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silverskye13 · 1 month

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Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏

There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.

To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.

It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.

Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.

Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]

An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]

Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.

[He knows I'm here.]

Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.

Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.

Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.

Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...

[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]

[Gods... But it hurts......]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]

Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.

[... It hurts...]

[Gods and saints it hurts.]

[I'm dying.]

A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.

"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."

Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.

"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."

Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."

"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."

Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."

"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."

"How... charitable."

"It is a virtue."

"Sure."

Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.

[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]

"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."

"Too prideful?"

Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.

"No."

"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."

Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I don't have any kindness for people like you."

[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]

Have ye no routhe on my child?

There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.

As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."

The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.

[I'm dying.]

[Breathe.]

[I'm dying.]

A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.

"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.

"I was... walking home."

"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.

"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."

"Hubris."

"Habit."

"Yeah right."

"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."

Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.

[Breathe.]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]

"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."

"What?"

"Stupid poem."

"How much blood have you lost?"

Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.

"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.

It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.

"Your heart's too fast."

"That happens."

Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.

"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]

Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.

"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"

"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."

"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."

"... they."

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]

"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"

Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.

"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"

That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.

"I would help."

"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.

"I... can't lie."

"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"

"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.

"Why?"

"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."

"That's not a tenet."

"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."

"It does not."

"It might as well."

Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.

"What is routhe?"

Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"

"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."

"As in?"

"Poetry."

"Use it in a sentence."

"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"

"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."

"Merciless."

"Yes."

Why have you no mercy on my child?

"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"

Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."

"Can I hear it?"

"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."

"Tell me and I'll heal you."

There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.

Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.

"Do what you will."

An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.

Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.

"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."

"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.

"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.

"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."

"... I see."

"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."

"Right... manageable."

Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.

Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."

Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.

"What are you so scared of?"

Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.

"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."

Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.

[As it should be.]

Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:

Why have you no mercy on my child?

Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;

Take down the road my dearworth child,

O give me a road with my darling!

More pain to me could not be done

Than to let me live in sorrow and shame

As with love I am bound to my son,

So let us die then, both the same.

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anjelicawrites · 6 months

Text

Fun to be had

Paring: Michael Gavey x reader

Synopsis: you’re studying alone on a Friday night, and decide to, finally, face the weird guy following you. Fun ensues.

Warnings: dry humping in public (in a library), almost getting caught, kissing, biting, scratching, Michael’s accidental stalkerish behaviour.

A/N: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, they/them pronouns used.

It’s Friday night and you should be out, getting drunk at the pub or dancing your arse off at the club, instead, you are at the library, different editions of the same poem opened in front of your face, not because you are cramming for a paper, but because you don’t feel like having to deal with people, irritated as you are with life now.

You have those days where you don’t feel like being sociable, instead, you have this need to live through the words of others, pouring over different editions of the same work, until you are satisfied with the results of your own translation. This specific Friday is one of those days, and you are elated that the library is empty, or almost.

You are not truly alone, hidden in this corner because, sitting at the other table of this little nook, there’s a guy.

You are almost positive his name is Michael, Michael something, mathematical genius and nerd at the end of the social hierarchy. The guy who has been following you, changing his sitting place every single time you did in the past few weeks.

You didn’t see it at the start, with the library always packed you started sitting wherever you could find a free spot and thought nothing when he did the same, you didn’t even noticed him!

You realized when you started studying late in the evening.

With the library half empty, this Michael guy could have picked any spot, every single time, instead he kept sitting at a table next to yours, always with a good vantage point. Yet, you kept telling yourself that maybe he just didn’t want to sit somewhere alone in a place which becomes creepy at night time, nothing to truly see here, but, but… If you have to be blunt about it, he doesn’t give you the idea of a chap who is afraid of being alone; if he is who you think he is, then having no friends it’s his norm.

You could have left it at that, forget about the whole thing, but you are curious, far more than what’s healthy for you, so you concocted a plan, quite stupid really, to gauge his reaction. You partner in crime, albeit without knowing it, had been you friend Ellie, who was studying for a chemistry exam, quite complicated and hard to pass. One night you two were studying and she was getting more and more frustrated, you decided to act.

“So.” You asked her. “What do you think about science?”

“Fuck science!” Right on cue she gives you the answer you need.

Staring in the direction of Michael you said loud and clear.

“Yeah, fuck science indeed” right the second he was looking at you.

It might have been a random coincidence, but he became bolder after your little experiment, his eyes not leaving yours whenever you stared up from the books and even changing tables, whenever a spot nearer yours was freed, and he was already sitting somewhere else, as if he wanted you to know what he was doing.

But what was that he was hoping to achieve by acting like a stalker?

You lift your head and there he is, seemingly engrossed in his own work, glasses low on his long nose and the irritation you’ve felt all day spikes up, red and warm in your belly and you know you shouldn’t do a single thing, but pack your stuff and go back to your dorm, you know you should, yet you stare at him again and he’s looking at you, unabashedly, with that pretentious smile on his face and you throw all your good intentions out of the window.

You stand up, the old chair scraping on the floor and march towards him. He looks startled and huffs in surprise when you straddle his legs and pop his thick glasses up his head.

“I think it’s time we greet one another properly, don’t you think? You’ve been following me around, after all!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

In his panic he tries to slide you off himself, but your ground yourself against his body, your hands grabbing the backrest of his chair, forgetting that you are wearing a skirt tonight.

“Care to tell me why you’re acting like a stalker?”

“I’m not a stalker!” He seems to have managed to grasp control back, the mask of surprise gone from his face. “Get off me!”

“I will, when you’ll tell me the truth!”

Michael had noticed you during a sunny afternoon in the library.

He was slaving over some physics homework, more boring than hard for him and he had let his eyes wander, just to distract himself for a moment.

You were sitting at his same table, facing him and a bit on his right side; you had a fortress of books around you and were furiously taking notes, that’s what had made him stop his gaze: how hard you were studying.

Michael knows many people come to the library as a mean to see and be seen by their peer, others truly try to work and can’t hold their focus for too long you, on the other end, didn’t look like the kind of person who would truly work their arse off so early in the semester, yet there you were, making use of the ridiculous amount of colorful post – it notes in your possession. He had snickered when noticing the animal themed stationery you were using and but hey! You shouldn't judge the book from his cover, right?

