal fucking people— you were the captive and the captor.

Jackson had to remind himself he didn’t actually love you, because that night he thought: if you used him, he would use you. He would take you whenever he wanted, like how you used him. A man has needs, he thought, and being trapped in this house with you meant those needs could be met.

It reminded him of when you first met— not the kidnapping part, of course, but of the kissing and the touching, your tits pressing softly against his chest, his hands following the swell of your ass.

With a start, he realized he’d had some kind of unintentional celibacy enacted upon him: he couldn’t fuck anyone other than you, obviously, having been trapped in that house, but he never entertained the idea of fucking you because he hated you. You don’t fuck the bitch you’re planning to kill any day now.

But your warm body against his awoke something in him, his forced celibacy unable to survive against the pure lust he felt filling him now. You were beautiful, undeniably, with pliant thighs and delicate curves he could see himself getting between animalistically, roughly, a kind of morbid sexual revenge against your captivity of him. It helped entirely that this was the most vulnerable he’d seen you, completely without any weapons, curled warmly into his side.

After studying your breathing for a few seconds, ensuring you were still asleep, Jackson carefully slipped away from you to kneel in front of you in the middle of the bed. He admired your night getup: those silk dresses you adored to wear at home, and absolutely no underwear.

He then pried your soft thighs open slightly, dipping his head between them and losing himself in the sweet scent of your cunt, before chancing a stripe up to your clit. He flattened his tongue, wanting to collect your taste on it completely, and you merely sighed, turning over slightly and widening your legs in your sleep, like you somehow knew what he was doing and wanted it.

He pressed his mouth up to your cunt fully now, his nose hitting your mound as he devoured you, tongue filling every crevice and fold you had like he was starving. Your small whimpers and breathy sighs grew louder now, more frequent, and then Jackson suddenly pulled away, satisfied with how he readied your hole.

Jackson shimmed himself out of his boxer shorts, a pair with silly little hearts he’d never seriously buy for himself— you bought them, as soon as you’d captured him, clearly having fun with the utter control you could display on him, down to his fucking undergarments.

He shook himself slightly, refocussing on the matter at hand: fucking into your glistening cunt. There was something oddly empowering about doing this to you when you couldn’t protest, regaining some control over his own fucking life by terrorizing yours.

But he wasn’t sure you’d fucking care anyway: he knew you liked to peek around the corner when he was showering, “accidentally” walking in when he was in the middle of changing, not-so subtly bending down and pressing your ass to his crotch.

He sighed slightly, rubbing his hand up and down on his hard length in the dark, before lining it up with your entrance. Jackson muffled the groan that curdled in his throat with his large hand, breathing shakily and finally pushing past your slick folds. You were soaking, and he didn’t know if it was because of his previous foreplay or if you were just naturally like this, all horny because he slept beside you at night. He wouldn’t put it past you if that was the case: your obsession with him was clear in every single way.

You made a noise in your sleep, and Jackson froze, hands instinctively coming up to press lightly against your throat — an unconscious thing on his part, formed when his hands had been zip tied and the only thing he could do was choke you, unable to grip any weapon properly. But you didn’t wake up; your face merely screwed together, before smoothing out and returning to blissful unconsciousness.

Jackson let out a sigh of pleasure and relief, your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. He gripped the sheets beside your head and began thrusting in and out of you: at first gently, afraid to wake you up, but as the minutes dripped past, Jackson grew desperate, fucking into your cunt roughly. He wanted to abuse your tight little pussy, stretch you wide open and take you for everything you had.

“Fuck,” he grunted under his breath, snapping his hips harder against yours, “Fuck!”

His exclamation of sexual satisfaction startled you awake, but he didn’t notice how your eyes moved behind your eyelids, too focussed on pounding his rock-hard cock into you. For all the insanity and behavioral issues God gave you, he certainly made up for it in the way he crafted your cunt: extremely warm and easily wet, a sticky hole that sucked him in but was still cramped, like it was begging him to force your walls open.

“Honey?” you murmured foggily, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were about to speak again, when Jackson suddenly found your g-spot, and rammed continually into it, making a filthy mewl leave your lips.

“Fuck, you woke up?” Jackson cursed, looking at you for the first time. His thrusts were unrelenting, though, now not caring if you’d woken up and just wanting to feel your hole squeeze around him again.

“Jackson, I was - sleeping,” you squeaked out, hands moving to his back and digging your nails into the skin.

“That’s kinda the point,” Jackson mocked, tone sarcastic and peeved like you were interrupting him. “And don’t fucking fight it,” he warned angrily, hand leaving the mattress and roughly squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your nightdress, “‘cause I’m not stopping ‘till I come.”

You pouted fake-sadly at his words, but your back arching gave you away, keening when he kneaded your tit too meanly and made a shock of pain run up your body. “Feels so good,” you grinned sweatily, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “didn’t fucking ask what you thought.”

He pushed your face to the side so he was looking at your jaw, more content with treating you like just some hole, but you didn’t care: he, your darling, was fucking you. He wanted you so bad he fucked you when you weren’t even awake. God, you could’ve kissed him right then and there, but he probably would’ve hit you. (Not that you would mind… but you wanted your honey to take control, have it his way for a bit.)

Jackson rutted into you fast and selfish, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the violent way he fucked you: your sick pleasure came at the expense of your weeping cunt, which was trembling in the stinging pain he was inflicting, cockhead stretching you wide.

Then, Jackson’s hands slid down to your hips, so he could shove his cock deeper into your cunt, pressing his weight so heavily onto your chest you could barely breathe. He groaned; you were clearly affected by the action, bearing down on his cock suddenly, and he reveled in the ecstacy.

He fucked you slightly and slower, and you only realized what he’d been doing when he leaned down to get a better angle, bullying the head of his cock against your cervix: he was trying to fuck into you further, push his dick so close, so snug against your womb that there was no doubt in hell his load would impregnate you. His actions were dictated not by any sense of reason, but by a crude, carnal desire, wanting nothing more but to make you scream.

And you did scream alright, a breathy, brutal scream; a mix of whimpering pain at the way his head pushed against you, and of shameful, drooling pleasure, his delicious length making you feel fucking bloated, you were so full.

One of Jackson’s hands reached up to your head to pull your hair, making you whine at the pain of the tug, and he growled out a string of curse words, before thrusting his cock so angrily it was like a punishment, surely bruising your cervix, and releasing his thick load deep inside. His come flooded your cunt, pumping you full of his salty cream, fucking you still.

Jackson then panted raggedly, feeling your gummy walls tense at the pain of him pulling out, flopping down beside you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you absently, pulling his boxer shorts back up to his hips.

You bit your lip as you clenched your thighs together, whining slightly at the pain blooming deep within your abused cunt, and at the loss of pleasure— you hadn’t come after all, Jackson being entirely selfish in his fucking. “Uh-huh,” you murmured weakly, feeling the strength in your body leave you completely. “You’re a mean one, honey.”

“Good,” Jackson said, chuckling darkly. It was the first laugh you’d heard rumble out of him the entire time you’d held him captive, and you drank it in: it was pleasant and breezy, like cold water on a hot day. It was certainly out of place, such a gleeful laugh after savagely fucking you, but you welcomed it anyway.

Jackson suddenly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “M’gonna use your hole whenever I want, and you’re gonna take my cock no matter what, ‘till you’re begging me to stop,” he growled in your ear, making goosebumps break out on your clammy skin. “Least you can do for fuckin’ kidnapping me, you psychotic bitch.”

“Oh,” you purred, batting your lashes up at him, “it’d be my pleasure to be your fucktoy.”

Jackson grinned, at you, for you, and you thought to yourself that kidnapping him was the best thing you ever fucking did.

iii.

Somewhere, muddled between you kidnapping him, the two of you almost killing eachother, and him fucking you dumb, Jackson caved, and he started to believe he actually loved you. His mind didn’t have any qualms accepting that you were his new life— living in your house, only knowing you, and only ever talking to you.

Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, or those delicious fantasies you’d whisper in his ear at night (“Y’know, honey, it’s really you who should be saying you’re home. What do you think, huh? You coming home from a long day of work to me, in my panties and an apron, no bra and a sweet, home-cooked meal on the table. Dessert’ll be, of course, me,”) or maybe it was just you.

You, despite your terrible job and seriously obvious insanity, being the epitome of fuckable: horny when he was, a talented, needy mouth, able to take anything he gave you to while always going back to being tight as fuck, and intensely eager to have him.

You, who controlled his life, and he, who controlled you. The way you treated each other was probably illegal somewhere, but in that house not even the fucking law mattered. (You still remember when Jackson got his gun back, and he teased your clit with the cold tip till you creamed down the barrel… a terribly memorable story that always made you groan.)

Jackson was extremely well aware that there was something strange about your relationship, and not just the fact it occurred in the strangest way possible, but that he was essentially giving up to you— losing his inhibitions, at least against you. Something about… putting his well being in your hands. His needs. His wants. His life. Spending the rest of his life with you; in this house, accepting life and no escape.

But still, for a man like Jackson, who had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for a life of normalcy, a life of love, this certainly wasn’t a bad way of living. He had a house nicer than anything he’d ever lived in, didn’t have to work, could do whatever he wanted all day, and got to pound his cock into your perfect little pussy every single night.

#wowee this has a lot of words and a lot of warnings #this is filthy i apologize #cillian murphy smut #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner x reader smut #red eye #jackson rippner

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jayflrt · 6 months

Text

against the world

PAIRING ▸ park sunghoon x fem!reader x sim jaeyun (ft. park jongseong)

GENRES ▸ fluff, angst, psychological, horror, thriller

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, murder, descriptions of gore, unrequited love, found family, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, mc is an unreliable narrator

SUMMARY ▸ if you could change anything about your life, it would be meeting park sunghoon.

WORD COUNT ▸ 14,064 words

PLAYLIST ▸ back to black by amy winehouse • the french library by franz gordon • perfectly splendid by the newton brothers

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! this fic is a rewrite of one of my first horror fics that i’ve written :') it badly needed reworking and i completely changed the ending. i hope you guys enjoy my spooky szn contribution ♡

THE TRUTH WAS, YOUR LIFE BEGAN TO FALL APART EVEN BEFORE YOU MET SIM JAEYUN.

You realized this as you woke up, face pressed against the ice-cold, concrete floor of a holding cell; when the guards dragged your uncooperative, limp body into an interrogation room; when you were face-to-face with Detective Lee Heeseung and handcuffed to a cold, metal table as he read your Miranda Rights. The handcuffs dug into the flesh of your wrists, but you only fought against them once and gave up as soon as you realized they wouldn’t give in. You just wanted to thumb away the crusted blood staining your hands and pick out the flakes under your nails.

The room was foreign to you. It was something you’d seen in movies and read in books, but you never fathomed the idea of being in an interrogation room yourself. There was a two-way glass that you aimlessly stared at, wondering who was listening in on the other end.

You couldn’t figure out just how you ended up in this situation. Everything was smooth in your memory up until your supposed arrest—a tear in the fabric of your recollection. You hardly remembered what happened on the way to the police station or when you were getting booked in. You dug your palms into your temples and then pressed against the soft flesh under your eyes, frustrated by the stunted gears in your head. As much as you begged than to click and start spinning, they remained stuck and rusted in place.

But you couldn’t ask the brooding man standing over you. You couldn’t look up into his cold, unforgiving eyes. After all, he knew you were a murderer.

“There’s no use in lying to me, Y/N,” Detective Lee said gruffly with a gaze like steel, “the prints match.”

You drummed your fingers against the table—a habit that was rooted in your anxiety. Your fingers were stained and pruned like roses, and as hard as you tried to paint the table red, it only flaked off. You were sure your heartbeat was faster than the tapping of your fingers, your mind perhaps speeding off twice as fast.

Your stomach twisted. If Jaeyun was going to prison, too, then you could no longer protect him.

There was a limit to how much he could take; you knew that being thrown in the slammer would be intolerable for him. You knew you needed to get to him immediately because Jaeyun was the guy who felt too little and too much at the same time—the guy who looked for the part of him that ran away, who self-destructed when he felt the world closing in on him.

After all, Jaeyun was a stick of trinitrotoluene lit at both ends.

You worked up the courage to look Detective Lee in the eye, which made him stiffen up, biceps flexing under his white button-up.

“Where’s Jaeyun?” you asked.

Detective Lee’s lips pressed into a thin, grim line. Cutting into his pale cheeks. You decided that couldn’t be a good reaction.

You continued, “He didn’t do anything, I swear. He was just there. He didn’t do anything.”

“If you cooperate with us, then you can see Jaeyun again,” the detective answered in a clipped tone. “I can sit here all day and wait.”

Cooperate. You hated that word.

You knew Detective Lee was just trying to sugarcoat your betrayal. You knew he was looking down on you, ready to push you to your limit.

But there was nothing you could do in this room. There was no way for you to escape or talk your way out of it to see Jaeyun. You knew quite well that staying silent would only prevent you from making sure your boyfriend was okay.

You had no other choice but to work with Detective Lee.

“Will you at least make sure he’s not hurt?” you inquired, to which Detective Lee agreed with a nod.

“I’ll ask again: Will you cooperate?”

You stayed silent. You despised your old habit of shutting down like this, but you couldn’t help it.

Detective Lee sighed and sat in the chair across from you so that you both were eye-level with each other. “Listen, Y/N, you’re young. This murder investigation—this is serious stuff, okay? We just need to know the full story before we jump to any conclusions and make a false arrest. Can we start from last night?”

Deep down, you understood. But it’s all too fresh—too soon. The grief had yet to settle. The recollections of blood and lifeless eyes poisoned your head; it was all you could see when you closed your eyes.

You sounded hollow when you said, “It didn’t… start from last night.”

Detective Lee acknowledged this and leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “Then let’s hear it from the beginning.”

If you could change anything about your life, it would be meeting Park Sunghoon.

Your first meeting was at the age of fourteen. Moving schools was an unexpected shift in your life, and you didn't expect to find many friends at your new school. Starting new in the beginning of the year was one thing, but entering unknown territory with people already acclimated in their respective groups was another.

People flocked to comfort, and you were sure that no one would want to step out of their comfort zone to bring a stranger into their friend group.

And then Sunghoon swooped in, like an angel sent from the heavens.

Initially, he was awkward. You were both fourteen-years-old and going through the initial stages of puberty—all voice cracks and awkward intervals of growth stunts. Sunghoon was soft-spoken and didn’t have many friends when he approached and befriended you.

It started when you both found out you shared a love for novels. You spent hours talking about your favorite books, and Sunghoon shared his dream of wanting to craft the perfect story. Oftentimes, Sunghoon would share some of his writing with you, and then his eyes would sparkle upon hearing your feedback.

You two were classmates, sitting right next to each other in the back of the classroom, conveniently right next to the door. You got to know Sunghoon slowly—the same gradual feeling of starting to care for someone. You knew his boundaries, though, because you were aware that you could never be the closest to Sunghoon. He and Park Jongseong were attached at the hip, and you couldn’t lie to yourself; you felt like a third wheel in the beginning.

But there was some comfort in the security of your friendship.

“It’s you and me,” Sunghoon would tell you, “the two of us against the world.”

You knew you should have been grateful to have made friends in the first place, but you didn’t exactly know if you belonged with them. As comfortable as you felt, there was always a whisper in the back of your head, telling you that you would never be their number one.

You would never be anyone’s number one.

“I don’t understand girls,” Jongseong said one day, hands tucked behind his head as the three of you were hanging out in Sunghoon’s room. You were flipping through some comic book that Sunghoon had laying around, and you shifted uncomfortably upon hearing the question.

“You don’t have to.” Sunghoon’s eyes flitted from you, and then back to his phone. He swiped through some apps, but you could tell he wasn’t really paying attention judging by the glazed-over look in his eyes. “Girls make no sense at this age.”

Jongseong nudged you. “You have anything to say about that, Y/N?”

To be honest, you didn’t understand yourself much either. You were just starting to go through puberty, and it wasn’t ideal for a teenager as young as you to only have guy friends. You couldn’t relate to any of the girls your age, nor could you ask them if they were going through the same changes you were.

You were acquainted with several girls, of course, but you never got close enough to ask what feelings and experiences they had. You wanted to know if they were becoming as conscious of themselves and others like you were, but you kept those questions bottled up since you only had Sunghoon and Jongseong.

“Nope,” you replied. “I couldn’t tell you.”

You supposed Jongseong was having girl problems again, and it all clicked because lately, he had been hanging around a pretty girl in their class. They were cute together and clearly into each other, but you could pick up on the issue: Jongseong was on the down-low about their relationship. More importantly, he had been on the down-low about it around Sunghoon, which had to have been breaking some sort of best friend code.

Jongseong asked, “You like anyone, Hoon?”

Hoon, your brain echoed, and you imagined yourself using the name as casually as Jongseong did. It sounded awkward coming from you, though. Friends gave each other nicknames, right? What if you gave Sunghoon a nickname? How would he react?

Sunghoon flushed behind his phone screen. You could tell he wanted it to go undetected, but you caught a glimpse of his flustered expression before he was able to compose himself.

“Oh, not really,” he replied with an air of indifference. “I dunno. I guess I haven’t really been looking.”

“How about you, Y/N?”

You faltered for a moment before you realized you had been addressed. It was a normal question; you should have expected it, but it hit you like a tornado and your mind was swirling. Dating had crossed your mind a few times, sure, you had never prepared an answer because you thought it was going to be straightforward—a simple “yeah, there’s a few cute guys in class.” But that wasn’t the case this time, and you were wondering why there wasn’t any clarity in your head.

Come on, Y/N, you urged yourself, as if you were complaining to multiple, uncooperating attendants working in your brain. Just say something—anything.

Your mind was blanking, though, and you were scared. You couldn’t quite grasp why your stomach felt like a never-ending pit, but it only worsened when you couldn’t spit some guy’s name out. You wanted to open up your skull, thoroughly examine your head, poke at the areas refusing to work, and figure out who you couldn’t just list some attractive guy in class; on top of that, you wondered why you couldn’t just flat-out refuse the statement and claim that there was no one you were interested in.

You were struck with a painful realization that there was only one person you could think of.

Sunghoon.

No, no, no, your brain and your heart screamed at each other. Get ahold of yourself.

You quickly decided that it was just a passing feeling that you needed to suppress until it went away. It was just stupid teenage hormones and puberty making you feel this way and starving you of affection that you didn’t actually need in the first place. If you didn’t get a hold over yourself, you were going to crumble and ruin the good things you had going.

You internally convinced yourself that everything was fine. There were plenty of teenagers your age who had moments of weakness like this with their guy friends. You just needed to branch out more, that was all.

Sheepishly, you replied before the boys could chew you out, “There’s no one I’m interested in right now.”