Almost absentmindedly, he had started looking for you, when at the library, just to see if he was right in his early observation, and you kept surprising him with the way you would single – mindedly concentrate on your work.

One afternoon, it was very late and most people were already gone, he had taken a peak at your notes, while you were looking for another book, curious to know what you were studying with such a passion and discovered it had to do with linguistics. He had no idea what your coursework talked about, but a quick look at your scrambled handwriting, revealed him a smart mind. This was his tipping point, when he had decided that he wanted to get to know you, if only he had the slightest idea how to!

He had never thought that, casually, sitting nearby you would have been stalkerish, it’s just that he doesn’t know how to start a conversation with you, he’s not that kind of guy! If you were in one of his courses, he would have found a way to get to know you better, but you don’t, and you pay your fellow students no mind, when you are at the library. What’s a guy to do but keep an eye on you, waiting for the right moment to act?

After the whole ‘Fuck science’ shenanigans, he had thought you must have caught wind of what he was doing and maybe you would have started something yourself, but you didn’t. Until tonight.

You realize how embarrassing your position is, when his hands fly on your hips to still your movements, and you register his hardening cock against your wet pussy (and when did that happen?)

“Are you done?” He asks, piercing eyes fixated on yours. “I’m Michael, since you wanted to greet me properly. What’s your name?”

You stare at him dumbly. What have you just done?

His hands curl on the meat of your hips and you yelp in surprise. You need to abort this mission, immediately, but now he’s the one who’s not letting you go.

“So?” He says mockingly. “You were in such a hurry to invade my space, and now you’re acting shy?”

He is well aware of how ridiculous the whole setup is, that he should let go, but you are staring at him with wide, surprised eyes, that he can’t help himself and see how far you’ll let him go.

“Talking big from the guy who’s been stalking me for weeks!”

You’re desperately trying to find your footing again; what the hell were you thinking?

“I wasn’t stalking you! You’re truly hard to know!”

“What?”

You need to check your bearings for a second: when did you fall in a Beckett play?

“I just said that you are hard to know.”

“And you thought that… whatever that was, was an actual good idea? Aren’t you supposed to be the smart guy?”

“You are acting dumb yourself, love, straddling your supposed stalker like that!”

The whole situation is so surreal, that the two of you stare at one another, and start laughing, until you are both breathless, and your faces are incredibly close.

He is pretty, extremely so, long eyelashes and high cheekbones, a beautiful, kissable mouth when it’s not curled in his signature, mocking smile. His eyes are slightly unfocused, the brilliant blue losing against the expanding pupil. And he is so warm, his hands on your hips clench and unclench, following the fast rhythm of his breathing.

You hadn’t realize how handsome he is and now he is taking your breath away.

He licks his dry lips and you can’t help but follow the motion, imagining how his tongue would feel against your cunt. Without you even noticing, your hips start moving again against the rough material of his jeans, your lips hovering over his, his hands pushing your closer against his hard cock, you two moan, lips almost touching and he decides to take the matter in his own hands.

Grabbing your nape, he pulls your face towards his, tongue entering your parted mouth without asking for permission, seeking your clumsily, and you let him take the wheel.

He’s desperate in the way he is kissing you, no finesse or control, just his mouth slanted against yours, his tongue fucking your throat and his hands in your hair to keep you where he wants you. You’ve been kissed better, but never with such a passion and need. You can barely breath, your body crushed against his, and you don’t care.

You are both breathless when your lips part, a thin line of spit connecting the two of you.

“Please, tell me you have a condom.” You beg, your forehead finding home against his.

“I don’t. I’ve never -”

The embarrassment in his voice stops you.

Oh Christ on a bike, you think, oh fuck. This, you didn’t expect. Not that you’re an expert yourself, only having a past relationship to account for, but your ex hadn’t been a virgin, you were.

“I’m sorry.” You say, trying to dismount, to no avail, his hands are like manacles on your hips.

“Stay.”

The way he says it, he’s not begging you, he’s telling you what to do and you feel it in your cunt, molten heath growing there, expanding in your tummy, turning your legs into jelly.

“I’m not going to have unprotected sex.”

Michael cocks his head to the side, his eyes dark with need.

Never, not even in his wildest dreams, he had imagined to find himself in this position. If he’s not going to have sex with you, and he will not without a condom, he’s not stupid, he still wants to quench the thirst he sees in your eyes and feels in his own loins.

“Me neither.” He pushes you downward against his painfully hard cock, the friction delicious and cruel.

You hide a moan against his neck, your lips landing where his pulse is, sucking the sweaty skin with desperation. You start canting your hips again against the rough material of his jeans, his hands helping you find the right angle against his erection, pain and pleasure take possession of your body, your lips desperate on his, your teeth biting his lower lip and he forces you even tighter against his crotch and it hurts, the pleasure burns your skin when he grinds your hips, your clit feeling the brunt of his punishment even through the layers your are wearing. Your hands grab his hair and his hide under your skirt, his long fingers grabbing your ass, squeezing hard, nails catching in worn fabric: he needs you, needs to become one with you.

He whimpers when you bite his shoulder through his sweater, one hand finds its way under your jumper and rakes down your back, you whimper, so close, so close.

Your orgasm shatters you, your teeth biting Michael’s shoulder harder and deeper as he keeps rutting against you; you want to tell him it’s too much but he’s making delicious sounds, half strangled moans of pleasure that inflame your body again, a smaller orgasm hitting you when he comes, his face hidden against your neck.

“Is anyone there?”

The haziness of pleasure is broken the second you hear footsteps heading in your direction, and panic follows.

Mrs Daniels, the librarian pokes her head in the small alcove at the far end of the library.

“Sorry to interrupt you.” She says. “Did you hear strange sounds just now?”

The two students stare owlishly at her: poor kids must be studying their arses off. They look like they’ve just ran a marathon, hair sticking at weird angles, and the boy’s cheeks are apple red. Youngsters these days!

“No. We were having a chat, a little break.” Says the one behind a huge row of books.

“Yeah, we were just chatting.” Adds the one she thinks is named Michael, with a smile she can’t truly decipher.

“Oh well, I must have been mistaken then, there’s only the two of you around at this point. Goodnight then.”

The second you two are positive the older woman is far away enough, you two start laughing, barely hiding your guffaws behind your hands.

“Well.” You manage to finally say. “That was close!”

You try not to feel embarrassed when your eyes land on Michael, whose stare is piercing behind his thick glasses.

“Yeah. And I still don’t know your name.”

Heath pools in your lower tummy at the way his voice is low and raspy, desire clear in the way he rakes his eyes down your body.

“You can always come by my dorm and find out.”

Christ, the way Michael’s lips curve, tells you he’s going to discover more than your name tonight.

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x y/n

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nicromancytarot · 6 days

Text

A POEM FROM YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I do not charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I get for the readings, but I pull like 15-20 cards each reading and that is just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD READING

I asked my spirit guides what your future spouse would say to you if they were to write you a poem and used my intuition to write it for you. Pick a picture to find out what they would like to say.

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

Time is an essence granted to those who wait,

Some people have impatience,

Some people worry it’ll come late,

The ones who sit in anticipation trying to speed up the clock,

Are the ones who work in antique shops,

The people who collect the cogs,

Because changing the time on the clock won’t make the stars falter in response,

Even when the hands strike the numbers

where you want it to stop

Because time is an essence granted to those who wait,

For you I cannot count the seconds on my watch,

For I worry that I will lose touch,

As you are not here when I want you to be,

And I cannot speed up the clock,

But when I record the time that I must wait for you to be in my arms,

The beats of my heart are in tune with yours,

And I know it’s worth the chance

PILE 2

The moon is known to have two faces,

and I worry that I do too,

Although I know about the possibility,

I wish not to show them to you,

Will you be scared when you see my shadows?

Will you run away in fear,

if I show you every side of me,

My two faces,

The parts of me I choose to keep within

Tell me a lie and I promise I’ll trust you,

I won’t question your authenticity,

For I don’t believe that you would appear a liar to me,

without a reason to be,

Would you question me too if I was to tell to you anything but the truth?

The moon has two faces and I do too,

but I forbid my shadows to ever harm you

PILE 3

Rainbows are caused by the sun and the rain,

A chemical reaction in the sky,

And although the shower are downfall tears,

I am glad that they’re not mine,

If something negative can create such a beauty,

Then why can’t you and I?

We may not be the perfect pair,

But I’m prepared to give it a try

Ignore the opinions,

And don’t acknowledge the stares,

They’re jealous that you are mine,

Perhaps they think we’re a colossal disaster,

But they are as stupid as they are blind,

Hold out your hand and walk with me,

We’ll give them something to find,

The red carpet paints the floor,

They grant you your time to shine

#tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #free tarot #tarot witch #tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a pile

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sukunastoy · 6 months

Text

There’s really no plot to this, just writing as I randomly thought about a scenario. I have such a soft spot for Heian Era Sukuna that takes a wife without the intention of love but slowly grows fond of them.

Cw/Tw: No smut/not suggestive. Gender neutral reader. Forced marriage. Very brief death of no one important.

WC: 1.6k+

Thinking of Heian Era Sukuna, and you being forced to marry him. It's a cruel act to your parents who had pissed him off by hunting and harvesting berries on his land. In their defense, they weren't aware that Sukunas personal territory spread so far, but it made no difference in the end. As you were preparing breakfast for your parents the next morning, the king showed up in your village.

You weren't even able to finish cooking, you were to go with him, immediately. Your parents had begged and apologized, but the King took what he wanted, when he wanted it.

You followed dutifully, knowing resisting would only get you killed, and possibly your parents as well. Sukuna planned to only keep you for a few weeks, just to let your parents wallow in misery. You were confined to a room with nothing more than a place to sleep, and a small desk with a candle.

The weeks passed slowly, and you rarely saw the King. His right had servant, Uraume, would bring yon food and water daily, and a small bucket of warm water and a cloth to clean yourself. Otherwise, you were alone.

It was sad, and frightening, as you weren't sure of his intentions. But, despite having a window in your room, you never thought about running away. Unfortunately, someone tried to "rescue" you. They snuck into your window one night, thinking they would be able to get you out of there. When you refused to go, and begged they leave, it was still all too late. Sukuna was well aware someone was lurking near his home, and he entered your room quickly, catching your failed rescuer.

Sukuna dragged you and the now dead body of your would be savior back to your village.

He threw their mangled body at the feet of your parents, and declared in the moment you would be married to him and remain with him forever. Since they wanted to play stupid games, they'd receive stupid prizes. You'd be included into his collection of wives and concubines, cutting you off from your parents.

Your parents wailed and pleaded for his mercy, but you knew there was no way out of this. The king claimed you as his wife in-front of your village, and the two of you drank sake from the same cup, sealing this abrupt arrangement.

You left with him once more, only this time as one of his declared wives.

Back to the room you went. Though, you were told you may come out if you wanted to. But not to leave the property. You passed time by working on your calligraphy and poems, and even learning to properly sew. Sukuna never made appearances to you, and though you were grateful that he wasn't going to abuse you in some way, it was, rather unfortunately, very lonely.

You asked Uraume one day about his other wives, if they lived here too. To your surprise, they didn't. In fact, most of them had been killed off or sent away to slavery villages. Sukuna merely punished those who wronged him by taking away their offspring in one way or another. He'd claim them as one of his brides just to degrade the family name, and to cease their bloodline.

So you waited, waited for when the King would eventually dispose of you. What more could you do?

However, while you took a small walk through his expansive home one afternoon, you crossed paths with him.

You immediately went to the floor in a submissive bow, asking your husband forgiveness if you've gotten in his way or disturbed him. He told you to rise from the ground, and to just carry on as you were. Before he could get far, you called out for him in a cracked voice, asking if you could accompany him for at least a little while. Even if he only let you near him for a few minutes, you'd be okay with that.

He stopped while looking back to you, a curious expression on his face.

When he gestured with his chin for you to come along, you happily did so, hurrying to his side. The two of you walked along in silence, but some form of relief washed over you. Sitting alone in that room or just roaming the home without any interaction was causing immense stress in your heart. In the village, you had multiple interactions daily, and now, you rarely saw anyone else. Apart form Uraume, or some maids, who weren't allowed to really talk to you anyway.