You weren’t a very good liar, but as long as Sunghoon and Jongseong were sold, you were content with how things were.

Your group expanded when you turned fifteen, and you and Sunghoon grew closer—maybe even closer than Sunghoon and Jongseong were.

You were laying down in your bed one night, breaking into sobs when you realized that you needed more than one hand to count the number of friends you had now. Your shell was broken and your world was bigger. You normally lived like your uphills were mountains and your downhills were cliffs, but, lately, the mountains were getting easier to climb and the downhills weren’t that big of a drop. You didn’t need to stop and catch your breath or worry about hurting yourself on the way down.

You never felt lonely anymore. If Sunghoon or Jongseong weren’t free, you would call Nishimura Riki to catch grasshoppers in the creek with you, or you’d go play video games with Yang Jungwon. Kim Sunoo called you nearly every night to bother you, but you didn’t mind. You liked them; they made you feel important, like you were wanted.

“Come on,” Sunghoon teased Jungwon one day as he was blushing over some girl. “What are you being so shy about?”

“It’s embarrassing!” Jungwon complained, and you giggled over how a flush of red started creeping from his ears to his cheeks. “I’m not a smooth-talker like you are, Hoon.”

Sunghoon snorted. “I’m not a smooth-talker.”

“He’s practically, like, bulletproof,” Jongseong chimed in. “We can’t tease him about anyone. He just brushes it off.”

“I’m not bulletproof,” Sunghoon argued, but anyone could see the pride behind his expression. “I’m just not interested in anyone right now.”

You thought you had finally squashed the weird, gooey feeling that arose in your chest every now and then whenever Sunghoon came close. It was primarily due to the fact that Sunghoon was a respectful individual who didn’t try to weasel his way into your personal bubble as he pleased. That was probably for the best because you were sure your brain would go haywire if Sunghoon was too close for comfort.

And then there was Sim Jaeyun.

Jaeyun entered your circle pretty easily. With his radiant personality and warm presence, it was no shocker that he was accepted by the group instantly. He possessed some odd charm that drew people to him, and you couldn’t seem to figure just how that worked. You were almost jealous of him, honestly, with how much of a social butterfly he was.

Out of all of them, Jaeyun seemed to take a particular interest in you. It drove you crazy, though, and you couldn’t figure out how to get the guy to stop teasing and messing around with you. The others couldn’t figure it out either; you just weren’t as bright and bubbly as Jaeyun was, so it was odd that he kept nagging the one person whose wavelength wasn’t on par with his.

Sometimes it was cute—endearing even—but sometimes it was just flat-out irritating.

“Hey, Y/N.” Jake grinned, and his voice was all light and airy as he approached you. “What’re you doing for the summer break?”

“Probably sleeping in, hanging out with the others, and some more sleeping,” you replied, hardly sparing him a single glance.

You were too focused on clearing out your locker of all the books and papers you had tossed in during the year. Gotta keep this, gotta throw this away, gotta return this one, you rattled off in your head, mentally preserving a reminder of your various items. But Jaeyun knew how to push your buttons and grab your attention. He never took your deflection without retaliating back. That was one of the many reasons why you found it so difficult to be around him.

“And hanging out with Sunghoon, huh? Have you realized it yet, or are you still pretending it’s not there?”

You closed your locker with a swift swipe of your hand, revealing Jaeyun’s smug expression. Your eyes were practically bugging out of your sockets as you stared him down. Somehow, you knew exactly what he was hinting at, but you refused to spell it out for him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned, but Jaeyun was already walking away from you. He was turned away, but you could visualize that stupid smirk of his like it was carved into your memory.

Jaeyun was smart. Too smart.

Your summer was filled with laughter, beach trips, and shy glances at Sunghoon. He drove you around places and you sat in the passenger’s seat next to him, toes curled in your shoes because you were so overjoyed. The car was always loud with music and laughter, and whenever it was silent, it was because everyone else was sleeping on each other after a long day of being outside.

You still masqueraded around, playing the role of Sunghoon’s best friend who definitely had zero romantic feelings toward him. It was quite hard when you had to pretend like your heart didn’t flutter whenever Sunghoon’s fingers brushed against yours.

“Sunghoon,” Jaeyun would complain, rousing laughter from everyone at how impatient he was, “are we there yet?”

“You’re so annoying,” Sunghoon retorted, clearly as a joke. You couldn’t help but laugh at his outburst, but it quickly died on your lips once you caught a glimpse of Jaeyun winking at you in the side mirror.

Jaeyun had a mischievous glint in his eyes when he said, “But you still love me, Hoon.”

Oh.

He was trying to make you jealous.

You fought down the urge to laugh at him. You might have been harboring a small crush, but you were never the jealous type, especially not over petty things like this. There was one little thing, however, that you couldn’t seem to shake.

For some reason, the anticipation to call Sunghoon by a nickname made you anxious. You never tested it on your tongue; it just floated around in your head. However, when you addressed him as Hoon one day, your heart skipped a beat when Sunghoon responded with a smile that rivaled the brightness of the sun.

You grew closer to Jongseong, too. You didn’t feel like the third wheel with him and Sunghoon anymore; you felt like you were all at the same level of closeness. You and Jongseong hung out sometimes without Sunghoon, and despite a few awkward pauses in your interactions, you two warmed up quickly and you learned how to joke around with him easily.

Jongseong wasn’t all stiff and dry like you were initially afraid of; rather, he was surprisingly fun, and every time you learned something new about him, like how he adored cats but was allergic to them, you were even more amazed.

It wasn’t just Jongseong, though. You and Sunghoon grew far closer than ever before, whether that was for the better or worse.

Sunghoon only lived a street away, so it was convenient to hang out, and when you didn’t hang out with him, you two called each other. You could see him unravel in front of your eyes; he became visibly more comfortable when it was just the two of you—smiling, laughing, and bursting into laughter with tears of unrestrained happiness.

It wasn’t just the jubilant memories that tugged you two closer, though. It was also the despair.

In the first place, it was an accident that you even happened to break down in front of Sunghoon.

You two were in his room when it happened, and things were as they always had been before you sensed the calm before the storm. You joked around as usual and passed the time by playing video games. Sunghoon was perched on his usual spot in the corner of the bed. You looked over at him and realized how close you two had become as friends.

Friends. Just friends.

It was right at that moment when you realized that this wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to just be Sunghoon’s best friend. You wanted to be the reason why he smiled, the one to make him blush, and the one he could share his pain and happiness with.

But your feelings were the scariest thing you’ve ever had to face, and you felt ashamed for even wanting to cross the line drawn between you and Sunghoon.

You couldn’t dare bring yourself to confess. You were almost positive that Sunghoon didn’t feel the same way, and you would be risking a fall-out in your current relationship if you admitted anything. What if Sunghoon ended up hating you? What if you lost him and all of your other friends? What if you weren’t the closest person to him anymore?

That was why you felt like Sunghoon was in another dimension, always a layer away. Always.

This was your own fault. You were the one who fell for your best friend. You were the one who did this to yourself. You broke your own heart.

You couldn’t help it when you started falling apart in front of him. It started with a broken cough that was supposed to cover up a sniffle. You were thankful for the loud battle sounds in the game that drowned out your quiet sobbing. But the video game didn’t stop Sunghoon from noticing your shaking hands gripping the controller.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m okay.”

Your voice is so shaky, so broken. Sunghoon knew you were crying before he could see or hear it.

He paused the game and put the controller down, but your eyes were still trained on the screen, hands shaking as you clutched the controller until you were white-knuckled. Sunghoon was on edge—panicked. Although, it was a different kind of panic from all the times you would be stressing over an assignment and Sunghoon would offer some lame piece of advice in return.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” His tone was frantic now as he searched your face for an answer.

You smiled, although faint melancholy was tucked away in the curl of your lip. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Now, I know that’s not true.”

Your smile broke. It was so unfortunate that Park Sunghoon had to have a heart so big.

You could almost hear Jaeyun in the back of your head: Have you realized it yet, or are you still pretending it isn’t there?

You started crying, and it wasn’t something soft with a gradual crescendo. It was loud and all at once, like a wounded animal. Your hands shook more, and you finally dropped your controller, burying your fingers into your roots, as if tugging your hair hard enough would make it all stop, as if it would hurt more than the ache in your chest.

Sunghoon was quick to get off his bed and slide to the ground, right next to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and it only made you feel ashamed. You stiffened up and shrunk back, hoping he wouldn’t notice how you tensed up at his touch. You could hear your own heartbeat, but you were pretty sure you were hyperventilating at a faster pace than the pounding in your chest. The world under you moved, bounced, so you decided to lean into Sunghoon.

The logical half of your brain informed you in a calm, clipped manner that you were having a panic attack. The other half meanwhile was screaming and shutting itself down.

Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste, you tried telling yourself, but your senses overwhelmed you completely. Your tears were blurring your vision, you couldn’t hear anything but your sobs, and your lungs felt as if they were on fire.

“Y/N, talk to me,” came the softest voice that eased the painful ringing in your ears.

“I can’t,” you stuttered out. “Not right now.”

You wish you hadn’t let it get to this point. You were completely humiliating yourself in front of Sunghoon right now. This was the one thing you couldn’t let him find out about.

Your heavy gasps grew more labored. You then curled into yourself, sweaty hands tugging and knotting at your hair. And, shit, you couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you repeated again and again, like a broken record. The desperation in your voice was so ugly.

There was something fierce in Sunghoon’s eyes, like he was ready to protect you from anything or anyone that tried to hurt you, but there was also softness in his voice. “You know, you can tell me anything. Whatever it is, I’ll hear you out. I don’t want you to suffer alone, Y/N.”

With a small smile, he added, “It’s just you and me, right? The two of us against the world.”

That only made you cry even more. You just replayed Sunghoon’s words in your head, like it was your favorite song.

“Alright.” You breathed in real deep, through the aching chest and everything. “It’s really stupid.”

“If it makes you cry this hard, it can’t be stupid.”

You bit your lip, embarrassed. “I think I like someone—someone I can’t have.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond for a moment, and it rattled your brain. He probably was wondering this underwhelming confession warranted a breakdown from you, and you couldn’t blame him. However, it was the only way you could avoid lying to your best friend without giving him the whole truth.

For a split second, you wondered if Sunghoon simply just didn’t hear you. But you didn’t want to repeat yourself; you didn’t like repeating yourself.

To your surprise, Sunghoon just smiled. “Do I know them?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words were stringing together in your head to form a coherent sentence.

“Uh, well, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” Sunghoon continued. He flushed and flicked his thumb under his nose—an awkward mannerism of his that you grew to love over the years. “Actually, I think we’re in the same boat. There’s someone I like, too. Someone I can’t have.”

His words bounced in your skull. Settled. Bounced again.

“Really?” you spluttered out, and it took you a moment to recuperate from the heavy sadness that was filling your chest. You brought yourself to ask, “I mean, you’re so popular, so why don’t you just ask them out?”

“Can’t.”

“Why not? Are they dating someone else?”

There was a sad smile on Sunghoon’s lips when he answered, “No, Jongseong likes her, too.”

At the age of sixteen, you realized that you couldn’t get over Sunghoon, but you could suppress your heartbreak and lingering feelings.

It physically hurt to think about how deeply ingrained your concept of friendship was with him, and the possibility that Park Sunghoon would never think of you as more than a friend. You two had shared too many experiences—worn each other’s shoes and walked miles—to ever become more than what you were.

Nothing would ever change.

You were hanging out by a creek near Jongseong’s house. It was just the two of you—no Jaeyun to poke fun at you, and no Sunghoon to distract you. It was just the two of you, and it was somehow so easy to be with Jongseong like this. You could laugh with your stomach and smile with your eyes without feeling the need to close up or shut down.

“It’s getting annoying, isn’t it?” Jongseong asked under his breath at one point. When you shot him a puzzled look, he clarified, “Sunghoon.”

You picked up on Jongseong’s annoyance toward Sunghoon over the past few weeks, but his words confirmed your suspicions now. You wondered if it was geared toward the girl they both liked—whoever she was.

You never thought to ask, mainly because you didn’t want to know. Either way, if Sunghoon wanted to share, he would’ve done so already.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, trying to grab at words and shove them together, but you genuinely didn’t know what to say.

It had always been you, Sunghoon, and Jongseong. You never thought about them turning on each other. The very idea made you feel sick to your stomach.

Over the past week, you had seen Sunghoon’s indifference toward Jongseong, but you were too afraid to ask about it. Your friend group was slow to pick up on it, but you noticed the way Sunghoon would purposely avoid conversing with Jongseong, or the way Jongseong would walk quickly past him if they crossed paths. It was odd, though, because everyone knew that Sunghoon and Jongseong were the best of friends—inseparable. How could you hold onto someone for so long and just let go of them like that?

You recalled that Jongseong and Jungwon went over to talk to Sunghoon about his moody behavior, but Jongseong never told you whether the talk went well or not. You figured it just never happened because Jungwon called in sick the very next day.

You prayed that he would hurry up and get over his cold. He had been out sick all week, which checked out since everyone was getting sick around this time of the year. Jungwon would know how to get Sunghoon and Jongseong to reconcile. He was always the friend that helped everyone patch things up.

“You guys are best friends,” was all you could say. “You’ll make up in a few days, right?”

Jongseong clicked his tongue loud enough to make your skin crawl.

But you didn’t want to drop it this time, you asked, “Seriously, what happened between you guys?”

For a moment, you wondered if you should’ve brought up what Sunghoon confessed to you—about him and Jongseong liking the same girl. But this couldn’t have been about that; Sunghoon would never let a girl get between his friendships.

“Sunghoon’s hiding something dark,” Jongseong blurted out. “I don’t think I can get him out of this one.”

“Something dark? What is it?”

“I don’t really know—”

“Jongseong,” you cut in. “If you know something, then just say it. He’s my best friend, too.”

Jongseong shifted uncomfortably, restless. He was silent for a long period of time, so you just waited for him to collect his thoughts. Uneasiness bursted from the tips of your fingers and crawled under your skin. You felt the heat of the sun against your face, so you looked up and covered your eyes with a hand, blinking back red.

“If Sunghoon did something unforgivable,” he started in a murmur, “would you forgive him?”

“I don’t know,” was all you could say.

“Yeah,” Jongseong replied, his terse words nearly making you flinch. “I don’t know, either.”

The sun grew hotter against your face, and all you could see was blood red behind your eyes.

You didn’t know how exactly it started, but you slowly started to find solace in Jaeyun.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were starting to care for him a little more than the people around you. You were starting to get swayed by him—the things he said, the way he looked at you—and it scared you a little.

But Jaeyun felt safe. He felt like home.

You two called at night, sometimes. You weren’t normally one to be vulnerable in front of others, but you shed some tears in front of Jaeyun a couple of times.

The only other person you had cried in front of was Sunghoon.

“It’s kinda sad,” Jaeyun told you one day. You two were spending the afternoon studying together at his place, and you were feeling self-conscious because you were starting to regret not dressing a little cuter. “I’ve known you for a year, but we’ve only gotten close now.”

“I don’t think either of us cared about deepening our friendship back then.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You think I didn’t want to be closer? How do you think I picked up on you liking Sunghoon?”

“Because I was obvious about it?”

“No, idiot, because I like you.”

You blinked a few times until you fully processed his words. I like you, your brain repeated, and then you reprocessed the information.

No, there was an ‘idiot’ before that. Not only were you liked, but he thought you were stupid, as well.

You became painfully aware of your knees touching Jaeyun’s, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around the idea of him liking you romantically. You had never been in this position. Since your crush on Sunghoon had been one-sided for the past few years, you never expected to be on the receiving end.

“You…” you trailed off, floundering to find something to say—something that wouldn’t make you sound stupid or mean. You settled with, “You, too?”

His eyes beamed with hope. “For a year now.”

Your world was so small before. It was just you, Sunghoon, and Jongseong.

Before you could even wonder if there was space in your heart for Jaeyun, you realized that you had already let him burrow his way in there.

“Can I kiss you?” Jaeyun asked.

You couldn’t help but breathe out a laugh, and every once of nervousness slipped away. You always thought you could attain this level of closeness with Sunghoon, but maybe your relationship with him was just that fragile—where you could just grab the string binding you two together and snip it completely.

But it was different with Jaeyun.

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling, “you can.”

And then, with Jaeyun’s breath fanning your lips, you felt Sunghoon completely dissolve from the impounding thoughts racking your brain. Right now, it was Jaeyun and only Jaeyun.

You leaned in first, cupping his cheek and pressing your lips against Jaeyun’s soft ones. It was weird, kissing for the first time, but he leaned into it instantly so that your movements were less awkward and more guided.

A fire blazed inside of you, burning hotter than imaginable. You didn’t expect Jaeyun to drive you this crazy—to crave more, to want more. You drew back before you slid your hand into his hair, although you were tempted to go further when his pillowy lips peppered soft kisses along your jawline.

But you didn’t want to go overboard or ruin anything by going too fast. You settled for leaving another chaste kiss against his lips before pulling back, and you were delighted when you saw how pleased Jaeyun was. He was practically glowing.

From then on, you and Jaeyun had a relationship that extended past something platonic, but it wasn’t like you two were official. Naturally, you ended up confiding in him over everything.

While Sunghoon still held a place in your heart as your first love, you grew to care for Jaeyun, who kindled a gentler fire in you. Sunghoon, on the other hand, left you burned and scarred.

You didn’t want to rush into a relationship, mainly because you didn’t want Jaeyun to think he was a rebound, and he respected that. So he waited for you to figure out your feelings and let your heart choose who was right for you.

You weren’t stupid, though; you knew that chasing after Sunghoon was a hopeless cause.

You and Jaeyun drifted about in a limbo-state of your relationship. You two went on a couple of dates, got to know each other at a deeper level, and spent a lot of time together. He became the person you thought about when you were falling asleep and when you woke up in the morning.

You two got along surprisingly well, and you wondered why you ever had doubts about him in the beginning. Sure, Jaeyun still got on your nerves at times, but you just found it funny after the wave of annoyance passed.

Your friends started to talk about how close you two were and frequently brought up the idea of you two dating. Of course, you always denied it, enjoying the privacy you and Jaeyun had.

But as your relationship blossomed into something more serious, you decided that you didn’t want things to stay casual any longer. So, you asked him out, and Jaeyun, being the lovesick puppy he was, accepted without a second thought.

You thought about how much had changed in your life. Sunghoon stopped hanging out with you completely, resorting to being alone most of the time. Everyone was concerned about his behavior, but after several attempts of failed confrontation, they all collectively gave up. You and Jongseong still kept an eye on him, using roundabout ways to find out how he was doing; it was the most you two could do given how little opportunity you had to talk to him.

You didn’t share many classes with Jongseong anymore, but you two were still close, even after your “two of us against the world” friendship with Sunghoon had gone to shit.

Jongseong was kind, though, and despite how he was rough around the edges, he was gentle enough.

But he knew that Sunghoon was hiding something dark, and that alone made you somewhat nervous around him.

You felt unsettled the entire day, but when your group chat started flooding with texts about Jungwon in the middle of the night, you felt an icy chill travel down your spine.

It was all over the news. The whole story about him being down with the flu was just a cover-up while authorities were looking for him.

You felt nauseous.

HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT FOUND DEAD NEAR WOODS. FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED.

The 16-year-old boy was found dead at the scene. The parents of the deceased student have identified him as Yang Jungwon. As of now, there are no leads, but authorities have ruled the case as a homicide.

Police have asked anyone with information to contact their local police department.

You read the headline again. Over and over again until your vision was blurry and the words were convoluted. Your fingers were raw and bitten down to the nail bed by the time you were able to put your phone down so that you could just cry into your hands.

By the time you got around to reading the details, grimacing at the descriptions of mutilation done to Jungwon’s body and how his body had been decomposing for weeks now, you had to run to your toilet and dry heave everything out.

You weren’t the closest to Jungwon or anything, but imagining such a bright person meet such a horrific end wasn’t easy to process. For hours, you ignored all of the calls and texts and attempts to comfort from your parents. You stared straight at your wall—so terrified that your chest hurt and your breathing was ragged.

Later that night, when the world was quiet and dreaming, you received a text from Sunghoon.

sunghoon: Hey sunghoon: I’ve been thinking about you. Are you doing okay? sunghoon: I haven’t been a good friend lately, I’m sorry sunghoon: It’s still the two of us against the world

There was a time when those words made you feel like you were on top of the world, soaring high over the clouds.

Now, though, all you could feel was a horrible sensation of dread.

It had been months since Sunghoon and Jongseong’s falling out.

You were seventeen now, but you felt hollower as you aged. Sunghoon showed up to school and lingered within your group silently, only contributing when spoken to directly. He didn’t approach you anymore or ask to hang out after school. Actually, no one knew what he did after school. He would head straight home and then go completely off the radar.

Gone off the rails, as Sunoo called it.

You cried several nights over it. You felt like not only was your best friend slipping away from you, but Sunghoon’s disconnect from the group would soon make you pull away, too. You had Jaeyun, of course, but nothing felt the same anymore. With Jungwon dead, the group felt tense and gloomy. You all started hanging out with other people and slowly stopped responding in the group chat.

Part of you realized that Sunghoon’s detachment was because you didn’t reply to him the night Jungwon’s murder was publicized. Back then, you suspected that Sunghoon could have been behind it, judging by your conversation with Jongseong earlier. It all added up in your head, but the only thing that was stopping you from believing it fully was that you couldn’t fathom Sunghoon ever doing something so evil.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him,” you whispered into the phone, even though there wasn’t anyone around that you were worried about listening in. “He’s shutting me out now. Something must’ve happened to him.”

You heard Jaeyun hum and contemplate for a moment before he replied, “Maybe he just needs space.”

“I think something happened between him and Jongseong,” you admitted, “but I can’t imagine Jongseong saying anything that would make Sunghoon ignore him for this long.”

“It must’ve been serious, then.”

“But… but it’s Sunghoon; he’s”—you paused as you recalled what Jongseong once called him—“bulletproof.”

There was a pause.

“I guess that’s the problem with being bulletproof,” Jaeyun spoke gravely. “People think they can just keep shooting.”

What Jaeyun told you that night kept replaying in your head over the next week—over and over again. It hit you a little too hard, and you waited to confront Sunghoon about it. You wanted him to know that he could be vulnerable, too. But you couldn’t even speak to your best friend these days. He had been avoiding everyone like the plague.

You assumed it had something to do with Jongseong, but when you talked to him about it, he was hesitant to get into it.

“You’re the closest person to him,” you told him. Today was colder, and you rubbed your hands together for warmth as you and Jongseong stood by the gates after school. “I think if you guys sit down and talk things out, then he’ll start being himself again.”

“I was the closest person to him,” Jongseong corrected with a scoff. “Plus, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about? What about your friendship?”

You couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth. Anger roiled deep in your chest, and you were too furious to realize that Jongseong only looked dejected in response. If he wasn’t going to explain what happened, then you couldn’t understand what was eating away at their relationship.

“There is no friendship, Y/N,” he said slowly, in a voice so low that it sounded like the calm before the storm. His words made everything come to a halt, and you felt like time itself had frozen. “I suggest you let go of Sunghoon, too. You’re hanging onto someone who’s beyond help.”

“But I don’t know what you know!” you exclaimed. “I can’t let go of someone just like that, Jongseong. I need answers.”

He was quiet before he asked, “Do you remember when Sunghoon stayed over at your house once when we were fourteen?”

“When his house caught on fire?” you recalled, but the memory was sort of hazy for you. All you remembered was how you were in complete awe that Sunghoon was unscathed and unbothered by the incident.

“Yeah,” Jongseong’s voice was grim as he said, “and I bet he never told you that he was the one who started that fire on purpose.”

It was like a punch to the gut. You could only shake your head blankly, lips parted in disbelief.

He continued, “When we were fifteen, he thought it would be fun to plan out a murder without getting caught—”

No.

“—and, at sixteen, he actually did it.”

No. No.

“Jongseong,” you whispered, your voice smaller than you intended, “was it…”

“Jungwon?” He said the name so carefully, as if the world would explode into nothingness if he did. You had been gnawing at your lip so hard that you drew blood, yet that couldn’t distract you from the haunted look in Jongseong’s eyes. “Yeah, he killed Jungwon.”

You felt like you had just been doused with ice-cold water.

“I shouldn’t have brought Jungwon with me. I knew Sunghoon was gonna do it to someone, but I didn’t know…” He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath that racked his entire body. “I didn’t think it would be him. I brought Jungwon to talk him out of whatever was going on, not to…” Jongseong stopped himself again, covering his face with his hands to wipe away the tears that had started to fall.

It’s you and me, Sunghoon’s voice chimed in your head. The two of us against the world.

You thought your world had been shattered, but then you realized that it had actually been broken for a long time.

That night, you asked Jaeyun to come over, and he arrived at your door in record speed.

You two were sitting on your bed, controllers in hand, but the screen was off and neither of you were even in the mood to play. You must have trusted him more than anyone by now because the words started spilling with no preamble. You ended up explaining most of your conversation with Jongseong after you had Jaeyun swear on his life that he wouldn’t tell a soul.

Of course, you didn’t expect any normal person to compliantly come to terms with the fact that their friend murdered their other friend, but Jaeyun was a bit different when it came to you. Instead of accusing you of lying or denying the truth, he believed you wholeheartedly. You couldn’t tell if he was patient with you, or if he was just horrified by everything you had told him.

It had been an entire year since Jungwon had been found dead and the case closed as an unsolved murder, but your words sucker punched Jaeyun like it had just happened yesterday.

Jaeyun’s tone was urgent when he said, “We have to tell someone.” When he noticed your hesitation, he shook his head at you with a disapproving frown. “Y/N, this is serious. This is Jungwon, my best friend.”

Your mouth went dry. “I-I know, it’s just—”

Jaeyun didn’t have to cut you off. You froze right when you saw tears welling up in his eyes.

“Y/N.” He said your name gently, but you still flinched. You had never heard your name being called with so much despair. “If Sunghoon really murdered Jungwon, then I can’t keep this a secret.”

“Give me a few days,” you pleaded. “I just want to hear Sunghoon out. No matter what he says, I’ll come with you to testify.”

He shook his head immediately, eyes fierce. “You are not going anywhere near Sunghoon—not after what he did to Jungwon.”

“Then let me ask Jong—”

“Y/N,” Jaeyun interrupted, letting his hand slide over yours. His eyes were full of concern when he asked, “How do you know you can trust Jongseong?”

Your hands started to shake.

“Y/N,” he said again, “if Jongseong took Jungwon to see Sunghoon, what do you think he did after Sunghoon killed him?”

Your pulse raced.

“If Jongseong knew about Sunghoon’s behavior for this long, why hasn’t he ever done anything?”

All this time, you thought your world had grown a little bigger ever since you met Sunghoon and Jongseong.

But you were living in a fantasy by yourself.

Not so long after your talk with Jaeyun, your phone rang. You were in the middle of finishing up your history paper when you saw the caller ID flash across your screen.

It was Sunghoon.

You didn’t even give yourself time to think about it first. You just picked up the phone immediately. It was an old habit; you saw Sunghoon and accepted the call without a second thought. You never expected Sunghoon to ever call you again, so you didn’t exactly have any practice in rejecting his calls.

“Y/N?” came the familiar voice of Park Sunghoon—gentle, but almost like he was a caged animal.

“Sunghoon?” You swallowed hard. “Uh, how are you? It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, but you weren’t sure what he was apologizing for. “It was supposed to be the two of us against the world.”

You frowned. “Sunghoon, what’s going on?”

Instead of answering your question, Sunghoon hesitated before saying, “We should catch up sometime. You can read part of the story I’m writing.”

You paused, and before he could ask if you were still there, you replied, “Yeah, sure.”

“Right.” Sunghoon sounded like he had more to say. You almost didn’t catch it because he was so quiet, and the last thing you heard before he hung up was a quiet, “Bye, then.”

Your deepest regret was answering your phone later that night.

It was hours after Sunghoon called you. Jongseong was more of a texter, so you were surprised when his caller ID flashed across your screen. It was definitely not a reasonable hour for a high school student to be out and about, but nothing could have prepared you for what you heard on the other side of the line.

Jongseong was sobbing.

The sound chilled you to the bone. You never heard Jongseong cry, but this didn’t feel normal; this cry was frantic and mangled, like he was spiraling out of control.

“Y/N, you have to come over quickly,” Jongseong begged through broken sobs and heavy breaths. “Please, Y/N, I don’t want him to hurt anyone else.”

“Jongseong, calm down. Tell me what’s happening.”

“You have my location, right? Just hurry. Please.” And he hung up.

In a daze, you called Jaeyun and asked him to pick you up.

“I really think we should just call the cops,” Jaeyun offered, almost pleading. “I don’t know what’s going on with Jongseong, but this sounds sketchy, Y/N.”

Pitted fear festered in your throat. You knew something was off, but you weren’t sure if you could handle losing Jongseong, too. You had gotten so used to not being alone that you were paranoid of returning to having no one.

“Call them as soon as we get there,” you said. “I just need to make sure Jongseong’s okay.”

Jaeyun pressed his lips into a thin, grim line, but he kept driving.

It was a port that Jongseong’s location directed you to, and discomfort crept into your limbs as soon as Jaeyun pulled into the area. Maybe you should’ve stayed back where it was safer and let the police handle everything, but you must have been a fool. It was just that Jongseong’s cries echoed in your head whenever you started having second thoughts.

You could hear him before you saw him.

Jongseong’s soft sobs could be heard from behind a metal storage unit, and you and Jaeyun inched closer carefully after getting out of the car. Your heart dropped to your stomach; you were dreading the worst, and when you turned the corner into the closed area Jongseong was in, you realized that the sight before you was the worst it could get.

Sunghoon’s body.

You waited for his chest to rise, but not even a shallow breath escaped his blue-tinged lips.

It took you a moment to reorient yourself and realize that Sunghoon wasn’t just passed out, he was dead.

You saw the blood pooling around him and the wounds piercing his torso, staining his white shirt, but you wanted to believe your mind was playing tricks on you. You convinced yourself that Sunghoon was going to get up any second now and start laughing, and then Jongseong would join in and tell you it was all a joke.

But that wasn’t the case.

It wasn’t fear that overtook you—not an overwhelm of emotion—it was numbness. You stared at Sunghoon’s body as he bled out onto the concrete, blood pooling into the cracks in the ground. You felt an odd sort of disconnect.

You tilted your head to see Sunghoon’s face turned to the side against the concrete. His blank eyes just stared into nothingness, and you realized that you would never get to see Sunghoon’s warm, sincere gaze ever again. You were never going to see his bright smile. You were never going to hear his contagious laugh. You were never going to read the wonderful stories he wrote.

You supposed your life was always meant to be a tragedy.

“H-Hoon?” Jaeyun choked up behind you. He was staring down at Sunghoon’s lifeless body in horror before his expression was slowly replaced with anger. “Jongseong, what the hell did you do?!”

“It was self-defense, man,” Jongseong whimpered out before his body was racked with sobs again. “He pulled a knife on me out of nowhere. I tried to stop him, but he was trying to kill me. I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t—” He exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t do anything else.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at Sunghoon.

“Come on, guys,” Jongseong pleaded. “I can’t go to fucking prison. I’m eighteen now; it’s not juvie, it’s a life sentence.” You didn’t know what he was getting at until he requested the unthinkable, “Help me get rid of the body.”

You wanted to puke. You eyed the shiny metal soaked in blood that Jongseong was clutching. You were never going to see Sunghoon again. You were never going to hang out with him over the weekend. You were never going to hear his voice again.

“Get rid of the body?” Jaeyun raised his voice, exasperated. “What the fuck are you gonna do when they realize he’s gone missing? You just killed someone! This is on you, Jongseong, not us!”

“Are you going to help me get rid of it or not?!” Jongseong tugged at his hair. “Just help me throw him off the dock, and we can all walk away from this.”

You watched helplessly, horror-stricken. “I… I can’t.”

“The body’s gonna float and show up somewhere,” Jaeyun countered with stony eyes. “They’re gonna catch you.”

Jongseong looked terrifyingly pale. You wondered if it was just the glow of the moon, or if he was also holding in his urge to puke. “I’ll just cut his stomach so he sinks.”

Disgusted, Jaeyun scowled. “You’re a monster.”

You watched as Jongseong tried hauling Sunghoon’s body before giving up and dragging him by the legs. You shot Jaeyun a warning look, mouthing for him to call the police before Jongseong noticed. He lingered back to do so while you followed Jongseong to plead him to stop. His arms gave out as soon as he stepped onto the planks, and he let Sunghoon’s lower half collapse onto the solid wood.

“Y/N, help me cut open his stomach,” he ordered, hardly sparing you a glance. If he did, he would have seen how horrified you were.

“Oh,” you said, voice wavering, “that’s… that—that’s his…”

“Y/N, help me.”

“Jongseong,” you begged, “please… please stop.”

He paid you no attention, though. You felt ghastly as Jongseong used a paring knife to make an incision on Sunghoon’s stomach. The smell was putrid. You screwed your eyes shut as the metallic smell of blood invaded your nostrils. Your nausea plunged into your gut, and you had to fight the pervasive urge to hurl.

A stream of Sunghoon’s blood made its way to your shoes, staining the soles.

Jongseong was cutting your old best friend open.

The dread had kept you numb for this long, but it was when reality settled in that you finally lost it. You couldn’t handle it anymore and pitched forward over the edge of the dock, throwing up until you were heaving up bile. You sobbed through it all, mournful and low, and your friend paid you no attention while he was cutting through flesh.

When Jongseong was done, he wiped at his cheek, leaving behind a smear of blood. Sunghoon’s blood. You stared at him, and you had never been more terrified of him in your life.

And then you really noticed Jongseong. You noticed how Sunghoon’s blood was coated all over his hands, how he hardly had any scratches or bruises on his body, how merciless his eyes were as he stared down at his old best friend.

The realization that washed over you was frightening.

“Sunghoon didn’t actually try to kill you, did he?” you managed to warble out. “You killed him yourself.”

A deep silence from him followed—heavy and wretched. Sunghoon’s blood was so dark that it nearly looked black under the dim light, and you could only stare helplessly until Jaeyun made his way to the dock, placing his hands firmly on your shoulders.

Jongseong turned to you and Jaeyun, clutching his knife tightly. You could hardly recognize the boy in front of you. You never truly understood the term “paralyzed by fear” until you saw the crazed look in Jongseong’s eyes—cold and haunting.

Jaeyun’s eyes glistened with tears and his throat was thick with emotion when he said, “Jongseong, please—just hang on and… and we can talk this out.”

The hand gripping his knife started shaking. “You won’t tell anyone, right? You guys won’t snitch on me, right?” When there was no response from you or Jaeyun, Jongseong’s desperation grew stronger. He turned to you with his eyes big and terrified. “Y/N, come on, we’ve known each other for years. You know I—”

“Shut up!” Jaeyun yelled. His protective grip on you tightened. “Cut the bullshit, Jongseong. The police are gonna be here soon, and they’re gonna take you straight to prison once they see what you did to Hoon.”

It was like a switch flipped in him. A distant part of your mind wondered if you could get everyone out of this—somehow bring Sunghoon back and go back to your normal life—but you immediately shut down that fantasy as soon as Jongseong’s eyes darkened.

In the darkness, you could make out an amused expression on his face. His smile took on a cold edge.

“Fine,” he bit out. “I’ll just have to get rid of you two before the police get here, then.”

You felt like your world slowed. Your eyes burned with the threat of tears. You could tell Jongseong was walking closer to you while Jaeyun was desperately trying to tug you and get you to run, but you were frozen in place. You wanted to believe that your old friend wouldn’t actually hurt you, but then you didn’t know what to think when he raised his knife.

It had all happened so fast. Too fast.

In your brief struggle as Jongseong tried to stab you, you heard a sharp gasp that tore you from your haze, like you had just been drenched in cold water. Brutally sober. You tried to push Jongseong off of you, but he was too heavy, too limp. Jaeyun shouldered his way between you two and shoved Jongseong back, grimacing when his skull hit the wood with a thud.

You heard one last, strangled gasp from Jongseong before he stopped breathing. The last star in his eyes twinkled until it dimmed for good.

Jongseong laid flat on the dock with his knife piercing his chest.

As you heard police sirens go off in the distance, Jaeyun wrapped his arms around you before you finally broke down into his chest.

Your best friends were dead and your world was broken beyond repair.

“So, it was self-defense?” Detective Lee asked, his piercing eyes boring right into yours. “Purely accidental? You had no intention of harming Park Jongseong?”

You shook your head. “I still couldn’t process the fact that he killed Sunghoon, so I didn’t think he’d actually try to hurt me.”

You wanted to cry. You bit your chapped lip, but all you could taste was blood that you doubted was even there. You couldn’t even say Sunghoon’s name without seeing that radiant smile of his stained with deep red.

You sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ve told you everything I know. Can I see Jaeyun now?”

Detective Lee eyed you for a moment. Finally, you saw some sort of sympathy in his gaze, although you felt sort of repulsed that you were being pitied in this state. The detective muttered something about him being back later, and he left the interrogation room, leaving you handcuffed to the table.

A minute passed by. Another. Several more.