Passing near your room, you stopped and bowed to your husband, expressing your gratitude for being at his side even if it was only a moment.

The next day, you found yourself encountering him in the hall again, and same as before, you were allowed to be in his presence.

This continued for a couple of weeks, before Sukuna met you at your room for the first time. It made you nervous, for some reason. But you stepped aside of course and he came into your room, looking around with a small glimpse of interest.

"Your calligraphy is very elegant and refined." He commented, looking down to your small spread of papers along the desk. You bowed immediately at his praise, thanking him. His voice and tone seemed so much different now, compared to when he took you from your home. It was calm and gentle.

One of the nights, a particularly bad storm tore you out of your sleep. You went out into the hall with a small candle, in search of someone to not be alone.

As you passed the doorway to the garden and balcony, you spotted someone outside.

It was your king. He was seated beneath the covered area, just relaxing and watching the rolling and flashing sky. Before you could even say anything, Sukuna patted the wooded planks next to him, briefly looking back to you.

You ducked your head in a quick bow and went to his side, kneeling down in the presence of your King.

He leaned back while putting his kiseru to his lips, inhaling slowly. With every clash of thunder, your body trembled and you subconsciously moved closer to Sukuna.

"The storm bothers you?"

"Yes, I've never enjoyed them." You spoke honestly, wincing at another bright flash of lightening.

One of Sukunas hands came to your side, pulling you more against him so you didn't have to worry if you were allowed to or not. You glanced up to him in shock, but he paid no attention to it. With a grateful smile, you rested your head against him, feeling more at ease that you weren't alone during the storm. The covering over the balcony went out far enough to keep the rain off of both of you, so you could sit comfortably.

These small interactions went on for a while, and each time it stormed, you found your king out on the balcony. He had even began bringing a small cushion for you to sit upon while next to him, anticipating your arrivals. It became something you looked forward to. Storms couldn't happen quick enough.

You never doubted his ability to be a monster however, just because he was being gentle to you in these moments. It was very clear he enjoyed doing horrendous things to those that irritated him. But you felt like you could relax a little, knowing you weren't someone getting on his nerves.

When the cold months arrived, your king still sat outside to relax on occasion, and you found yourself staying inside more, unable to handle the chilly temperatures. In the middle of the nights, you'd stay in the kitchen for a while, soaking up the warmth from the irori so you could get to sleep. But it was difficult...

With your village, a few families would bundle together in a larger home, and everyone would sleep next to each other for body heat. The kitchen irori would keep you warm, but once you had to go back to your room, the cold quickly found its way into your bones again.

Passing back to your room from the kitchen, your King was stepping in from the outside. You immediately bowed down in his presence, though visibly shaking from the cold.

A soft chuckle made you lift your head, and you saw him gesture with his hand to follow. He took you into his personal chambers, and you felt out of place for being in here, as only Uraume was allowed in to clean.

He had his own irori in the middle of his room, and it made it so warm and cozy inside.

You sighed out quietly as your body adjusted, feeling at ease from the warmth.

Sukuna leaned down to his bed, moving the blankets aside before motioning you over without words. For once, you had a moment of hesitation, worried what he was wanting. The two of you rarely spoke, and apart from him letting you be against him outside during a storm, you never touched. You swallowed your fears, and went to him as he expected.

He laid down on the cushions and pillows, seeming to save a spot next to him for you. You crawled into the space besides him, shuddering even more when you felt the heat from his body mix with your colder one.

One of his arms came around you, and pulled you closer, making you gulp.

"Relax." He said finally, pulling the blankets over both of your bodies.

"I'm just...I'm not sure what to do."

"You don't have to do anything. Just sleep." He reassured, caressing your back gently while closing his eyes.

You looked at him fondly, a small smile taking over your lips as you cuddled closer to him. His scent was so amazing, almost intoxicating actually. You nuzzled into his warm chest, so honored that the King was allowing such a thing. It certainly didn’t take you long to fall asleep after that, feeling safe and warm against the monster that was your husband.

#sukuna jjk #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sukuna fluff #heian era

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catiuskaa · 2 months

Text

new task: valentine’s day.

PAIRING! seungmin x reader ; enemies/rivals2lovers!

SUMMARY: boring classes, boring classmates, boring assignments…to seungmin, everyone is boring even if he’s used to pretend otherwise, but you seem to get on his nerves. you, your stupid poem, and his stupid letter.

WC: 10.6k (OH MY FUCKING GOD)

CW: it’s like fluffy comfort because I say so, kim seungmin supremacy (YES), use of spanglish (just on the text messages bc yes, it’s not relevant to the plot, dw), use of text format for plot convenience (and a whole bunch of emojis and colors), the reader is stupidly short (which i know all about), use of cliché valentine and enemies2lovers tropes (BECAUSE THEY ARE FUN AND THEY WORK), academic rivals (we love to see it), bad student reader x good student seungmin (like bad/mean girl x good boy ish), mentions of the unability to deal with complicated feelings, mentions of masking feelings, slight hint of bullying?, mentions of being followed, use of (pet)names because I don’t like using ‘y/n’: little one, shortie, shortcake, smallable, pretty, (yes i’m just petty like that, sue me), hyunjin as a walking therapist, and the ending is almost a reference to a show i'm obsessed with (not gonna say it so i don't spoil it for you guys hehehe)

SPECIAL THANKS! To my lovely pookies @lyramundana and @tonks-21 for ideas and support, plus also, most of the classmate’s names are thanks to gorgeous gourgeous @stayconnecteed and her spanishverse series bc i’m so invested! Go check all of their blogs out! 100% recommend. son mis chicas españolitas, hehe<3

A/N: alone on valentine’s day? same for me, pookie! but dontchu worry, mister kim seungmin is here to help us out<3 (and if not, we can always help each other😚🫶)

[☆★🌷★☆]

{PROLOGUE: THE GROUPCHAT}

At first, you didn’t really know him.

To think for a second that there was a time where you didn’t know who he was made you sigh. Oh, how you wish you had never, ever encountered him.

…Kim Seungmin.

Some may say that ‘rivals’ or ‘enemies’ is a term that could seem too intense regarding a simple statement: that you two didn’t get along.

But no. Because those kind of words were exactly how you’d define your relationship.