You were pretty sure it had been at least an hour or two of staring at the wall, but the passage of time felt meaningless now. You could wait hours, even days, but you didn’t think you would ever be ready to confront what cruel reality awaited you.

You were so tired of everything, so exhausted that you didn’t even think about your parents until now. Were they here? Were they informed about your arrest? They must have been worried sick all night.

When the door opened, your head shot up.

“You’re free to go, Y/N,” Detective Lee said, pulling out a key to uncuff you from the table.

You were frozen. You just stared up at Detective Lee with your jaw hung open.

“I know this took awhile, but there was no security footage at the scene to confirm your story,” he elaborated. “But your stories matched up, and we found more evidence in the trunk of Jongseong’s car that he had been planning this murder.”

He helped you to your feet and escorted you out of the room. You were able to pick up everything they took from you before you were locked up in the holding cell—your keys, wallet, and your phone. Then, you were taken to the waiting room where your parents were seated at the far end.

At the sight of you, they all but leapt from their seats to rush over, hands cupping your face and arms embracing your weak, battered figure. There was so much love in their eyes, and their fear over possibly losing their daughter replaced any anger they had toward the situation. However, you wouldn’t have been surprised if you ended up getting an earful the next day.

“Mom, Dad,” you whimpered out, suddenly overcome with emotion. You were immediately aware of how weak and pathetic you felt. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” your father silenced you by rubbing your back in soothing circles. “Jaeyun’s family wanted us to let you know that he’s okay, too. They just took him home about ten minutes ago.”

You were slightly disappointed. Part of you was hoping that he would wait for you, but you figured Jaeyun’s family would have wanted to go home right away. You definitely would have felt better if you got to see your boyfriend in the flesh to make sure he was alive and well, but you weren’t going to complain now.

There was still a ghost of a smile on your lips as your parents walked you to their car. They gushed and gushed about how glad they were about you being safe and sound, and about how they never would’ve expected Jongseong of all people to end up being a murderer.

You were happy to be alive, of course, but you felt so empty.

You pulled out your phone to try and text Jaeyun, but, as you thought, it was dead.

“Mom, can I use your phone?” you asked, and you dialed Jaeyun’s number immediately as soon as she handed it to you. You had it memorized because it was a combination of numbers that was fairly easy to remember.

It rang four times, and by the fifth ring, you were scared that he wouldn’t pick up. But then, it beeped.

“Hello?” Jaeyun answered. “Who is this?”

It was like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders once you heard his voice. Despite Detective Lee informing you that Jaeyun was, indeed, alive, you felt more reassured hearing it from your boyfriend himself. You wanted to cry then and there, but you didn’t want to make your parents worry unnecessarily.

You forgot you were even supposed to respond when Jaeyun spoke again, “Is anyone there?”

“Jaeyun, it’s me,” you mumbled softly. “Y/N.”

You heard him suck in a sharp breath. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Jaeyun gave you the breakdown of how his experience went, which took a completely different turn than yours. After receiving medical attention, they brought him back to his holding cell to sleep for hardly a few hours. The detective interrogating Jaeyun tried to build trust with him, telling him they wanted to help and just needed his confession. They lied about already having evidence that he killed Jongseong, but Jaeyun denied it and told them the whole story. He was only free to leave after they cross-examined his story with yours.

“Jesus,” you whispered into the phone, breathing out a small laugh. By now, you were already parked at your house and walking to your front door. “This is so fucked up.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “but we’ll get through it.”

“Yeah, Jae. Us against the world.”

Sim Jaeyun spent nine hours being questioned by authorities.

He knew the nature of the crime that occurred was complex, and he was still reeling from the loss and betrayal that left a deep wound in his chest, but there was something that terrified him still.

It wasn’t the murderous look in Park Jongseong’s eyes, or the blood completely drained from Park Sunghoon’s face.

Rather, what scared Jaeyun the most was that he spent so long pining after you and getting to know you at a deeper level. He genuinely fell hard for you, even though you had monsters in the closet. He thought he knew almost everything about you, like how you were a terrible liar.

Yet, you had just lied about everything that went down last night for nine hours straight.

What scared Jaeyun the most was how clueless he had been about who you really were.

Truthfully, he was also in the wrong for going along with your lie. It was definitely going to bite him back one day. In the moment, though, he was far too much of a coward to go against you. Although he was able to get Jungwon the justice he deserved and allowed his family to finally be at peace with answers, Jaeyun still felt horrible. He just remembered the desperate look in your eyes as your face and hands were stained with blood, begging him to protect you.

Jaeyun’s downfall must have been that he liked you too much to say no.

It was true that Jongseong called you in a panic, begging you to show up at the port as quickly as possible, and it was true that you wanted Jaeyun to drive you there instead of calling the cops first.

Jaeyun knew deep down that you were making the wrong choice, but he had hope that you knew what you were doing. Truthfully, although he liked you a lot, he was still wary about how you felt toward Sunghoon. He just couldn’t understand how you were still unconsciously protecting him after hearing what happened to Jungwon. He knew that you wanted answers, but Jaeyun was worried about how you’d react once you got them.

The real story—the one neither of you told the detectives—never started with Park Jongseong killing Park Sunghoon.

It really started when you and Jaeyun arrived at the port to see that no one was around. It was eerily quiet, and Jaeyun was starting to regret not turning around and heading straight for the police station. When you two got out of the car, you walked several feet down the line of shipping containers before returning to Jaeyun with a confused look on your face.

“I don’t see either of them,” you said, but then your eyes grew unfocused as you stared at something—or, rather, someone—behind Jaeyun.

He turned around to see Jongseong walking over to the two of you in a calm fashion, as if he had no other care in the world. The port was relatively an open space, so he had no idea where Jongseong could have emerged from. Jaeyun rolled his neck, more frustrated than anything.

“Jongseong!” you called out.

When he neared you two, Jongseong shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh, you brought your boyfriend.”

“What’s going on?” you urged. “Is it Sunghoon? Did something happen to him?”

“Wow, that hurts, Y/N.” Jongseong barked out a laugh, but nothing about his tone sounded sincere. “I call you in the middle of the night and all you can think about is Hoon? Wow. How do you feel about that, Jaeyun?”

Jaeyun didn’t respond. He just glowered.

Nothing about this felt right.

You stammered, “I-I just assumed—”

“Put yourself in my shoes,” Jongseong cut you off with little regard for your excuses. “Sorry to say this in front of your boyfriend, but imagine how I feel when the girl I’ve liked for years only cares about my best friend.”

The air went still.

Your voice was barely a whisper when you asked, “Excuse me?”

Jaeyun pursed his lips together, and, for a moment, he thought his tongue would start bleeding if he bit it any harder. Sunghoon liked the girl that Jongseong liked, and if that girl was you, then Jaeyun was worried that he already lost you. He knew for months that he would never truly have you the way he wanted. Your feelings for Sunghoon were stronger, and although Jaeyun was able to pack his insecurities into a tiny ball and shove it down his throat, it was all coming out now.

His uneasy heart shattered into a million pieces once he caught a glimpse of your expression—hopeful and longing. And it wasn’t for Jongseong; it was for Sunghoon.

“Now that’s a great expression,” came an overly-enthusiastic voice from Jaeyun’s right.

Park Sunghoon was leaning against one of the shipping containers, arms folded across his chest before he uncrossed them and made his way toward the three of you. He must have been hiding behind the containers this whole time because Jaeyun hadn’t seen him at all before.

The situation was getting increasingly uncomfortable. Jaeyun wanted to shrink back when Sunghoon suddenly took great interest in him, keeping his eyes fixed on him instead of you or Jongseong. He used to have such bright and happy smiles, but, this time, Jaeyun almost thought his grin had been sliced into his face with a blade.

Sunghoon slung an arm over Jongseong’s shoulder. “Wow, Jae, now I really wanna see the look on your face when you’re in total despair,” he crooned, almost mocking. Jaeyun’s blood rushed in his ears when Sunghoon’s tongue swiped across one of his fangs. “You should’ve seen the look on Jungwon’s face.”

Jaeyun lunged before he could even think, but he stopped himself as soon as you held onto him, stopping him from hitting Sunghoon.

And that was when he knew he already lost you.

“Don’t,” you insisted.

“Are you serious?” he breathed out, brows knitting into a frown as he looked down at you.

Shame clung to your throat, keeping your mouth shut, but Jaeyun was more concerned now about the sharp blade pointed at his throat.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Jongseong had a paring knife pointed straight at him, and Sunghoon’s smile never faltered. They were clearly on the same side. There was a reason why Jeongseong never did anything about Sunghoon after killing Jungwon.

Jaeyun felt stupid for not putting it together earlier.

“I’d listen to your girlfriend,” Jongseong warned. His voice crawled all over him, freezing Jaeyun cold to the bone. “You might as well hear us out before you die here tonight.”

“Can’t exactly let you two run off now that you know what happened to Jungwon,” Sunghoon added.

“Jungwon was our friend,” Jaeyun hissed. “He was my best friend, you sick freak! What did you do to him? Why? He’s never… he never did anything wrong!”

“You’re right. He didn’t do anything wrong,” Sunghoon confirmed, surprisingly calm and collected. “In fact, he exceeded my expectations. It was a great performance, actually.” Jaeyun clenched his fist tight—so tight that his nails dug into his palms and drew blood—and Sunghoon took notice of this with a delighted hum. “You should’ve heard him scream, Jae. I had my doubts about him at first, but when he was begging me for his life, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

You were distraught. “Sunghoon, you—”

It all happened in seconds, like a rubber band finally snapping after being stretched too thin. Jaeyun used his elbow to knock Jongseong’s arm out of the way, and he shoved Sunghoon as soon as he found an opening, driving his hands into his ribs. He heard you cry out, but Jaeyun could only see red until he was dragged back up by Jongseong, the sharp blade of the knife being pressed to his throat.

“Stop!” you cried. “Leave Jaeyun out of this! You wanted me, right? Just let him go. Please.”

“I don’t think so.” Sunghoon wrapped an arm around you. “You two already know too much, and Jongseong and I have been waiting for this finale for years.”

Your eyes had a faraway look in them for a moment before you turned your attention back to Jongseong. “You told me…”

“I told you that when we were fifteen, Sunghoon thought it would be fun to plan out a murder without getting caught,” Jongseong filled in the blanks for you, a haunting smile playing on his lips, “and I was in on it.”

Sunghoon tutted. “But you got it all wrong, Y/N. It wasn’t Jungwon’s murder that we were planning; it was yours.”

You looked up at him in horror.

Jaeyun struggled against Jongseong for a moment, face taut with unbridled anger. He just wanted to get to you. Get Sunghoon’s filthy hands off of you.

“I’m a writer. I write stories,” Sunghoon continued. “Isn’t it a great twist? Convincing my childhood best friend that I loved her all this time, only to reveal that she’s gonna die at my hands.” He scoffed. “Jungwon was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but he was good practice. I was too careless back then. I shouldn’t have left all those drawings and papers out like that when he came over, but now I’m gonna finish the job properly.”

Your breathing was shallow. Jaeyun could see the flood of despair racking your body with soft sobs and quick pants. Your gaze fell to the ground, and Sunghoon peered to catch a better look at you.

“Good,” he praised. “That’s what I wanna see. Wow, that’s great, Y/N. I can’t wait to see more when—”

“Get the fuck away from her!” Jaeyun yelled, grunting when Jongseong pressed the knife harder against his supple skin.

With an exaggerated flourish of his hands, Sunghoon raised both arms and backed up as if he was a deer caught in headlights. He wore an easygoing smile, yet something sinister was tucked behind the curve of his lips. Your inconsolable self stayed fixed in place, staring helplessly at your shoes.

“For the past two years, I’ve been isolating myself from the friend group for the sake of this story and its ending,” Sunghoon said. “I think I deserve a little fun right now, Jae.”

“Fuck you,” Jaeyun spat. “You deserve to go to Hell.”

Sunghoon took a step closer to Jaeyun, ducking his head so that they were at eye-level with each other. Jaeyun tried to struggle against Jongseong once more, but he froze when the knife pierced his skin. He felt something trickle down the column of his neck, and he soon realized it was his own blood.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Sunghoon mocked a pout. He lowered his voice by an octave, only for Jaeyun to hear. “Competing with a childhood friend is brave, I’ll tell you that.”

Jaeyun’s blood boiled. To his surprise, Sunghoon gestured for Jongseong to let go of him. He took the paring knife from his friend and handed it to Jaeyun.

“Take it,” Sunghoon said. “Why don’t you try killing me? You wanna get back at me, right? I killed your best friend, after all.”

Owlish, he blinked back at Sunghoon, almost absently. Jaeyun really considered it for a moment—like, really considered it. Some part of him wanted to senselessly beat Sunghoon up until he was unrecognizable, but the morally righteous side of him knew that he could never stoop to Jongseong or Sunghoon’s level.

Jaeyun took the knife by the handle, weighing it in his palm experimentally before chucking it away—far from both Sunghoon and Jongseong. Jaeyun was pretty sure he could overtake Jongseong if Sunghoon turned his back, but he wasn’t sure if Jongseong had another weapon up his sleeve. He heard the blade skid and scrape against the concrete, and he could only hope that Sunghoon and Jongseong being distracted by him would give you time to escape.

But Jeongseong immediately stopped you as soon as he saw you picking up the knife, and he let go of Jaeyun to grab ahold of you. Jaeyun tried to yank Jongseong back by the back of his shirt, but Sunghoon grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head against the metal of one of the shipping containers.

Jaeyun’s world was thrown off-balance. The ground bounced, tilted, swayed. He was so dizzy and disoriented that he couldn’t tell if his head was spinning or if he was collapsing.

The corners of his vision grew hazy with white splotches dancing around. Jaeyun tried hard to focus, making out some of the yelling that was going back and forth, but he couldn’t think at all when a newly-formed cut on his forehead was getting blood all over his face and hands.

He doubled forward, falling onto his knees. Jaeyun had to stay there for a while and ride out the intense waves of vertigo until he was stable again. When the world finally returned to its normal axis and stopped bouncing under him, Jaeyun lifted his head to see you and Jongseong screaming at each other.

And Sunghoon was on the ground.

He stumbled over, and it was as if the white noise in Jaeyun’s ears had drowned out everything in the background. He couldn’t see or focus on anything except the pained look on Sunghoon’s face as the color drained from his neck. Blood was gushing from his jugular vein, and he was digging his palm into his neck to put pressure on the wound.

“—you stabbed him!” you screamed at Jongseong. Your voice was hysterical; Jaeyun had never heard you sound so desperate, not even when he was being held at knifepoint.

“Fuck, Y/N, I wouldn’t have hurt him if you didn’t pull on my arm!” Jongseong yelled back. He sank to the ground, simultaneously dropping the knife and dropping his head between his knees.

The sight was miserable to watch. Jongseong wailed loud and mournful until he couldn’t take it anymore, doubling over so that he could throw up until nothing but bile was coming out. When it seemed as though he had nothing else to heave out of his stomach, Jongseong sat up for a brief moment. You and Jaeyun watched as his eyes rolled back almost instantly, falling onto his back and hitting his skull against the concrete. The exhaustion must have finally caught up to him, and you two didn’t have long until he was conscious again.

Jaeyun turned his attention back to Sunghoon, watching his life bleed out of his body slowly. For some reason, an odd disconnect came over Jaeyun, and he bent down to help apply pressure over Sunghoon’s wound. At first, Sunghoon gritted his teeth, but even he knew when to accept help when it was needed.

Sim Jaeyun was pretty sure he was broken beyond belief by now, but it was impossible for him to ignore someone who was dying right before him.

Even if he murdered Jungwon.

“Y/N, we need to get him to a—”

Jaeyun cut himself off when he looked up at you to see that your expression had changed. Something was different. You looked like numbness had seeped into your body, coiling around your heart until you couldn’t feel anything. The way you looked down at Jongseong, clutching his knife tightly, made Jaeyun worry.

“Y/N,” Jaeyun said again—slower, “whatever you’re thinking… please put it down.”

It didn’t seem like you were listening, though. Almost as if your body and brain were at two different places.

“Y/N—” Jaeyun shuddered when you brought the knife down, driving it straight into Jongseong’s chest.

Jaeyun’s stomach lurched. He watched as Jongseong struggled for his life, hardly conscious as you repeatedly stabbed him over and over again until Jaeyun was yelling at you to stop. He was sure he would never be able to close his eyes again without hearing Jongesong’s blood-curdling screams and seeing Sunghoon’s face drained of color.

“Wow,” Sunghoon choked out. One last amused look crossed his face before it fell apart painfully. “I told you, Jae, there’s no competing with a childhood best friend.” Jaeyun flushed with anger, but it dissolved quickly when he realized Sunghoon’s breathing got slower, shallower. The look on his face was one of someone accepting their untimely death. “Thanks for the show, though.”

In his arms, Sunghoon took his last breath and went still.

It wasn’t grief that Jaeyun felt. It was something far greater.

“Jaeyun, I—I didn’t mean to,” you sobbed out, shakily holding up your bloodstained hands. “It was self-defense! I tried to stop him, but he was trying to kill me, and then he… he killed Sunghoon. I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t—” You exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t do anything else.”

Jaeyun didn’t respond. He just stared at you in disbelief.

“Come on, Jae,” you pleaded. Oh, so it was Jae now. “You have to help me get rid of their bodies. I can’t go to prison!”

“Get rid of the body?” Jaeyun raised his voice, exasperated. “Y/N, they’re dead! We have to tell the police everything. I mean, what are you gonna do when your prints match?”

Your lips pressed together in a grim line. “Your prints are on the knife, too.”

Were you blackmailing him? Jaeyun couldn’t believe what he was hearing from you. He never expected you, of all people, to be the one to throw him under the bus like this. He had trusted you with his life before, and you threw it all away in seconds.

“Are you going to help me or not?” You looked toward the dock over the water. It was a good enough distance for you to drag Sunghoon and Jongseong’s bodies over to, but Jaeyun sure as hell didn’t want to get involved. “Just help me throw them in the water, and we can both walk away from this, Jae. We can go back to our lives, okay?”

He shook his head sadly. You just sounded like a stranger to him.

“Please, Y/N,” he pleaded, tears stinging his eyes, “please stop this. You have to turn yourself in.”

But his resolve was shaky. Jaeyun knew that he would still be booked once they found his prints at the scene, and there was no telling what you would do to protect yourself. By now, Jaeyun wouldn’t have been surprised if you somehow pushed the crime onto him.

“Jae, listen to me,” you insisted. Your eyes were wide and brimming with tears, and Jaeyun couldn’t help but think you looked a little crazed. “We can both get out of this, but you have to help me out here. We’re gonna tell them that Jongseong killed Sunghoon before we got here, and then he chased us until we ended up stabbing him out of self-defense. I mean, that’s all this was, anyway! It was self-defense!”

A distant part of Jaeyun’s mind wondered what happened to you. He wondered if you had always been this way, perhaps keeping it tucked away. In the end, you were still trying to protect Sunghoon in your own way. You were still trying to protect some fragment of his golden image.

“It’s you and me,” you whispered, kneeling down by your boyfriend’s side until you were cupping his face with your hands, staining his cheeks with Jongseong’s blood, “the two of us against the world.”

Just hours ago, Sim Jaeyun looked at you like you were his entire world.

And now, with your bloodstained hands holding his face, there was unmistakable fear behind his eyes as he looked up at you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ thank you so so much for reading if you made it all the way to the end !! i would lovee for you to guys to share what you thought, but just to point a few things out, jake's pov was the unfiltered version of what went down that night. the dialogue from mc is similar to jongseong's because while she painted him out to be the villain in the end to protect sunghoon, it was really her who said those things. originally this had a happier ending but i'm a lot more satisifed with this one actually. i hope you guys liked it !! <3 also i am deciding against using my permanent tag list this time because i haven't used it in a year and don't know if anyone exactly signed up to read horror 🧎‍♀️

#enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen horror #jake fluff #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon horror #jake horror #enhypen angst #sunghoon angst #jake angst #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #jake scenarios #sunghoon x reader #jake x reader #enhypen

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im-an-aesthetic-mess · 2 years

Text

EMAIL BOOK CLUBS MASTERLIST !!!

alright, there are a lot of email book clubs now, so here's ALL of them, in one convenient list

NOTE: IF YOU FIND MORE PLEASE SEND !!! put them in the notes, my ask box, dm them to me, just notify me in SOME way and i will edit this base post so they all remain in one place

without further ado:

Dracula Daily - dracula, the one that started it all || real time

may 3, 2022 - november 10, 2022

Whale Weekly - moby dick || real time

starting december 2022, continuing for 3 years

Frankenstein Weekly - frankenstein || wednesdays and sundays

begins february 1, 2023

Letters from Watson - sherlock holmes

begins january 1, 2023

What Manner of Man - a new original work by st john starling (its gay vampires click the link)

begins january 2023

Edgar Allen Poe Daily - the works of edgar allen poe || weekdays where dracula daily does not post

began may 13, 2022

The Penny Dreadful - penny dreadful

begins TBA

Ovid Daily - the works of p. ovidius naso (note: these are in latin but they contain a translation)

dates depend on the in-progress work (from what i can tell)

Werther Rewritten - the sorrows of young werther, slightly modernized || real time

may 4, 2022 - christmas 2023

The Sorrows Of Young Werther - the original of the above || you pick the dates

from what i can tell, it begins when you subscribe and you pick the frequency of emails

Carmilla Quarterly - carmilla, just click the link its lesbian vampires

begins TBA

Literary Letters - lesser known public domain works

begins november 12, 2022

Pride and Prejudice Weekly - working title, im doing pride and prejudice now || mondays and fridays

march 10, 2023 - october 6, 2023

The Woman In White Weekly - the woman in white || sundays

begins july 31, 2022

Musketeers Daily - the three musketeers

begins march 14, 2023

LOTR Newsletter - lord of the rings || real time (i think)

september 15, 2022 - march 2023

Rizal Weekly - jose rizal's works (these are in filipino, i don't see a full translation but please correct me if im wrong)

began may 26, 2022

Divine Comedy Weekly - dante's divine comedy || begins on good friday, then updates tuesdays and thursdays

april 7, 2023 - march 5, 2024

Austen Weekly - jane austen's works

find more info on the posting schedule here

The Case Files Of Sheridan Bell - new original fantasy detective novels from em rowene

begins may 29, 2022

Big Dalloway Energy - mrs. dalloway by virginia woolfe || commentary encouraged

begins june 1, 2022

Nightly Knights - excerpts from arthurian texts

posted at random

Samuel Pepys's Diary - daily entries from samuel pepys's diary

the site posts a new entry at the end of each day

Dangerous Liaisons Daily - dangerous liaisons || real time

august 3rd, 2022 - january 14, 2023

Les Chroniques de Choderlos - dangerous liaisons, but in the original french || real time

august 3rd, 2022 - january 14, 2023

Wilde Weekly - oscar wilde's works

begins june 12, 2022

Logbooks of the HE-631-CORDELIA - a new original sci-fi series about a pilot and her robot by loreley

begins july 21, 2022

Les Mis Letters - les misérables || daily

january 1, 2023 - december 31, 2023

The Worst Journey in the World - r.f. scott's diaries + supplemental readings from cherry-garrard’s the worst journey in the world and others’ diaries

intro began july 12, 2022. diary entries begin november 25, 2022, and end in march, 2024

Daily Kafka - franz kafka's letters

began august 31, 2022

13K notes · View notes

sebscore · 10 months

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LUCK OF A CHAMPION | SEBASTIAN V.

pairing: sebastian vettel x fem!reader

warnings: swearing.

time - place stamp: september 14, 2008 - Monza, Italy

author's note: AAH !! already on the second chapter!! the first time seb and reader meet at the italian grand prix!! the dialogue in bold is german and the dialogue in cursive is french!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''Miss Y/L! We are so happy to have you here,'' an older man approached in front of the Toro Rosso garage, ''It's really nice to meet you, I'm Franz Tost- the team principal of Toro Rosso.'' He introduced himself, sticking out his hand.

A warm smile appeared on the young woman's face, she confidently shook his head. ''It's very nice to see you, Franz. Thank you so much for having me.''

''It's our pleasure! We're very big fans and the team is very excited to meet you.'' The French athlete had her doubts about the F1 team being ''big fans'', but Franz's words came across as genuine.

She nodded her head, the PR-friendly smile still glued on her face. ''Well, that's very kind.''

''I was informed this is your first time at a Grand Prix?'' He asked, slowly guiding her into the garage. ''Yes, it's my first time attending a race.'' She confirmed with a small nod.

''Fantastic!'' An Austrian accent slightly coming out. ''We're very honoured you chose to be with us today, Miss Y/L.''

''You can call me Y/N, Franz. I'm not an old lady or anything, you can relax.'' The tennis star assured him, not a big fan of the formalities the older man was using.

Franz chuckled at her words, a bit embarrassed. ''My apologies! We don't often receive young women into our garage so it's a habit.'' He clarified.

''It's okay, I understand.'' Y/N brushed it off.

''Anyway- I'll explain some things. So, here,'' he pointed towards a few men who were seemingly doing some work on one of the cars, ''we have the mechanics, they're currently working on Sebastian's car.''

She politely nodded along, paying attention to his words.

''There you have the engineers, they talk to the drivers while they're racing and keep them informed about a variety of things.'' Franz further explained, pointing to some guys that were observing the computer screens.

Y/N glanced around the quite busy garage, spotting a familiar face. ''There's Sébastien!'' She signalled to the older Frenchman to approach them.

The pair had met on numerous occasions, both being French athletes. She had been the one to reach out to him regarding her attendance, hoping he'd be able to get her a ticket to one of his races. Sébastien happily agreed to fix her a special pass, delighted to invite her to the Italian Grand Prix.

''Y/N, how are you? Happy to see you here.'' The driver greeted her in French, a kiss on both of her cheeks. ''I don't have much time, but they told me you arrived so I wanted to quickly pop in and say hi.''

''I'm good, thank you for asking and also thank you for getting me here,'' she grinned, making the Frenchman laugh, ''good luck with your race, I'll be rooting for you.''

''Merci.'' He thanked her, nodding his head to Franz who seemed quite clueless about their conversation- his understanding of the French language not being advanced enough yet.

The team principal awkwardly scratched his voice as Sébastian left them alone to prepare for his race. ''You would like a closer look to the car?'' He asked her, pointing at the machinery with the number five on it.

''Yes, please.'' At her confirmation, he led her to the car. ''This is the cockpit,'' Franz motioned his hands over the area, ''and as you can see, the drivers are basically laying in there.'' He simplified.

''Is it comfortable?'' She asked the team principal, genuine curiosity audible.

Franz excitedly nodded his head. ''Yes, very very comfortable! The seats are custom made for every driver on the grid so they fit perfectly.''

''Do they ever fall asleep?'' Y/N chuckled, a joking tone to her question.

The man laughed at the inquiry, surprised by the woman's sense of humour and unfeigned interest in the sport. ''With our two drivers it hasn't happened, but with others it has definitely happened before.'' Franz answered.

''But not during a race!'' He quickly added, not wanting her to think that drivers have fallen asleep while driving the fast cars.

''I hope not, that would be tragic.'' Y/N commented, a laugh attached to her words.

Franz snickered along with her. ''It would be indeed. The mechanics wouldn't be too happy with that either so we're happy it hasn't happened yet.''

''But to continue- this is the steering wheel and as you can see, it's quite complica-''

''Hey Franz, are you rea- oh…''

A curly-haired young man appeared next to the team principal, taking the young woman by surprise. The unknown man's eyes widened as he stared at her, the tennis star becoming slightly uncomfortable by the guy's gawking.

The older man in-between them seemed to grasp her uneasiness. ''Oh. This is one of our drivers, Sebastian Vettel. He scored our first pole position yesterday and hopefully, our first win today.'' Franz introduced him.

Y/N stuck out her hand, intended for him to shake it. ''It's nice to meet you, Sebastian.'' He instead grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. ''It's very nice to meet you too, Miss Y/N Y/L.''

The woman was impressed by the greeting, raising an eyebrow at the gentleman in front of her. ''You know me. Are you a fan of tennis?'' There was a surprising tone to her voice, his boss hadn't introduced her by name.

Sebastian shook his head, dropping her hand. ''No, I'm just a fan of you.'' He proudly grinned, crossing his arms.

''Well, thank you very much. I'm flattered.'' The athlete would be lying if she said she wasn't intrigued by the man's confidence, her interest in getting to know who this Sebastian Vettel was growing by each passing second.

The German driver unsubtly looked her up and down. ''As far as I know, this is a Formula 1 event, right? You're not gonna find any courts around here.'' He joked, glancing around the garage and pretending to look for a tennis court.

Y/N laughed at his antics. ''I must have gotten the wrong memo, I was promised a rematch with Venus,'' she feigned annoyance, placing her hands on her hips, ''but, uh, your teammate actually invited me.''

''Sébastien?'' He frowned. ''I wasn't aware he knew you. He's been hiding you from me, I can't believe it.'' It was Sebastian's turn to pretend to be agitated, although there might be a truth to his annoyance.

Sebastian wouldn't describe himself as a tennis fanatic, but whenever the French prodigy in front of him would play, he would find himself clinged to the television. Was it her genuine skills as an athlete or the fact that he fancied her in a short skirt? Who would know.

''We've met on a couple of occasions.'' Y/N explained her history with his Toro Rosso teammate. Sébastien and herself were French athletes so they have had a few run-ins with each other at dull award shows.

''I see,'' Sebastian nodded, ''he just didn't want to share you with me.''

His flirtatious remarks not only surprised Franz and Y/N, but himself as well. The 21 year-old had always seen himself as quite a flirty pal, but he had never gone to this level with someone he had just met. It didn't help much that the woman standing opposite him was seemingly enjoying every word he said.

''I guess that's the case,'' she matched the light smirk on his face, ''but I'm very happy he didn't, cause otherwise I wouldn't be here.''

''I'll make sure to thank him after the race.'' Sebastian chuckled, shyly breaking the eye-contact they had been holding for what seemed like forever. ''But, uhm, you're still in recovery? From Roland Garros?'' He asked, dropping the grin as he asked about her injury.

''Yes, I had a surgery in June.'' She confirmed.

The tennis star sustained a back injury at the French Open of that same year. It happened quite early in the tournament, but she continued playing instead of retiring from the competition. It was the first time in 3 years that she managed to make the final at Roland Garros, she couldn't win last time and wasn't going to let that opportunity slip again- even if it cost her the rest of her season.

She did manage to win the final, winning her first French Open title of her career. However, there wasn't much of a celebration as she collapsed after taking the championship point, the pain in her back too much to bear. She was brought to the hospital and was informed she would need to receive surgery and a long recovery process.

''Have you been training again, or how is it going?'' Sebastian continued, interested in her physical state and when he would be able to see her play again.

Y/N unsurely shook her head. ''Uh, I've had some training sessions with my coach, but nothing too serious.'' She answered, an unconscious pout present on her face.

''That's a good start,'' Sebastian encouragingly smiled, noticing the slight decline in courage, ''too bad I won't see you compete soon, though.'' He frowned, genuinely downhearted by her recovery break.

''You'll have to wait until January.''

That's when the first tournament of the new WTA season took place in Australia, something she had been working towards for the past 2 months. Y/N had always been a self-assured person- some of her competitors might say ''arrogant'', but she knew her worth. Still, 2 months of not picking up a racquet had seriously messed with her mentality and doubts had formed in her mind about her future performances as a professional athlete.

Those doubts were visible to Sebastian even if she didn't vocalise them. ''I know you'll make a great comeback, tennis isn't the same without you.''

''My lovely colleagues would happily disagree with you.'' The sarcastic comment made him laugh, taken aback by her sense of humour.

He shook his head. ''They're just jealous! They actually have a chance now that you're not playing.''

''That's very sweet of you, thanks.'' Y/N brushed it off, the amount of praise he was giving her making her a bit shy.

''You know what? I think having a champion here will actually give me some luck for the race, don't you think?'' He told her, her presence giving him all the energy he needed before the Grand Prix.

Y/N snickered at him. ''You got pole position yesterday! I think you're doing fine on your own.''

''No, seriously! You being here will definitely have an influence- I can't embarrass myself in front of a Grand Slam champion, right?'' Sebastian's words lifted her spirits, not used to athletes of other sports speaking and thinking so highly of her.

''You're flattering me, Sebastian.'' Y/N moved a few strands of hair out of her face.

''Seb.''

''Pardonne?''

''Call me Seb, Y/N.''

A tingly feeling settled in her stomach as he asked her to call him by his nickname, meanwhile the way he said her name send goosebumps down her neck.

She timidly nodded her head. ''Alright… Seb.'' Y/N couldn't help but match the smirk on his face, taking way too much joy out of this interaction.

''Uh,'' Sebastian looked next to him where Franz previously stood, but now nowhere to be found, ''oh, he's gone.'' He chuckled, feeling slightly guilty for leaving his boss in the dark. ''I have to go, though, but I'll see you after the race?'' He looked at her with a hopeful glance, not wanting this moment to be the last time he saw her.

A smile slowly formed on her face, his attempt at nonchalance malfunctioning. ''I'll find you on the podium.'' Y/N winked.

Sebastian's cheeks heated up at her response, her confidence that he would finish in the top three flustering the Toro Rosso driver. ''Yeah, yeah- I'll see you there.'' With a final long glance, he made his way over to his engineer.

The Toro Rosso garage erupted into chaos once the German took the chequered flag, their and his first F1 win in the pocket. Y/N observed the mechanics falling into each other's arms and yielding their fists into the air, meanwhile the pit wall yanked their headphones off and jumped up from their chairs in overjoy.

As a fellow athlete, she understood the excitement that came from winning your first big achievement like winning a Grand Prix. You work almost your entire life for just an ounce of success and when it finally pays off? It's a feeling you can't describe.

Y/N was guided to the podium ceremony by a staff member, standing behind the team as Sebastian appeared from the inside of the building and strided to the top step while the team and crowd cheered him on.

The tennis star chuckled at the driver holding up his index finger, a symbolised No. 1, and the way he seemed to be poking it in everyone's faces.

Despite standing at the very back and doing her best efforts to let the Toro Rosso crew have their moment, Sebastian found her in the mass- pointing said finger at her and threw her a smug look as if to say ''I told you you would bring me luck''.

The woman nodded at him, raising her arms above her head and applauding him.

Y/N flinched when the German national anthem ended, and the drivers started spraying each other with their champagne bottles. She turned to the staff member next to her. ''Do they always do this?'' She asked.

The staff nodded, amused by the athlete's shock. ''Yes, every race!''

''Wow… a nice combination with the sweat.'' Y/N was quite disgusted by the stank that would come off from the drivers- champagne and sweat not being a satisfying mix.

After the ceremony was done, she was brought to the Toro Rosso hospitality. Many of the mechanics, engineers and others were, contrary to what she first believed, actual fans of the young athlete and wanted the chance to grab a picture with her.

Y/N didn't mind sticking around a little longer than what was planned. She appreciated the support she was given, especially now that she's injured and might have already passed her prime. Besides, the Toro Rosso team had been extremely kind to her the entire day and it was only right of her to reciprocate the kindness.

A tap on her shoulder made her turn around right as she handed one of the strategists their napkin back that she had autographed.

She was met with a smirking Sebastian, holding a small camera. ''Can I get a picture as well?''

The 21 year-old woman lightly pushed his arm with her hand, laughing at the question. ''Hey, congratulations, Mr. First Race Win.'' Y/N bowed her head.

''Thank you, thank you, but what about my picture?'' He brushed her congratulations to the side.

The athlete jokingly scoffed. ''They already took one of us in the garage, you've had your chance, Vettel.'' She figured he was taking the piss out of her and all the people that wanted a photo with the tennis star.

''But that's for the publicity, this is just for me.'' He contended.

There was a certain tone to his voice, one that explained to her that he might actually wanted a photo with her- and not to just be funny and tease her.

Y/N sighed, but agreed. ''Alright then. If it's just for you.''

Sebastian held up his fist, the same way she did after winning a point in a tournament. ''Yes,'' he glanced around, his eyes falling upon a man sitting at one of the tables, ''Riccardo!'' He called him over.

Riccardo was surprised by the sudden call of his name, but stood up anyway once he noticed Sebastian waving at him.

''He's my engineer.'' He quickly told Y/N, seeing her confused expression. ''Hey, can you take a picture for me? Of us?'' The German asked his engineer, who nodded at the request.

Sebastian handed him the camera and stood next to the tennis player. He rested his hand on her back, but swiftly retreated it. ''Is that okay?''

Y/N moved her head towards him, surprised by his concern over touching her. ''It's okay, don't worry.'' She consented, putting her own hand on his back.

''1, 2, 3. Cheese!'' Riccardo counted down and snapped a few pictures, knowing Sebastian would appreciate a couple of candids. ''Can I get a picture as well?'' The engineer asked, smiling when he saw Y/N nod.

''Here, Seb.'' Riccardo gave him the device back and the two men switched roles.

Sebastian had an indifferent expression on his face as he took the pictures of them, a vast difference from just a few seconds before when he was grinning from ear-to-ear. ''Okay, I got it. Don't want my card to be full.'' The driver put the camera down and back into his bag.

''Thanks, mate,'' Riccardo warily glanced at Sebastian, ''it was very nice to meet you. You should invite the entire team to a match next year.'' The older man joked (but not entirely), looking at Y/N.