And it had all started the first day of your last year before graduating. When you made the class groupchat.

> you created ‘Year 13-A 😼😼’

> you added ‘lucas🤺’ ‘atenea🛐’ ‘noa🫶’ and 16 more.

> you: guys help, am I missing people?

> you: @ atenea🛐 told me to create this group for homework n stuff but idk if I have everyone’s numbers 😵‍💫😵‍💫

< noa🫶: tía you’re missing two people no?

< lara💋: hala, new people?? 👀

< noa🫶: pero- they’re literally from the other group, girl

< abril🌻: you even know them lara

< abril🌻: se te va la pinza JAJSJA

< miguel📚: sí, there should be 22 people (creo)

> you: oh right, Lix told me!

> you: yeah i’ll add them now, brb 🏃‍♀️

Well.

Rookie mistake.

> you added ‘kim seungmin™️’, ‘hyunjin🎨’

> you: omg i even added everyone

< lucas🤺: omg omg

< kim seungmin™️: omg omg so crazyy

You rolled your eyes, smiling slightly as you texted. But that was just because you hadn’t talked to him before.

Now was a different story, of course. You wouldn’t smile, not for Kim Seungmin.

> you: @ kim seungmin™️ what was crazy is how difficult it was finding someone who had your phone number, lol

< han(gry)🐿️🎙️: fr fr omg

< lucas🤺: que es omg

< lucas🤺: ‘oh me gustas’ ? omg?

< lara💋: you’re such an idiot, asshole

< lucas🤺: ohhh you love me so bad 😌😌😌

< isabel🌸: she knows better lol

< lucas🤺: dude, you’re my sister

< lucas🤺: shouldn’t you be backing me?

< isabel🌸: there’s a fee for that, dude.

You giggled at the stupid teasing, used to your mates’ shenanigans that never ceased to make you laugh.

But then, he replied.

< kim seungmin™️: @ you the only difficult thing here is you reaching graduation

…

Your smile faded.

You read that once more. Then again. And another time.

You chuckled dryly.

What was this guy on about?

> you: ah? wdym?

You remember thinking that maybe he was joking. That maybe he was someone who talked to people with a lot of harsh remarks without really meaning them. That maybe he was trying to be funny, or something.

Other texts showed up, but Kim Seungmin —named like so in the contact Felix had shared to you— wasn’t replying.

< minho🐈: guys wtf it’s 00:12

< lucas🤺: oh he uses the other clock

< lucas🤺: so its am-pm for us but not for you

< lucas🤺: think you’re special? wanna fight?

< noa🫶: lucas just shut up and go to bed

< han(gry)🐿️🎙️: damn right 🛌🛌🛌

< miguel📚: guys, stop texting 😓

> you: yeah guys lol

< minho🐈: no u started this

< minho🐈: u shush

You snickered softly, used to Minho’s humour, quickly playing along.

> you: ?! unfair ☝️🤓

< kim seungmin™️: no, minho’s right for once

< kim seungmin™️: you should shush

< kim seungmin™️: you’re less annoying when you’re quiet

You frowned at your phone, your face contorted in angry confussion.

Who did this guys think he was?

With a huff, you typed a rapid “gtg guys!”, ignoring Seungmin’s texts, and quickly settled your phone back on your pocket, getting off the bus and finally arriving home.

You groaned, the text that that Seungmin idiot had sent still rolling in your head even after you laid in bed. You passed your hands through your hair.

“Difficult to reach graduation?” You mumbled, eyes fixated ln the chatroom the sentence feeling like acid in your mouth.

Kim Seungmin wasn’t ready for how difficult his last year was going to be, solely for his stupid text message.

[☆★🌷★☆]

{ACT 1: NOT A LOVEFOOL… YET}

To be in the same class group than him was slightly tolerable.

Is what you’d like to say if you were in a good mood. But it wasn’t the case.

You were mad. As fuck.

“I just need you to give it a chance,” Miss Fernández stated once more, and you had to hold back to not roll your eyes at her.

“But Miss. I know that this subject is difficult and that he could, uh, help me out with the project,” you muttered reluctantly, because on normal circumstances, you wouldn’t go as far as to let Kim Seungmin help you with chemistry. Not ever.

You weren’t in need of help that desperatly.

And that was a fact, not a matter of ifs, buts, or maybes. That was an absolute. Something that lovely-yet-not-so-much teacher Lucía Fernández, spanish accent and all, was not getting.

“Listen. We both know that your grade is the best I can offer considering your behaviour in my class, despite of your average knowledge of the subject. And in this case, I am offering to set that aside if you work on these following assignments with your classmate Seungmin.”

Her harsh tone was also an absolute, and that made you clench your jaw. You blamed Lucas for her attitude towards you —after all, that one accident with a Bunsen Burner had been mostly his fault—, but you breathed in, trying to offer your most pity-inducing grin.

Judging by her glare, it wasn’t working.

“Miss, I—”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t look like she was. “It’s my last word. And I think that after coming three days to my office on each of your free periods, this is getting a bit tiring.” She sighed, adjusting her glasses by a soft push of her finger.

Nope. She definetely wasn’t sorry.

Witholding a groan you left her office, and huffed as the door closed behind you, swiftly heading to meet your group of friends when they got out of their Biology lesson in other building within the school grounds.

It was a chilly evening, maybe not too much from what one could expect for the first week of February, still one that made you hide your face in your scarf and you hands in your jacket pockets.

You settled your headphones where they belonged, humming to the music to hold back the need to rant and rave against your chemistry teacher, when your phone dinged.

< henry li🫧: everything ok? saw you in lucifer’s office rn

< henry li🫧: did you do smth again? you cheekyyy 🙊

You gingerly laughed, and started typing out your answer, when, out of nowhere, you bumped against someone, making all of the books that they were carrying fall down of their grasp.

You pursed your lips, then pressed them in a thin line. Staring at their— his back, you saw that his backpack was almost empty. Why the fuck would he carry all of his books on his hands then?

The guy had quickly bent down to get his books back, and you followed too, taking your headphones off and quickly trying to prevent the papers from getting wet because of the floor, that was damp from the rain before, when your hands softly brushed against each other, still, you forced yourself to ignore it.