''Thank you all for having me, I had a really nice time,'' she thanked them, ''and about that- I'll see what I can do.'' The Frenchwoman chuckled. She was fond of everyone, but fitting an entire Formula 1 team on the courtside? That would be a guaranteed challenge.

''Hopefully see you soon, then. Seb, see you tonight.'' Riccardo bid them goodbye, walking towards where the other pit wall crew members were seated.

At his engineer's ''tonight'' a ring went off in Sebastian's head. ''Oh, uh, we're celebrating tonight with everyone- would you, uh, like to come as well? It would be really cool if you were there.'' He uncharacteristically stumbled over his words a bit, barely managing to get the question out.

''I don't know,'' she hesitated accepting the invitation, ''I have quite an early flight tomorrow and I really can't miss it.''

There were more reasons behind her uncertainty than a simple worry over missing her flight to Paris the next day. She liked socialising, but she had only met everyone for the first time today and most of them were panicking about being in her presence.

The doubt in her mind was clear to him. ''You don't have to, but the option is there. How about you give me your number and I'll send you the address and hour- you can decide for yourself if you want to go.''

His suggestion was reasonable, she figured. That way she also had the young man's phone number, something she wouldn't hesitate taking. ''Okay.''

Sebastian quickly reached for his phone in the back of his jeans at her agreement, unlocking it and opening his contacts app, and handing the device over to her.

''There… you… go.'' She bit on her lip as she concentrated on typing her number in, unaware of Sebastian's unsubtle fascination with her action. Y/N gave the phone back once she was done. ''I already send a message to myself so I'm sure it's your number.''

''Great! So I'll maybe see you later.'' The young man didn't want to say goodbye to her, but he still had things to discuss with the team and not even a Grand Slam champion could make him escape out of his responsibilities.

Y/N nodded at him, an enchanting smile hanging on her face. ''Maybe, yeah,'' she smirked, ''again, congrats on your first win. I'm sure many will follow soon.''

''Let's hope there will be more,'' Sebastian had gotten the taste of success now and he wanted more, way more, ''but, uh, in case I don't see you again- it was very nice to meet you, Miss Y/N Y/L.''

''It was nice to meet you as well. You have my number so if you miss me too much you can just give me a call.'' She grinned, throwing out the flirty remark.

The German licked his lip, taking a few moments to compose himself. ''I'll definitely keep that in mind.'' He smiled to himself.

Y/N chuckled at his shy state. ''Bye, Sebastian.'' At the mention of his full name, he was about to correct her to use the shortened version, but she beat him to it. ''Sorry- Seb.''

''Goodbye.'' He bid her farewell.

Sebastian watched her leave, his eyes following the woman like a puppy when their owner leaves for the day. As soon as she was out of his sight, he pulled his phone from his pocket again and opened his messages. He knew he should have waited a little longer before sending her the address and hour of the meet-up, but he couldn't help himself. Perhaps the young man didn't want her to forget him, he wanted her attention.

While in the debrief with his team, he kept taking glances at his phone- something unusual for him to do, especially during discussions about the race that had taken place.

Her response came in the middle of Franz's opinion on the tyre management, causing Sebastian to make a surprise jolt in his chair, receiving a few side-eyes from the others. ''Sorry… a cramp.'' He apologised, making up an excuse.

| Y/N Y/L: I'll stop by :) I can't stay for too long, but I won't say no to a good celebration!

| Seb Vettel (the flirty f1 guy): Nice! I will see you there then :)

| Y/N Y/L: is there a dress code?

Sebastian loudly chuckled at her question, making him apologise again for interrupting the team boss. ''Sorry, sorry!'' He put his phone away for a minute before sneakily grabbing it again to answer her.

| Seb Vettel (the flirty f1 guy): I don't know

| Seb Vettel (the flirty f1 guy): casual, I guess.

| Y/N Y/L: boring, but alright :)

''No dress code?'' Y/N mumbled to herself, frowning. ''Pinnacle of motorsport my ass.'' The young woman had eventually agreed to go, planning to stay for about an hour or two. She wasn't going to drink any alcohol, because she had a practice the next day and a potential hangover isn't something she needed.

She considered it a night-out so usually she would go for something more elegant, but since Sebastian told her it was casual, she went for a simple pair of jeans and a blouse.

The young athlete couldn't get the German gentleman out of her head in the hours leading up to the celebration of his first win. Some time had passed since she last felt intrigued by someone on this level and that had been her former boyfriend.

There was something about Sebastian.

Was it the way he treated her like she was the queen of the universe or the way the man couldn't take his eyes off of her? Either way, she liked it.

Y/N walked into the Italian establishment with excitement, curious to see what a night with a Formula One team looked like. The space was mostly filled by the Toro Rosso Team, most of them already having had some drinks. She could see some of the mechanics dancing and other crew members cheering them on.

Unsurprisingly, Sebastian was the first person to notice her arrival. He immediately stood up from his chair, making the people around him flinch due to the suddenness of it. He didn't hesitate in walking over to her, grabbing her attention by waving and a call of her name.

He greeted her with a hug. ''Hey, you actually came!'' Y/N was taken by surprise, not expecting him to embrace her.

''Of course, wouldn't want to miss it.'' She smiled.

''Can I get you something to drink? They have a bunch of good stuff here.'' Sebastian politely offered, pointing at the bar.

Y/N glanced to where he signalled. ''Uh, do they have non-alcoholic drinks?'' She hesitated. Sometimes people can act judgemental when someone doesn't want to drink alcohol, especially at parties.

''Sure, I think they have mocktails actually.'' He answered, not making a big deal out of her not wanting to have any strong drinks.

She nodded, appreciating his nonchalance. ''Great, I'll have one of those then.''

Sebastian guided her to the counter, his hand on her lower back. Y/N kept a strong hold on her bag with her two hands, trying not to start acting giddy at the physical contact.

''The menu is on the wall,'' he signalled to the board in front of them with all of their drinks and prices written in chalk, ''let me know when you've chosen something, I'll pay for it.'' The German concluded.

''You're paying? Shouldn't it be the other way?'' Y/N chuckled, wanting to buy him a drink since he was the one who invited her- out of politeness.

Sebastian brushed it off with a wave of his hand. ''No, I'm feeling generous tonight.'' He said, a wink following his words.

She raised her eyebrow at that, sensing an innuendo behind the sentence. ''Well- I'll just have a mojito mocktail, can't go wrong with that.'' She chose her drink, looking from the menu back to Sebastian.

He nodded at her choice, and waved the bartender over. ''A mojito mocktail and a beer, please.'' The older woman behind the bar praised their options and got to work on their drinks. The pair sat down on the stools at the counter as they waited on her.

''So how does it feel to be a Grand Prix winner now?'' Y/N turned to him.

Sebastian laughed at the question. ''I feel really great. If someone had told me going into this week that I would cross the line first, I wouldn't have believed them.'' He answered, still in a state of shock about his performance today.

''I know I haven't been watching the sport for that long, but you did really great today.'' The tennis player complimented him, sincerity flowing from her lips.

''Thank you,'' the German smiled in appreciation, ''how long have you been into the sport?''

''After I was done with my surgery, I had to stay in the hospital for a few weeks and my doctor was actually a huge F1 fan,'' she explained, ''and I was really bored, cause I laid in my hospital bed all day and couldn't do anything, and he came into my room and I told him how bored I was, and he told me the qualifying of the Canadian Grand Prix was on tv. I didn't have much better things to do so I put it on and I liked it. I watched the race the next day and have been following the season since then.'' She recapped how her interest in F1 came to be.

''I think your doctor just wanted to use your tv to watch the race.'' Sebastian laughed, finding humour in the origin of her curiosity in the sport.

Y/N laughed along, admiring the way his eyes smiled. ''Yeah, maybe- oh, thank you'' the bartender set their drinks down in front of them, giving them a polite grin, ''uh, yeah, he suddenly did a few more check-up visits than were necessary.'' She chuckled, finishing her sentence.

''I think Robert won that race…'' Sebastian thought out loud, trying to recall the results of the Grand Prix in Montréal.

''Uh… Kubica, yes- I'm still trying to learn the names.'' Y/N said, feeling slight embarrassment of not being able to recognise Robert's right away.

The German gave her a comforting smile. ''That's okay, there are 20 of us, it's hard.'' He assured her.

Y/N thanked him and took a sip of her drink, needing some refreshment.

''You already know my name and that's the most important one, if you ask me.'' Sebastian added, the smirk making a re-appearance.

''Sure,'' she responded with a small laugh, ''but, uh, is this your first season in F1?''

Sebastian hesitantly answered. ''Uhm, it's my first full season in F1. Last year, I was a reserve driver first, but then I replaced someone else mid-season.'' He explained to her.

''Oh, okay cool. How long have you been racing?'' She continued, curious about his history with the sport.

''I started karting when I was 3 year-old.''

''Wow, that's young,'' her eyes widened at his answer, ''how did you get into it? You have a family that races?''

''I think it was my dad- I'm not too sure, I just loved it. At first, I wanted to be a singer like Michael Jackson, but I quickly found out I didn't have the voice for it.'' He took a big gulp from his beer, the coldness visibly relaxing him.

Y/N chuckled, not expecting Sebastian to have wanted a singing career. ''That's surprising, wouldn't have gathered you for a singer.''

''Wait until you hear me in karaoke, you'll change your mind,'' he grinned, ''but, what about you? How long have you been playing tennis?'' He turned the curious interrogation on her.

''Since I was 4,'' her response was equally surprising to him as well, ''my dad was a big tennis fan and we would watch matches together on the tv. I would like- copy the way the women were playing and would pretend the remote was my racquet.'' She tittered, the image of her younger self appearing in her mind.

''That's cute,'' Sebastian felt honoured to get such a personal answer from her, the female athlete often coming across as closed-off, ''so your dad got you into it?''

''Yeah, and not too far from where we lived was a tennis club so he signed me up for lessons.'' She replied.

''And the rest was history, as they say.'' He smirked, making a weird gesture with his hands.

''Yes,'' she beamed, a certain pride filling her as the talked about her career, ''but it's a little complicated now.'' An injury in your back is a huge setback for an athlete, especially a tennis player.

''I'm confident you will recover- everyone sees how much you love the sport and how much the sport loves you back.''

Sebastian's words meant more to her than she could express in that moment so she hoped the appreciative look on her face told him enough.

Luckily for her, he did understand. The comfortable silence that followed was one of two people connecting in a room full of people, but their eyes and minds were only on each other. It was something new for both of them; it was intriguing.

''Your partner must be proud of you, you've achieved so much already.'' Sebastian did a horrible attempt at trying to find out if the woman in front of him was in a relationship or not.

Y/N snickered at his words, immediately figuring out what he's trying to do. ''I don't have a boyfriend, actually- I don't know where you got that from.'' She teasingly smirked, his red ears and cheeks working wonders on her confidence.

''I think I read something about, a Spanish footballer or something.'' It had been a rumour a few months ago, splashed on the cover of a gossip magazine he had passed in the supermarket.

''Oh, that,'' it hadn't been the first time she was linked to an athlete she had coincidentally been in the same room with, ''no, that's not happening.''

''Good.'' A flash of relief went through his body as she denied the relationship, a deep breath leaving his body.

His physical response didn't go unnoticed and a coy smile played on her lips. ''What about you?''

Sebastian should have seen the question coming, yet he was surprised as she asked him about his love life. ''Oh, uh, actually-''

''Excuse me… are you Y/N Y/L?'' One of the waitresses interrupted Sebastian, glancing at the young woman with nervous eyes.

Y/N's gaze went from the driver to the, what she presumed, 18 year-old girl who held a notepad and pen in her hands. ''Yes, that's me.'' She confirmed her identity with a polite smile.

''I'm sorry to bother you, but could I get an autograph? I also play tennis and you're one of my favourite players.'' She asked in a very small voice, scared the athlete would reject her.

''Of course, what's your name?'' Y/N took the notepad and pen from the waitress' hands.

''Chiara.''

''To Chiara, thank you for the support! Keep playing!'' She wrote in small letters on the piece of paper, adding her signature at the bottom. She gave it back to Chiara who was grinning from ear to ear as she read over what she wrote to her.

The waitress let out a squeal, surprising both Y/N and Sebastian. ''Thank you so much, I really appreciate it! I hope to see you next year when you're playing in Rome!''

''I hope to see you too! Have a nice night, sweetie.'' She bid the fan goodbye, a bright smile on her face.

''You too, thank you again.'' Chiara quickly turned around, running over to one of her co-workers and showing the autograph off.

Y/N moved her focus back to Sebastian, who waited patiently for her attention. ''Sorry, what were we talking about again?'' She couldn't remember what they were discussing before they got interrupted.

Sebastian knew he should have spoken the truth and answered her question on if he was taken or not. He knew that. ''We were talking about your recovery.''

Yet, he didn't.

taglist :: @dannyramirezwife @luligirl_ @mistrose23 @azxulaa @develised @princesselle2111 @topguncultleader @poppyalice2001 @komorebi21 @Livster @spanishgp @red5seb @lilsiz @gagaga167 @perihelionova @callsignscully @nyenye

#f1 fics #f1 x reader #f1 fic #sebastian vettel x oc #sebastian vettel x y/n #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel #f1 imagine #f1 x you #formula 1 fanfic

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eros-vigilante · 17 days

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The Many References in Teniwoha's Samsa

If you haven't read "The Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka, the one thing you likely know about the short story is that in it a man turns into a bug. And this is enough to recognize the allusion of Samsa being named after the protagonist, Gregor Samsa, as well as the imagery of a dragging tail and onomatopoeia of "zuki". However, there are several deeper layers to Teniwoha's symbolism of themes and references to "The Metamorphosis" that add a great level of cohesion with Immiscible Discord's story. First, I would like to say that "The Metamorphosis" can be found as a free pdf online, and is a very good short story, so if you have the time and energy you should read it. This post will only be summarizing the themes that are referenced in Samsa and Immiscible Discord and will not include some of the other great commentaries Franz Kafka has. And of course, it will spoil the progression of the plot. Also, all quoted lyrics are from Amiaryllis' english cover, which is also very good and worth listening to. The lyrics will not be quoted in order.

The biggest and first theme the surrealist nature of the story expresses is that Gregor Samsa has been led to - and does - believe that his worth is tied to his ability to work. When he discovers he is a bug, he is only concerned because he is going to be late for his job if he cannot figure out how to get out of bed in his new body. He is determined to go to work because his entire family relies on his job to pay for their lives. ("i've grown monstrous down to the very core of my soul") This is comparable to Mafuyu's relationship to academics. Their mother relies on them to fulfill her dream of Mafuyu becoming a doctor, and so teaches them that nothing matters as much as this goal. Even when Mafuyu is stressed or physically ill, they push themselves to attend school, club activities, cram school, and study. Mafuyu's academic performance is their worth to their mother, as Samsa's income is his worth to his family. ("so could the bravest of souls face me and bear the toll?") When Samsa's family discovers he is an insect, they are horrified. Samsa finds this reasonable as he also considers his form monstrous. It is another theme of the story being from his perspective that he has good faith in his family to the point of seeming either naive or to have a low self-esteem. Actions that are most easily justified as disgust and hatred are rationalized by him, despite acknowledging at points that his family was not as affectionate to him after they began relying on him for money, as well as acts of physical violence such as his father shoving him back into his room.

("those painful fights, fearful nights") This is an interesting thing to compare to Mafuyu's experience of being gaslit by their mother. They believe very strongly- because they were told- that everything their mother is doing is for them, their future, and is in their best interests. This prevents them from questioning her actions and sacrificing their own desires in a self-destructive manner, which is also something Samsa does. For instance, he hides himself with a bedsheet so his sister does not have to see him when she brings him food, despite him finding this uncomfortable. ("craving any smile or attention just from you") Samsa's sister is the only one who still shows affection towards him, as she is the one who brings him food, but eventually she too festers fear towards and dehumanizes him. By the end of the story, the entire family blames their despair on him becoming an insect and no longer believe he is Gregor Samsa. The most direct reference to the story in the lyrics is when his father throws apples at him and has to be stopped from killing him by his wife, Gregor's mother. He crawls back into his room and he is locked inside. ("i beg, don’t throw those rotten apples at my chest before they lock up, lock up samsa") This could best reference when Kaito says that Mafuyu's mother is killing their feelings or true identity. Additionally, Mafuyu's mother places all blame for Mafuyu's recent behavior on Kanade's influence. And as the family plans for their life after his death, Mafuyu's mother tells Kanade that she plans to convince Mafuyu to go back to doing what she wants, no matter how extreme she must be about it. ("if it all goes to plan, then, we’ll soon rejoice") In the end, Gregor Samsa stops eating, and dies of starvation. All the while, he still thinks fondly of his family and believes they are in the right for their treatment of him. Gregor Samsa is used to form a strong representation of the extent to which Mafuyu has been gaslit. ("so please don't tell me that you'll be giving up on reality, samsa") The biggest difference (other than the bug transformation) is that Mafuyu has people who still dearly care about them, and not just for what they can provide. While all of Gregor Samsa's family abandons him, the other members of Nightcord do not abandon Mafuyu. Mafuyu has a reason to live, and people to tell them that they do not deserve to be locked away. ("i know that brilliant light will shine as the clock strikes 25")

He could already hardly feel the decayed apple in his back or the inflamed area around it, which was entirely covered in white dust. He thought back of his family with emotion and love. If it was possible, he felt that he must go away even more strongly than his sister. He remained in this state of empty and peaceful rumination until he heard the clock tower strike three in the morning. He watched as it slowly began to get light everywhere outside the window too. Then, without his willing it, his head sank down completely, and his last breath flowed weakly from his nostrils (Franz Kafka).

#mafuyu asahina #immiscible discord #mafumom #samsa teniwoha #franz kafka #prosekai #n25

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v-akarai · 4 months

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References in Servamp

Arabian mythology

Jinn. Ch. 16

Greek mythology

Elpis. Ch. 75

Moirai. Ch. 108

Pandora. Ch. 130

Pygmalion. Ch. 123

Pandora's Box. Ch. 97

Japanese mythology

Gashadokuro. Ch. 129

Kitsune. Ch. 3

Raijin. Ch. 85

Norse mythology

Baldr. Ch. 39

Freya. Ch. 65

Frey. Ch. 131

Gleipnir. Ch. 101

Hati. Ch. 91, 131

Hod. Ch. 39

Hliðskjálf. Ch. 96

Idunn. Ch. 65

Loki. Ch. 15

Mimir. Ch. 29

Mjölnir. Ch. 53

Ragnarök. Ch. 101, 122, 131

Sigurd. Ch. 101

Thor. Ch. 41

Yggdrasil. Ch. 42

Biblical references

Abel. Ch. 8

Adam. Ch. 128

Boaz and Jachin. Ch. 42

Eden. Ch. 21

Eve. Ch. 1

John the Baptist. Ch.122

Lucifer. Ch. 135

Nod. Ch. 29, events

Hinduism

Asura. Ch. 57.5, 89.

Tarot

The Fool - Mahiru. Ch. 50

I. The Magician – Night trio. Ch. 41

II. The High Priestess – Mikuni. Ch. 42

V. The Hierophant - Shuhei. Ch. 77

X. Wheel of Fortune - Junichiro. Ch. 53

XII. The Hanged Man - Tsurugi. Ch. 50

XV. The Devil – Shamrock. Ch. 72

XVI. The Tower - Touma. Ch. 47

XVII. The Star - Iduna. Ch. 73

XVIII. The Moon - Yumikage. Ch. 69

Literary references

"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" Lewis Carroll. Ch. 3, 4, 7, 19, 98, 122. Misono, Lily, Dodo, Mitsuki, Yamane, Hattori, Mikuni, Bad B and Good B.

"As You Like It" William Shakespeare. Ch. 10, 38.5. Mikuni's spell.

"My Fair Lady" English nursery rhyme. Ch. 10 Mikuni's spell.

"Dracula" Bram Stoker. Ch. 12, 30. Hugh.

"Romeo and Juliet" William Shakespeare. Ch. 23, 34. Hyde, Ophelia.

"Faust" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Ch. 29 Johannes.

"Through the Looking-Glass" Lewis Carroll. Ch. 29, events. Mikuni, Johannes.

"Julius Caesar" William Shakespeare. Ch. 23 Hyde.

"Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" Robert Stevenson. Ch. 23, 37. Hyde, Licht.

"Macbeth" William Shakespeare. Ch. 24, 31. Kuro, Saint Germain, Mahiru.

"Night on the Galactic Railroad" Kenji Miyazawa. Ch. 26. Higan.

"The Little Prince" Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Ch 30, 67. Kuro, Mahiru, Sloth demon, Gear, probably Jeje.

"Hamlet" William Shakespeare. Ch. 33, 34. Hyde, Ophelia.

"The Phantom of the Opera" Gaston Leroux. Ch. 36 Licht and Hyde technique.

"Peter and Wendy" James Barry. Ch. 44, 56, 74. Tsurugi, Touma, Mahiru.

"Ring a Ring o' Roses" nursery rhyme. Ch. 53 Junichiro's spell.

“Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens” James Barry. Ch. 53, 75. Tsurugi, Touma.

"Death in Venice" Thomas Mann. Ch. 55 Gilbert technique.

"Total Eclipse" a play by Christopher Hampton. Ch. 55 Rayscent's technique.

"The Morning of the Last Farewell" Kenji Miyazawa. Ch. 57.5 Tsubaki.

"Spring and Asura" Kenji Miyazawa. Ch. 57.5 Tsubaki.

"The Catcher in the Rye" Jerome Salinger. Ch. 62 Shuhei.

"Four and Twenty Blackbirds" Agatha Christie. Ch. 62 Shuhei's spell.

"Metamorphosis" Franz Kafka. Ch. 62 Shamrock technique.

“The Nighhawk's Star” Kenji Miyazawa. Ch. 62, 76. Shamrock technique.

"Rock-a-bye Baby" an English lullaby. Ch. 70 Touma's spell.

“Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf ein” lullaby. Ch. 70 Touma's spell.

"Who Killed Cock Robin" an English nursery rhyme. Ch. 70 Yumikage's spell.

"The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" Lyman Frank Baum. Ch. 70, 88. Tsukimitsu brothers’ spells.

"Daddy-Long-Legs" Jean Webster. Ch. 74. Dark Night Trio, Touma.

"The Divine Comedy" Dante Alighieri. Ch. 118, 120, 121. Niccolo, Ildio, Gluttony demon.

“A Brute's Love” (人でなしの恋) Edogawa Rampo. Ch. 122 Mikuni, Lily.

"Coppelia" ballet Leo Delibes. Chapter 122 Mikuni, Lily.

"Salome" Oscar Wilde. Ch. 122 Mikuni, Lily.

"Turandot" opera by Giacomo Puccini based on the play by Carlo Gozzi. Ch. 129. Lily's technique.

"The Tempest" William Shakespeare. Ch. 131. Licht and Hyde.

"The Old Man and the Sea" Ernest Hemingway. Ch. 134 Hugh.

"Flowers for Algernon" Daniel Keyes. Ch. 135 Hugh.

"Jane Eyre" Charlotte Brontë. Ch. 136. Hokaze.

"Madama Butterfly" opera by Giacomo Puccini. Ch. 136. Lily.

"Hansel and Gretel" the Brothers Grimm. Ch. 140. Faust and Otogiri.

Music

"Für Elise" by Ludwig van Beethoven. Ch. 34

"Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" by Johann Sebastian Bach. Ch. 125

Movies

"It's a Wonderful Life" (1946). Ch. 131

"Life is Beautiful" (1997). Ch. 131

I believe this list can be expanded. Somewhere I’ve written only chaps when some reference was mentioned for the first time and omitted all further mentions.

Special thanks to hello-vampire-kitty, joydoesathing and passmeabook, because some works wouldn’t be included in the list without their observations.

#servamp

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thepersonnamedsam · 11 months

Text

introduction

pairing: genz!driver x '20!grid

summary: the first time the genz!driver meets the grid

word count: 766

warnings: mentions of fainting, a swear word, some bad google translated french

note: the timeline sucks, as always, so please ignore it, thank you so much

masterlist / taglist

2020, a year full with up and downs. For y/n, 2020 was something special and a year full of surprises. Having just placed 3rd overall in the F2 championship, she received an offer she just couldn’t say no to; AlphaTauri or Toro Rosso, the RedBull owned F1 Team wanted to sign her. Her, a teenager and a female! She couldn’t believe it. Of course she signed the contract and started as a Rookie in F1.

The media went wild as AlphaTauri released that y/n would be the second driver of their team. Everyone tried to get an interview with her, but y/n‘s PR team refused to let anyone interview that girl.

She first met Pierre, well meeting is maybe a bit exaggerated. He shot her a DM, where he wrote her, that he’s very excited to work with y/n next season. When they officially met, she was so nervous, that she couldn’t say a word to him. He found it cute.

On the 19th of February y/n joined the team for testing in Barcelona. That’s where she met 12 of the 19 drivers she’d be competing with. Legends like, Romain Grosjean, Lewis Hamilton, Kimi Räikkönen and Sebastian Vettel were all there. She was so nervous to meet all of them. Thank god she had Pierre by her side, whom she already knew, who gave her some kind of comfort. Even though he wasn’t really great at it, because he left her alone the second they walked on the grid.

Romain Grosjean was the first to notice her, looking all lost and helpless. „Bonjour, petite fille (Good morning, little girl), can I help you?“, his voice soft and kind. She looked up at him, (hypothetically and literally of course), and nodded her head. She didn’t know where to be. Where did AlphaTauri need her? „I don’t know where to go, like, where is the motorhome of AlphaTauri?“

„Oh mon dieu! (Oh my god!) You are y/n! I am so pleased to meet you! Welcome to F1, my dear“, his french accent prominent and hard to miss. He shook her hand, almost hugging her, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. „I will show you where to go, no?“

She was glad someone helped her. Pierre just left her alone, bastard. But Romain took her to her garage, thankfully it wasn’t that far and she didn’t have too much awkward time with the driver.

Pierre was standing outside his side of the garage, an apologetic look on his face. He felt guilty for leaving her at the entry. Franz Tost already spoke some harsh words with the young french man. „Look y/n, I‘m sorry for just leaving you. And merci Romain, de l’avoir amenée ici (and thank you Romain for bringing her here)“, Pierre looked at Grosjean for the last sentence. y/n just shook her head and blew some air out of her mouth, making some kind of fart sound. „Don’t worry man, found it here, didn’t I?“

Franz Tost did make them go inside and told Grosjean he should go back to his own garage. She met her engineer, her mechanics her PR team and every important person. She finally met her car for the first time, naming her ‚Buggy‘. And when she first raced in the car, she felt alive. She never felt this alive before. From F4 to F2, the car always got better and faster, but F1 was just a massive upgrade. She never wanted to drive anything less.

Lap after lap y/n beat her best time, over and over again. Every lap she got faster. And she was so happy to hear that. Everyone knew that she was an excellent driver, but still no one expected this good of a result.

After the testing y/n was so happy. Pierre invited her to dinner, wanting to make up for leaving her alone that morning. He also invited half of the grid. She met Sebastian Vettel, Lewis Hamilton, Lance Stroll, Daniel Ricciardo and Charles Leclerc that evening. And it was chaos. She was so nervous, more anxious to say, and every time a driver told her how much they admired her for her talent she almost fainted. Those were her idols and they were admiring her? She couldn’t believe it. She did faint at one point, as Lewis Hamilton, the 6 time world champion made a toast to the young female driver and the history she made and will make in F1.

She ended up with a bump ok her head and a bruise on her hip, but it was worth it. That’s how she met the grid, well half of it anyway.

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #gen z!driver #genz driver #female driver #sebastian vettel #pierre gasly #max verstappen #charles leclerc #lando norris #carlos sainz #daniel ricciardo #romain grosjean #kimi räikkönen

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fandom-chic · 8 months

Text

Please Please Please: Chapter 8

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy realize there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

Previous chapter

A/N: This chapter is a bit heavy so WARNING for SA, violence and pregnancy loss.

Her eyes fluttered open as sun beams began to peak through the curtains. The rays touched her face like a warm caress, warming her up. She gazed at the ceiling above her before rolling over in the tiny twin bed to see her love, her fiancé, her Tommy.

His bare chest rose and fell as his head rested on their shared pillow. He looked peaceful. She knew those moments were becoming more far and few between for Tommy. She knew she should let him sleep in, let the sun wake him when it was his time, but she wanted him to herself. She wanted their morning together to last as long as possible. She let her body cascade over his front, her forehead resting against his. A low hum escaped from somewhere in the back of his throat as his arm lazily fell over her waist, pulling her closer.

“Good morning, love,” he grumbled, sleep still in his voice.

“Good morning,” she replied, her leg wrapping around his abdomen. There was a strain in her thigh as her leg settled on Tommy. She twitched slightly at the pinched nerve. She heard Tommy chuckle to himself.

“Not the most comfortable sleep,” he said, opening his eyes to gaze at her. She lets out a sigh and smiles to herself.

“As long as you’re beside me, I could happily sleep on a rock,” His grip on her waist tightened at her words.

“I promise,” he began to whisper, “Once you’re my wife, we will sleep in the most luxurious bed in Birmingham. You’ll never have to worry about a sore back again.” His words melted her heart and soul. She couldn’t help but place her hand on his cheek, letting the stubble tickle the pads of her fingers. His hand reached up to hers, cradling it. Y/N didn’t think this moment could make her feel anymore at peace until his lips graced hers. Even after hours of sleep, his lips were still soft and inviting against hers. She hummed into the kiss, letting a smile rise to her lips.

“This must be what heaven feels like,” she whispered into the kiss. She leaned in for more, but Tommy pulled away slightly.

“Heaven would be this, but I’m inside of you,” her cheeks flushed at his words. Even after all these months together, he still makes her feel flustered.

“You’re a real cheeky bastard, Thomas Shelby,” she purred. His grin was full of sparkles as he pulled her into him, a rush of electricity pulsing through their lips throughout their bodies. She was ready to give herself to him and maybe again, but instead he rolled out of the bed.

“Let me get my beautiful fiancé a cup of tea,” he said, pulling on a loose pair of pants. She rolled onto her side to face him, pulling the sheet above her breast like a strapless dress.

“Fiancé,” she breathed. The word felt like sugar on her tongue. “I’ll never get sick of that.” Tommy approaches the side of his bed, leaning down to Y/N.

“Neither will I,” he planted a kiss on her cheek before heading out the bedroom door. After the door shut, Y/N sat up in bed, finally able to stretch out slightly. She let the bed sheet fall to her hips as a yawn escaped her lips. Her arm rested lazily on top of her head as she leaned over to Tommy’s bedside table, turning the radio on. She turned the dial before the static turned into a man’s voice. She expected the usual reports: something was stolen, the weather is gray, and the politicians are corrupt. She was almost correct today. Almost.

“Following last month’s assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, Austria-Hungary has officially declared war on Serbia.” She was awake now.

“More news is to come, but reports have come out declaring that Germany has sided with Austria-Hungary. Now we wait to see how England moves forward.” Her mind phased over as the report turned into white noise in her mind. War. The continent was going to war. Over what? Some archduke she had never heard of? Fucking preposterous. That was when she felt Tommy enter the room. His hands bore two piping hot cups of tea, and his face a warm smile. Once his eyes fell upon her, the smile faded.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired. Y/N knew she couldn’t hide her worry from him. That was when the report began to play again. Tommy’s attention moved quickly, putting the cups on his side table before turning the volume up on the radio. His focus was entirely on the small device dictating their future to them. A deep sigh escapes him before he turns to Y/N.

“Austria-Hungary, Serbia and Germany are far from here. They will fight it out, and it will all be done in a few days,” he sar down beside her, his hand going to her back to lovingly rub it, coaxing the anxious look off her face, “Do not worry about that. There are bigger things to worry about.” She looked over at Tommy, her eyebrows furrowed.

“What could be bigger than war?” That was when a smirk dusted his lips.

“Choosing a venue for our wedding.” She couldn’t help the snort that escaped as a smile finally came back to her face.

“Oh shit, I completely forgot about that,” She leapt off the bed, throwing her clothes on herself. “We’re touring that church today in,” Her eyes shoot over to the clock to reveal the less than early time of 10:00 AM, “45 minutes! We’re going to be late.” She began jumping into her stockings as Tommy rose from the bed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Y/N,” she paused her actions, looking up at Tommy, “I think it’ll be ok.” A puzzled expression rose on her face.

“But we’re going to be late, Tom.” She motioned at the clock on the wall.

“I don’t think so, love,” His hands went to her cheeks as he moved her gaze to meet his, “Fuck some old, drafty church. Let’s get married somewhere that matters to us.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Where would that be?”

“Our lake.” As soon as he said those words, she knew he was right. It was the place where they spent every summer. It was the place she denied she loved him, even though deep down knew she always had. It was the place he almost told her so many times that she was the one. She let out a light sight before putting her hands on his.

“I can’t think of a more perfect place to begin the rest of my life with you.” Tommy leaned down, kissing her forehead.

“Let’s drink some tea, take it easy and head to the lake this afternoon, ok?” She nodded as his lips left her forehead. He picked up the cup of tea and handed it to his fiance, giving her a smile as he did so. It would all be ok, she thought as she brought her cup to her lips, taking a sip. The liquid burned the top of her mouth, but the presence of her lover made the pain miniscule. They would see their wedding venue today, and everything would be good. Better than good, perfect. It wasn’t long into their tea when Y/N heard a yell up the stairs.

“Oy, Tommy, we have an emergency!” Y/N could recognize Arthur’s voice anywhere. “The Shaws on the east side want to speak with you now.” Tommy let out a sigh and kissed Y/N’s cheek.

“It will be quick, I promise,” he whispered into her ear. She let her head fall into the crook of his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, darling. I can meet you there.” She felt his hand run through her tresses, calming her.

“It shouldn’t take too long, no more than an hour.” She nodded as Tommy rose and went out the bedroom door, but not before shooting her a small smile. Her heart would never stop fluttering at that look.

She was over at their lake within thirty minutes, no time at all. The first sight that caught her eye was the way the midday sun hit the water. It looked like a path leading to the heavens. She could imagine herself standing in front of it with her Tommy, professing their love for their family and promising themselves to each other forever. She tied her horse to a tree and walked over to where that spot would be. Y/N stood in the place she imagined she would be making her vows to Tommy. She held her hands out, imagining Tommy’s larger ones holding hers, probably giving them a squeeze when a happy tear fell down her cheek. She imagined them running back down the aisle and into the family car to be taken off who knows where.

She could also imagine taking their kids here and showing them where their parents promised forever to one another. Y/N let herself sit on the soft grass, letting the thoughts of family warm her. She couldn’t wait for the day Tommy held their first child and showed them all the love he could. Y/N knew whatever happened, Tommy would love that child with all his heart and soul. She let out a soft sigh as she let her thoughts pass through her. It wasn’t until the sun began to fall in the sky that she noticed Tommy was late. She took a peek at her watch and noticed hours had passed.

“The meeting must’ve run very long,” she thought, standing from the grass. That was when she heard a rustle. It was a small noise, almost like the sound of a shoe breaking a stick. But it was recognizable. Her head whipped to where the noise came from, but no one was there. Her shoulders unstiffened as she began to make her way back to her horse. That was when she hears another sound followed by the unmistakable timbre of a male voice. Her pace quicked to a jog as she went to her horse. That was when she noticed two men emerge from the woods. They were men she had never seen before. One was tall with a menacing look in his eye while the other was smaller and trailing behind his leader.

Y/N broke into a sprint, but the two men were quicker. She felt the smaller one grab her, holding her around her waist and pulling her arms around her back. She tried to let out a scream, but a rag was shoved in her mouth. That was when she heard a chuckle from the taller man.

“Well, well, we heard Tommy’s bird was beautiful, but that was truly an understatement.” She felt his hand trace along her jaw. He smelled like sweat. “I wonder what a sweet young girl like you is doing with a man like that.” His words were coated in a sickly sugary tone that made her spine shiver. She wanted to pull back, but that would mean leaning into the other man.

“She must be the priciest whore in Birmingham,” said the smaller one, pulling her arms even tighter behind her. A small squeak escaped her lips as the pain twinged in her shoulders.

“Maybe we should see if she’s worth her price.” His mouth was close to hers. His breath reeked of old fish. Y/N couldn’t help but flinch away. That was when she felt a fist make contact with her cheek.

“Don’t fucking move away from me, whore.” His words were venom. The tears were falling down her face. She knew there was nothing she could do to stop them. She could feel whimpers of fear escaping her mouth. She couldn’t stop them.

“What was that, love?” His voice was all condescension as he pulled the rag down from her mouth.

“W-why are you doing this?” She stuttered. This elicited a laugh from the taller man.

“Well, your Tommy has some debts that he owes the Shaws that he simply chooses not to pay back. And we do not work for free. It seems that we have to take our own payment.” Her eyes widened, and that was when her mind went blank. She would never remember whatever happened to her in that next hour. She didn’t want to remember. It wasn’t until she woke up in a hospital bed did she realize her nightmare was over.