“I’m so…” the word dissapeared in your mouth.

“It’s ok, don’t… oh.” He blinked, his face showing nothing. For fuck’s sake.

Why did it always have to be him?

He swiftly took all of the things from you, as if your touch could be worse than the wet floor. You frowned, feeling a cold shiver trail up your spine, and you crossed your arms in front of you, struggling to seek some warmth.

“Watch it, little one.” He mocked with a light smirk. “I might accidentally step on you one day.”

You looked at him through your eyelashes. What. An. Idiot. You passed a hand through your hair, chuckling dryly.

“I-,” you sighed, shaking your head sideways. “Nah, you know what? I don’t have time for this crap.” You smiled at him widely, full of sarcasm.

But just when you were about to leave, you felt a tug at your sleeve, the fabric of your shirt not thick enough to hide the warmth of Seungmin’s grasp on your forearm. You frowned, confused at the lack of any uncomfortable feelings because of it. There was none, but rather a need to cover yourself with it and wear it like a jacket.

“Did you fix it?”

You blinked, trying to get your brain to focus on his words.

“Huh?”

He rolled his eyes, but his hand didn’t move an inch. “You said you were going to talk to Miss Fernández so we wouldn’t be partners, which is, well, so mature, congratulations,” he tsked, but then continued. “But did it work?”

You licked your lips and swallowed, your throat feeling dry. What was going on? You needed to focus.

In a harsh motion, you moved your arm away from his grasp. You forced yourself to ignore how your skin missed it.

“I… no. She settled. You- I mean… we…” the word felt awkward when it rolled off your tongue.

We? There was no such thing in between Seungmin and you. No we, no us, no nothing. And it was like that for a reason. One that you had almost forgotten with how softly his slender and warm hand had been holding your forearm. Ugh.

As you struggled to say those infamous words, your phone dinged again, and you mumbled a short “oh, wait,” and unlocked it.

< henry li🫧: leaving me on read, shortcake?

Seungmin stared at your phone, shoving his hands on his pockets when he saw you smile at the bright screen. He bit his lower lip. He hadn't taken all of his stuff out of his backpack just for this.

“So,” he licked his lips, and it almost shocked you the sudden roughness on his tone and demeanour. “Chemistry is easy. We can meet up on Friday in the public library. An hour or two should be enough, even for someone with a fun-sized brain like yours.” He chuckled meanly, the motherfucker.

Ever since that stupid text from him, you had made it your mission to surpass him, or at least reach his level, and to be honest, you were even succeding in some cases, like philosophy, art history, spanish, technical drawing and business studies. But Chemistry?

Chemistry would always kick you in the ass.

Before you were able to come up with a comeback for his stupid snicker, the bell rang, and you felt an arm laying its weight on your shoulders.

“Smallable!” Lucas laughed, then realized that you were talking to a certain someone and ful Ty ly gasped. “Oh my god. Are you two finally dating and I interrupted— AH!” He was interrupted by your elbow hitting his side. Noa and Atenea chuckled behind him.

“No. Seungmin was just leaving.” You huffed with a frown, but then you smiled, almost excessively, like a small maniac. “Right?”

But before he was able to reply or mock you, Atenea spoke, ruining your chances of kicking him away.

“But we all have English now,” she said, and if it had been someone else, like Lucas, you would’ve stepped on his shoe or something. “We’re going to the same place, we can go together.”

Seungmin felt you stare intensively at him. He smiled at Atenea, finding that he enjoyed having you look at him, reason why he loved annoying the shit out of you.

“Sure!” He smiled politely, almost sheepishly, and you bit your lip to hold back the need to scoff at his 'obviously fake' kindness.

Because except for you, the rest of your class —heck, probably the rest of the school— were smitten with Kim Seungmin.

Top of the class, funny, kind, and cutely introverted Kim Seungmin was just a dorky student who tried to get along with everyone.

But that was wrong. And you may not have any proof aside from his mean attitude towards you and only you, but you knew it.

Seungmin had to be more than just a pretty boy with high grades, and it was only with you that he proved you right.

You stayed next to Lucas, hoping that Seungmin would at least stay with your friends and ignore you.

But to your horror, he smiled at you, a pink dust on his cheeks. “If you don’t mind?”

Oh, son of a bitch.

“No… it’s whatever.” You huffed.

Because against his dorky self, to the rest of your class —heck, to the rest of the school— you were the quote on quote “bad student.”

Troublesome, mean, class clown? Check. You laughed at teachers in class with Lucas far more than what could be ignored, the dresscode had always been more of a guide in what to wear, unlike what most students usually followed, and you may have been expelled a bunch of times.

Even if you were somewhat kind to the people in school, and even if they all knew your rivalry with Seungmin, God forbid you were mean to him.

You wouldn’t see the end of it.

And he knew it.

Bitch.

So there you were, walking to English class with your friends plus innocent Seungmin —who no one had called, not even the ghostbusters—, who was snickering and giggling with Atenea about who-gives-a-shit. Something class-related. You couldn’t be bothered to listen.

Lucas chuckled next to you.

“Careful, Spongebob.” He laughed. “Some could say you seem jealous.”

…WHAT?!

“Of… of Kim Seungmin?” You snorted. “Are you on drugs?”

He ruffled your hair. “Sure, sure, keep lying to yourself, shortie.”

Finally, you arrived to class, but before you stepped inside, Seungmin stopped you, whispering in your ear.

“Yeah, shortie.” He teased, his lips almost grazing the shell of your ear. “Don’t be too jealous. We wouldn’t want everyone to know you love me.”

His whisper would’ve been almost enticing if it weren’t for the fact that it was Kim Seungmin the man in question, and he snickered, pushing his glasses back.

But then someone cleared his throat behind you two.

“Care to sit down? I don’t have all day.” Mister Holmes grunted, carrying a monster drink and a coffe at the same time.

That mas was slightly terryifing.

You squinted at Seungmin and then walked to your place at the back of the class, hoping that your cheeks felt warm because of how the teacher had startled you and definetely not your classmate’s honey-like voice.

“Pssst. Heeey,” Noa smiled teasingly, whispering with a smirk. “Pssst. You’re blushing…!”

“Shut up!” You frowned at her, but you were unable to hold back a smile. But it was because of your friend Noa. Not Kim Seungmin.