Her eyes moved around the room, taking in her environment. That was when she saw him, Tommy. Her Tommy. The light of her life was dim, sitting on the edge of her bed. She shifted slightly, trying to readjust, but pain shot through her body. She let out a small whine as Tommy’s eyes shot to her.

“Nurse! She’s awake.” He screamed before coming to her side. His hands fell on both cheeks, “I thought I lost you.” The words came out as a hoarse whisper before he pulled her in. He tried his best to be gentle, but she couldn’t help the slight groan that escaped her lips as he brushed against her cuts and bruises.

“What happened?” She asked, knowing she didn’t want to know the answer. He pulled away, running a hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear.

He let out a sigh, “The business with Shaw’s gang? That was all a ruse. The whole point was to get revenge on me for a business deal gone bad.” That was when his eyes wandered away from hers, looking at the space beyond her shoulders. “They knew what mattered the most to me and decided that was the way to get payback. We didn’t realize what was happening until it was almost too late.” His words stopped, and he paused before continuing, “I got there when he had a gun in his hand, pointed right at you. I killed him, Y/N. I killed both of them. They’re dead. They can’t hurt you again.” That was when the tears began spilling from her eyes again. They wouldn’t stop. She buried her head in Tommy’s shoulder, letting her tears soak his jacket. Tommy’s arm moved around her waist, pulling her in.

“There is one more thing, too,” She looked up at Tommy, wiping her hand across her eyes.

“What, Tommy?” He let out a deep breath before running a hand through his hair.

“You were pregnant, but,” His words were caught in his throat but became free, “the baby’s gone.” Her limbs went cold at that, numb to everything.

“Y-you mean… we were going to have a baby?” The words came out as a whisper. Tommy nodded. There was silence between the two of them before Y/N crawled into his lap. She didn’t want to be anywhere else but sobbing in his arms. Right now, it was what she needed. He knew that too, letting a hand run down her back trying anyway to soothe his love. The tears ran for hours before she tired herself out. She didn’t realize she was dozing until the world began to darken, and Y/N swore she heard words she knew had to be from a dream.

“If it weren’t for me, you would be safe.” It had to be a dream. Tommy would never say that. She thought this before the world went dark.

When she woke, she was alone. And she was alone for many days after that. It wasn’t until Polly came that she knew Tommy meant the words he said.

She came bearing a comforting smile and a bouquet. Y/N’s body was finally beginning to heal, but her mind was still shattered.

“Polly, where’s Tommy?” Y/N didn’t even attempt the pleasantries. This woman had seen her grow up. There was no need.

Polly sat herself in the chair beside Y/N’s bed, staring at her toes as she tried to find the proper words. When she did, she looked up at Y/N, ready to break her world in half.

“Shaw’s body was found in The Cut. The police knew it was Tommy, and they told him he had a choice: prison or join the war effort-”

“War effort? Since when has there been a war effort?” Polly let out a sigh.

“A lot has happened since you’ve been here, love.” Y/N ran a hand through her hair.

“What did he choose, Pol?” But she already knew the answer.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

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@mysticwitchcraftco

@globetrotter28

@swordofawriter

@annesunlight

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hello-is-anyone-there · 8 months

Text

Vague Guide to Gothic Academia

Lebanon Hanover (totally not because they're my favorite to write to nooo)

Franz Gordon has some really beautiful piano pieces I highly recommend if you want more classical goth music

Danse Macabre

Hannibal Lector (NBC included)

Criminology

Law in general actually

Religious studies

Come on guys the catholic aesthetics are pulling through here

Victorian collars

Leather gloves

Menthols (this one is just a personal preference, don't smoke)

As much as I hate to say it, Schopenhauer and Roubiczek

I really dislike dark philosophy but it just lines up so well >:[

Moving on to something I like far more: Taxidermy

I'm thinking mostly bones or wet specimens

Normal taxidermy works too but I think it'd clash with dorm space

Leather, silk, and velvet are good staple textures in my opinion

Which does make this harder to style in the summer but tbf dark linens have such a nice flow

The moon, obviously

Astrophysics in general. The stars and the vast existentialism of space are such a good niche. Also I don't see as much STEM majors in these things as I'd like

I'm an arts man for sure, fucked up over literature and philosophy sure, but SCIENCE BRO

That shit is so dark especially going into death studies or psychology

Honestly being a doctor in general can fuck you up

Always smelling like a cadaver (perfume or otherwise...)

Long coats, heavy boots, ties, chains, trad and victorian goth gear both work here

I do like to lean more into dark academia visually with gothic academia, just because my wardrobe would have too much of the same shit going on

Dark sweaters, waist coats and corsets, well fitting suit pants, a well structured light colored blouse usually help balance out

Gothic academia in my opinion is balance between structure and loose chaos

Makeup can also be important for a look so I suggest, strong sharp contor, white accents and dark liner. A red/maroon lip is a good choice for dark makeup in general.

I got distracted by the visual elements woops

A lot of the staple dark academia books work really well

A good murder plot always helps

The Divine Comedies - Dante

The Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux

Carmilla - Sheridan Le Fanu

NIGHT CLASSES!!!

I can't believe I forgot that one

Getting drunk on Absinthe and red wine like a damn vampire

#okay im gonna end this here #maybe part 1 idk depends how much more i can come up with #gothic academia #dark academia #academic #light academia #dark academic #literature #dark academia aesthetic #darkest academia #transmasc #the secret history #romantic academia #gothic #gothic literature #goth music #vague guide to #goth aesthetic #goth

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humunanunga · 1 year

Text

So I looked it up, because of course the Holmes books aren't alone to enter the public domain this year, and Metropolis has too. So here's the list I found of creative works that are now public domain:

Books

— The Gangs of New York, by Herbert Asbury (original publication)

— Death Comes for the Archbishop, by Willa Cather

— The Big Four, by Agatha Christie

— The Tower Treasure, the first Hardy Boys mystery by the pseudonymous Franklin W. Dixon

— The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes, by Arthur Conan Doyle

— Copper Sun, by Countee Cullen

— Mosquitoes, by William Faulkner

— Men Without Women, by Ernest Hemingway

— Der Steppenwolf, by Herman Hesse (in German)

— Amerika, by Franz Kafka (in German)

— Now We Are Six, by A.A. Milne with illustrations from E.H. Shepard

— Le Temps retrouvé, by Marcel Proust (in French)

— Twilight Sleep, by Edith Wharton

— The Bridge of San Luis Rey, by Thornton Wilder

— To The Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf

Movies

— "7th Heaven," directed by Frank Borzage

— "The Battle of the Century," a Laurel and Hardy film directed by Clyde Bruckman

— "The Kid Brother," directed by Ted Wilde

— "The Jazz Singer," directed by Alan Crosland

— "The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog," directed by Alfred Hitchcock

— "Metropolis," directed by Fritz Lang

— "Sunrise," directed by F.W. Murnau

— "Upstream," directed by John Ford

— "Wings," directed by William A. Wellman

Musical compositions

— "Back Water Blues," "Preaching the Blues" and "Foolish Man Blues" (Bessie Smith)

— "The Best Things in Life Are Free," from the musical "Good News" (George Gard "Buddy" De Sylva, Lew Brown, Ray Henderson)

— "Billy Goat Stomp," "Hyena Stomp" and "Jungle Blues" (Ferdinand Joseph Morton)

— "Black and Tan Fantasy" and "East St. Louis Toodle-O" (Bub Miley, Duke Ellington)

— "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man" and "Ol' Man River," from the musical "Show Boat" (Oscar Hammerstein II, Jerome Kern)

— "Diane" (Erno Rapee, Lew Pollack)

— "Funny Face" and "'S Wonderful," from the musical "Funny Face" (Ira and George Gershwin)

— "(I Scream You Scream, We All Scream for) Ice Cream" (Howard Johnson, Billy Moll, Robert A. King)

— "Mississippi Mud" (Harry Barris, James Cavanaugh)

— "My Blue Heaven" (George Whiting, Walter Donaldson)

— "Potato Head Blues" and "Gully Low Blues" (Louis Armstrong)

— "Puttin' on the Ritz" (Irving Berlin)

— "Rusty Pail Blues," "Sloppy Water Blues" and "Soothin' Syrup Stomp" (Thomas Waller)

Source: https://www.voanews.com/a/public-domain-debuts-include-last-sherlock-holmes-work-/6898309.html

#sherlock holmes #public domain #news #january #january 2023 #2023 #psa #tldr #etc

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best-habsburg-monarch · 4 months

Text

Maria Theresa, Archduchess of Austria, Queen of Hungary, Croatia and Bohemia, etc. reigned 1740-1780

The empress who reformed the empire while having a ton of children at the same time.

Maximilian , Emperor of Mexico, reign: 1864-1867

The last emperor of Mexico who supported liberal reform against the desires of Mexican conservatives.

Propaganda under the cut:

Maria Theresa:

From anon:

- chucked into ruling at age 23. while pregnant

- no prep!!!! Prussia invades Silesia!!! Ministers fucking around for their own provincial interests instead of for the Whole !!!!! and she has to somehow cope with all of this ....

- ALL WHILE being pregnant with Joseph (II) and we know that guy was just as ornery in utero as he was irl

- she's everything! He (Francis) is just ....Ken.

- YAS QUEEN rediversify that gene pool

- originally reluctant to participate in the 1st partition of poland (who wants galicia let's be real)

Maximilian

From: anon

- He loved plants

- He was a sassy man

- He had good taste

- He learned Nahuatl

- He’s cute (I mean look at him)

- He said “gay rights”

- He banned child labour in Mexico

- He gave many rights back to indigenous people

- Bro was wronged by France (haven’t we all?)

- He’s baby

- Got executed, come on, give him this guys 🥺

- He loved to design gardens and collect insects which makes me think he would've loved playing animal crossing

- An outspoken liberal in a period where the monarchy was still quite conservative.

- Vice-Admiral of the Navy who initiated scientific projects and exploration.

- Aesthetic girlie. Collected flowers, painted, wrote poetry, and kept a journal. He would have loved Tumblr.

- (Probably) gay or bisexual.

- Allegedly slapped Franz Joseph for refusing to allow Lombardy to have an elective body.

- Sisi's favorite brother-in-law (and not in a romantic way, fuck you Netflix)

- Refused to take the Mexican crown until a plebiscite had been held because he wanted to be invited by the Mexican people.

- Gave up all of his Austrian titles to go to Mexico because he believed he had made a promise to them.

- Also, his wife was amazing and capable and the amount of pure misogyny that certain historians and biographers have thrown at her is ridiculous. I know this isn't a Carlota poll, but she'd want Max to win.

- Netflix did him unbelievably dirty. Please give him this.

Did you know my man Max repatriated many pieces of Mexica artefacts?

He told Austria to cough up 3 main things that he thought were rightfully Mexican.

1. The Chimalli

2. A codex

3. A letter from Cortez to the chocolate man people seem to call Charles

The Austrians took their time but eventually gave back something

The Chimalli next to max so people know who to thank for it

#best habsburg bracket #the final round everyone #we've got reformers facing off

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thesirencult · 1 year

Text

Pick A Card Reading : Soulmate/Forever Person/Future Spouse

(Flowers Of Romance Part 1)

Hello beautiful readers,

I decided to start a series of tarot readings that will be based on literature and specifically romance novels, poetry and letters.

Obviously this is copyrighted and if a fellow reader uses the same type of format or reposts my writing I would appreciate it if they tagged and credited me. Karma works both ways and copying someone else's work to gain a few likes and followers has its downside. I'll create a masterpost in a few days so you will be able to find all my readings into one place.

The series kicks of with quotes from "Letters To Milena" by Franz Kafka. A beautiful book that is a perfect read for the fall and winter season.

Novels keep great loves alive in their pages and even if the lovers ascend together to another level of consciousness their loving energy will forever be with us.

If you want a personal reading you can book one through direct messaging. I offer tarot readings and astrology ones (both birth charts and synastry). ONLY 15 SPOTS ARE AVAILABLE FOR TAROT AND 5 FOR ASTROLOGY ! THANK YOU GUYS 💖💖 Enjoy your reading ! It's for entertainment purposes and it's a general one, so feel free to apply everything to your own situation. Don't be shy ! Comment which pile/piles you chose 💞

Pile 1

Death, 10 Of Wands, 8 of wands

My dear,

Your soft voice echoes in the tunnels of my despair, disrupting the silence of loneliness and waking me up from the deathly sleep of emptiness. You are the light that woke me up from the slumber my love. I had lost all hope, letting go of myself into the abyss. I thought that no one would show up for me. That I was created here in this world as a mistake, without a twin soul. You're mine my beloved.

It's time to let me take the burdens off of your shoulders. I would do it all for you baby. I'll be your lover, your father, your brother, your friend. Everything for you. Will you accept me, a man beaten and bruised by fate, that you brought back to life ?

You broke the chains that held me back. When I say that I will do something I mean it. I can not wait to be with you. I'm insatiable.

Pile 2

The Magician, Knight of Cups

Babe,

Have you been good ? Because I'm extra naughty my love !

I know that I can be too aggressive and forward sometimes. My ego gets the best of me and that causes problems in our relationship. I feel it in my soul that I manifested you, like I did with everything in my life. I can be possessive and arrogant, but I swear I'll work on it for our sake.

I know I'm immature, but it's because I can not contain myself around you. You make me feel young again, like a small child in need of his favourite candy. I'm trying to romance you with flowers and chocolate and everything your heart desires but you're playing hard to get. I'll get you, I know I'll do baby. When time comes you'll be mine. I don't back down easily...

Pile 3

The Empress, The Moon, Justice

My Goddess,

Someone would think that you were made from fairy dust. Built by God as the epitome of woman. You're very feminine, kind, sensitive and watery. Your creative powers are immense and you can manifest everything your heart desires. Whatever your hands touch, turns to gold. You make me feel like a Good, because you're a Goddess. I'll worship you as a one, my sacred love.

You're like the moon. Always changeable and fertile with ideas. You have your moments,good and bad, but I still love you and adore you through everything. Your intuition is always on point. Wise yet fresh and innocent. You awoke primal instincts within me. We can not escape time my Goddess. We are bound by it. But I'm beginning to wonder, why does time seem to slow down whenever you caress me and when you let my lips touch yours, the lips of a goddess.

Sometimes I wonder if I deserve you. Do I deserve the love of a Goddess ? Always and forever yours. Yours. Yours and only yours...

Pile 4

Ace Of Swords, 2 Of Wands, Queen Of Wands

Dear Soulmate,

When I saw you, it was the first time I saw clearly. My eyes opened to your beauty and love. The blindfold was lifted and now I see. I see the clear light blue colour of the skies and hear the birds sing. You opened up my eyes to new horizons and unknown magical lands.

I finally made the choice to leap into your fountain of love. I made the choice to anchor my heart into the bottom of your deep wild oceans. I long to live with you by the sea, to honour your beautiful and gentle soul. Because, for all the sights I've seen and all the journeys I've taken around the world, our journey and you, my partner, I'll never grow tired of.

You're warm and vibrant like the sun. You keep my heart warm in the cold winters. You keep me alive my love.

Yet I feel that if I dared to fly too close to you I would get burned. The problem is that I'll be honoured to die by your scorching love.

Pile 5

The Star, Ace Of Pentacles , The Hermit

My little star,

You're so enchanting, like you came out of a fairytale. Your smile, your lips, your hair, your beautiful elegant fingers. I love kissing your petite knuckles and nuzzle my face on top of your head. You're so talented and beautiful. My lucky star. I admire you a lot. I love your magical aura.

I want to offer you the world and even though it seems like I'm promising a lot, I mean it. From the first moment I saw you I tried to hold back my feelings, to calm down and take things slowly so we could build a strong foundation.

You're a mirage. I dream of you and I have visions of those beautiful eyes. My beloved little star, you shine so bright in the darkness of the world. You're so unique.

I know that we have to take some time apart to grow separately. Don't feel lonely, I'm right here looking at the night sky, wishing and dreaming for a love like yours. I'll wrap you up in a blanket made from stardust.

Remember, every single time you look up at the sky, either at the moon and the stars or at the bright sun, I'll be there, under the same sky looking up as you do.

#pac reading #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #tarot reading #future spouse #pick a photo #pick a picture #soulmate #astrology #twinflame #manifesting #loassumption #franz kafka #letters to milena #literature #specific person #future love

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asagirisfavoritepen · 4 months

Text

So, I have another theory.

What's Asagiri's name? Kafka. Who else is Kafka? Franz Kafka. And who's this Franz? A writer. He's mostly known for the book "The Metamorphosis". Metamorphosis means change, right? And what can THE BOOK do? Change the reality.

So, in the Metamorphosis is told the story if a young man who suddenly transformed into a bug. His family tries to help him come back to normal and even give him food he would like in the new body, like rotten cheese. But after around a year the bug/guy overheard a conversation between his parents and sister. They all said they hated him and that they didn't need him anymore, so the guy/bug died from depression in a day. (This is a very short summary, I skipped over a lot of details)

The idea of the story is that one's change will change the whole world. And that's exactly what the book does. Changes the world.

So, according to my theory, the book is the ability Metamorphosis.

Now, about the author/character. He meets the criteria to be a BSD character. Dead, depressed, daddy issues (this is only half joke), religion trauma (kinda) and so on. He was a fan of Dostoievsky's and Gogol's work. So he could easily be a BSD character.

But this book doesn't exactly seem the kind of ability the good guys have, does it? So I think Kafka is a villain. If you may, the last antagonist they will fight. So I made some research to find ties between him and Atsushi Nakajima, because as mentioned in the Guild arc, Atsushi is the only one who could find the book. Turns out that Nakajima was a fan of Kafka and translated his works in Japanese. And not only that. The story Atsushi's ability is based on is about a guy who transformed into a tiger because he's very frustrated because of his poems that don't seem to work. I haven't read this one, but from what I've seen online it's very similar to the Metamorphosis. And this is why he'll be the only one able to find the book.

As we all noticed, usually the relationship between two characters is the opposite of the author's relationship (e.g: irl Ranpo was a huge fan of irl Poe, BSD Poe is a huge fan of BSD Ranpo, irl Yosano loved irl Mori, BSD Yosano hates BSD Mori). So, based on this, I would say that Kafka will most definitely be a villain.

The thing is, why would Asagiri choose to have the pen name of the ultimate villain?

Because the BSD story is supposed to be a world made by the book and Franz Kafka is Asagiri Kafka.

In conclusion: Franz/Asagiri Kafka will be the last antagonist of the series. His ability, the book, is Metamorphosis. And I'm delusional.

This could be wrong. After all, it's a theory. But let me know what you think, because I'm really curious.

#bungou stray dogs #atsushi nakajima #franz kafka #kafka asagiri #anime and manga #theory #dazai osamu #yosano akiko #bsd atsushi #ranpo edogawa #edgar allen poe bsd #mori ougai #delulu fan

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