Mr Holmes cleared his throat, and finished off his monster, throwing it to the bin.

“So. I’ve been hearing from some students in the hallways that you’re all excited for saint valentines’ day.” He stated in a strong voice, one that filled the class with little to no effort. “And sadly so, I was thinking of putting an exam that Wednesday…” he faked a sigh, and you had to hold back a laugh, contrary to the frowns and groans that appeared in your classmates faces. Pfft, what a character. “Unless… you guys want to do something in true valentines fashion.”

Mr Holmes crossed his arms, laying back on his chair, his stare cold and face lacking any kind of emotions.

“Say… any ideas, Mr… Kim?”

Seungmin sat up straight at his name being mentioned, and you rolled your eyes, holding back a mocking smirk.

“I ugh… I wouldn’t want to bother my classmates with a lot of work, sir… but maybe… maybe a writing assingment related to the topic would be… enough?” Seungmin stated, his tone soft and shy, and there was even a blush that trailed up from his neck, but he stayed staight and firm as he spoke.

“A valentine-themed task.” Mr Holmes enunciated as he pondered. “It’s a… decent idea. Any complaints?”

You felt some of your classmates’ eyes on you, and you sighed, crossing your arms in front of you, remaining silent. As long as it wasn’t an exam, you’d accept whatever.

“With that settled, I’ll upload the task online this afternoon, but it’ll have to be written by hand. Be sure to hand in a picture of your assignment on time, or your final grade will be affected.” The teacher turned on his laptop, and started taking assistance.

[☆★🌷★☆]

Time had passed dreadfully slowly, until the bell rang and Mr Holmes dissmissed all of you so everyone could leave for the day.

“A valentine-themed task.” You huffed in annoyance as you stuffed your locker with books you weren’t going to take home.

“I thought it was original.” A voice snickered lowly behind you, and you slapped your locker close, smiling at him.

“Well, Henry. It’s no surprise your taste sucks.”

You chuckled when he rolled his eyes.

“I was waiting for your reply,” he mentioned with a soft tone.

You closed your locker, and you two started walking together. “Oh, sorry, I totally forgot,” you apologized with a smile, but he brushed it off. “Yeah, I was with Lucifer earlier. She’s making me work with Seungmin for this term’s assignments.”

Henry frowned. “And we hate that guy… right…” you chuckled.

“Exactly. We don’t like him.”

“So then, don’t do it. You were going to meet him to study, right?” You nodded, smirking slightly at him.

“We agreeded to meet on Friday to start, in the library.” You added, watching his smirk widen. “What are you thinking?”

He stopped walking, smiling at you. “There’s this club that opened recently. Been wanting to go have a look. Apparently, it’s like exclusive and shit. And it’s Friday.” His light-coloured eyes shined as he looked at you. “Meet me there?”

You grinned cheekily.

“Sure. Can’t wait.”

[☆★🌷★☆]

You hadn’t noticed Seungmin on the school bus until this year.

Because he had made himself noticeable, sitting at the back of the bus, a couple seats away from you, but oh, dorky Seungmin was always friend of everyone, sheepishly starting conversation with any kinds of people in the bus, no matter the year they were in.

Before his text, you had even thought he was cute as he gingerly chatted with a group of kids who were probably starting high school.

“Is it too difficult?” A little girl asked.

And it surprised you how he turned to her and smiled, almost tugging at your heart strings, eyes like crescent moons.

“It’s only difficult if you stop trying. And we don’t give up, right?” He stated cheerfuly, and all the kids shined at his sheepish and bashful brightness, high-fiving the girl that talked to him.

You forced yourself to shove those memories to the back of your mind. That Seungmin wasn’t real. And you didn’t like him. The real him. Right?

“Oi, Kim Seungmin.” You called, as it was only you two left on the bus.

He was surprised at your call, but only side-eyed at you, lazily raising his brows, signalling that he was listening. You frowned.

See? You thought to yourself. He’s mean. He isn’t sweet, nor cute. Focus.

“What kind of lame ass idea was that?” You huffed with a mean smile. “A valentine-themed assignment.” You snorted.

His bus stop was close, so he ignored you as he picked up his coat and backpack, but you kept on talking. “You know? Hallmark office called, they want their boring clichés back,” you mocked, laughing.

Backpack on and coat hanging on his arm, he stared at you, and waited for a red light to walk to your seat.

He settled next to you, still staring at you as you chimed mean remarks about his originality and such and such.

“Anything else to mumble? I couldn’t hear you from down there.” He snorted meanly, and you were too focused on annoying him that you didn’t notice his stare at your lips as he licked his own.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a lame guy. He gave you the chance to choose, and you chose that piece of—?!”

His lips tasted as sweet as his voice that day with those little kids.

You felt his hand slowly creep up and cradle your face, his eyes closed as he kissed you, and slowly, your eyes closed too.

It was sweet. So sweet. But what was it? It was a flavour that you knew. Its sweetness was so familiar, but you couldn’t seem to figure out what was it.

You kissed him back, and he let out a surprised whine as you sighed, your hands, which had been frozen on his shoulders, waiting for your order to push him away, slowly followed up and remained on his face, your thumbs almost stroking his cheeks.

You wanted needed to know what he tasted like.

But it was when your hands went into his hair that he sighed too, melting under your touch, that your brain clicked.

…

what were you doing?

…

WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!

You pushed him away, and your breath hitched.

He didn’t look like fake Seungmin.

In front of you was not the innocent boy who had straight A’s and was shy enough to not be able to say no to a lot of things, who sheepishly spoke up in class, or who treated everyone with a bashful kindness that was so endearing.

This Seungmin was different. His glasses had a bit of a fog in them, his hair was all messed up, and his lips were plush, pink from your tinted gloss and slightly swollen from your kiss.

This Seungmin was a wreck, all flustered and kissable, and he looked like a mess.

But it felt real.

And for a second, you wanted to kiss him again, yearning to figure what that kiss tasted like, the word for it almost in the tip of your tongue.

He panted, struggling to catch his breath.

“Finally,” he huffed with a smile, but his dark eyes didn’t match the mocking in his tone. A small part of your mind thought that they looked prettier than any light eyes you had ever seen. “So you were able to shut up, after all.” He gulped, still panting.

He moved away from you slowly, as you remained there, frozen, like a piece of art in front of him, cheeks blushed, lips flushed and parted as your eyes stared at him, an emotion much different from this evening.

He found himself enjoying this one even more.

“Eh… T-this is my bus stop.” He muttered when the bus stopped. Maybe it wasn’t, but he didn’t care. He felt like he would have the energy to run home if needed. “I-I’ll… see you tomorrow.”

You blinked as he stood up and walked away.

What…

What had just happened?

[☆★🌷★☆]

{ACT 2: UNDER THE STREETLIGHT}

After avoiding Seungmin like the plague all Thursday, only looking at his back when you zoned off in class, Friday arrived earlier than expected.

You hadn’t been able to concentrate at all, the thought of his sweet taste lingering in your mouth, almost letting you feel the ghost of his lips pressed against yours.

“Hello? Earth to… oh, you’re awake, Jesus.” Abril looked at you with a smile, but she was unable to hide her worried look.

“Of course I am,” you mumbled, shaking your head sideways. “What’s going on?”

“You haven’t even touched your delicious and totally-not-overcooked pasta.” Lara mentioned the cafeteria lunch as she poked it whith her fork, full of humour. “It leads to believe that you’re dealing with something far more interesting that the technical drawing homework, that’s for sure.”

You bit your lip, hesitating.

“Is it because Henry Li has been ignoring you?” Noa mentioned softly.

You blinked, puzzled. “Huh?”

He’d been ignoring you? Now that she had mentioned, maybe that could’ve happened. Maybe you would’ve realized if you hadn’t been so focused on Seungmin and whatever-happened-that-cannot-and-should-not-be-remembered-every-five-minutes…

…or maybe you should look for an easier name for it.

“Uh, no, he invited me to this new place today, actually,” you brushed your hair with your hand mindlessly. “But I’m fine. Really. Just tired.” You smiled at the girls, and joined in at their conversation.

After lunch, you separated from Lara and Noa, who had literature, and Abril, who had been hanging out with a guy called Jeongin from her photography club recently, and so you headed to the study room.

It was a quiet place, quieter that what you had initially expected for a high school study room. Matter of fact, you thought it was a pity that the school closed it after class, considering that in that case you wouldn’t have to walk to the public library.

You opened the door silently, finding that there were barely any students, only three or four people studying silently. You were heading towards a lonely corner so you could listen to music in a high volume without having to pay attention if it could be heard through your headphones. Or maybe, considering that it hadn’t been a lie and that you had slept like four hours maximum, you could probably rest there until the bell rang.

You snickered when you looked to your right, finding someone struggling with the technical drawing homework that had been assigned that morning, the one that Lara and Noa had been talking about.

You gently tapped the guy’s shoulder, but spoke before he even turned.

“You’re missing this incline here,” you whispered on his ear, your arms coming above his shoulders, placing your hands above his, placing the square and bevel on the right angle. “It should be seen, but with dotted lines, get it? That way the side-view makes sense.” You added with a soft giggle.

“Oh, right. T-thank you…” he mumbled, not facing you.

You brushed it off as weird, but your sleepy self wasn’t bothered enough to notice or pry, and instead smiled, ruffled his hair and settled in your cozy little corner, placing your scarf in between your arms and rested your head on it, merely “resting your eyes”, but only if a teacher happened to come and check on the students.

Seungmin stared at your sleeping figure, eyes almost wide. He felt like his heart was going to explode underneath the layers of flesh. His hands tingled, his usually warm and sweaty palms missing the comfortable coldness of yours, so soothing and relaxing.

Either you had completely gone crazy, or he had fallen asleep trying to complete the stupid assignment. He knew you were good at technical drawing, it was one of the subjects were he wasn’t. It wasn’t a surprise when several students started asking you for help on their papers and assignments, considering that you were one of the few who was able to receive praise from the teacher, a middle-aged man with no kind of vocation with kids or teaching, by any means.

But it had never happened when he was the one in need of help, had you ever considered the idea of helping him.

He watched you, puzzled, as he had never done before, and maybe it would be the first time of many because Seungmin found himself liking what he was seeing, dare I say mesmerized by the image before him.

By you.

Your sleepy figure was as calm as he had ever seen from you, sleeping with little to no care in the world. Your hair remained stuck in a ponytail, which allowed Seungmin to notice that it left the skin of your neck visible, and despite the voice on his head saying that it was a behaviour quite like a man from the Modern Ages, just being so fixated at that small bit of skin, he couldn’t help but feel bashfully amazed.

Suddenly, he noticed you licked your lips, your eyes still closed and your small smile never faltering, but that made something start to flutter in his stomach, as if a whole lot of butterflies had been awaken at the sight of you, tranquil, and sweet, and cute, and he forced himself to stop looking at you abruptly, wondering why he had done that in the first place.

Licking your lips only made Seungmin aware of how dry his were, and action plus the thought of your lips immediately brought back what had happened on Wednesday.

Crazy. He’d gone completely crazy.

He felt his hand slowly approach his lips and he grazed them with his fingers, almost able to taste your chapstick back on his lips. Because he had been able. All Wednesday night. And a small part of him wanted more of it.

He blushed, scratching his eyes. He hadn’t slept shit, his mind betraying him every time he attempted to close his eyes instantly going back to the memory of how you stared at him after your kiss, dark pupils, and red lips, and so ridiculously gorgeous that it made Seungmin wonder why whenever he saw you he resorted to his first line in code: being mean.

He never used that side with anyone. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried, because small, teasing and slightly unhinged Kim Seungmin had tried to be himself in middle school, and… well.

Let’s just say that it didn’t work like expected.

But everyone loved dorky, funny and sweet Seungmin. Even with the difference with grades, that had definetely not been appreciated in his early years, nowadays people would see that as a part of him, and he recieved praise for it, not only from teachers, but also nice classmates, who sometimes went to seek help from him.

He just needed to pretend for a bit. Smile here and there, and put on a sheepish act of bashfulness that despite it not being natural, it wasn’t totally bad. It wasn’t like middle school.

But then you came in the picture.

Something about you made Seungmin want to tease you. To see you finally look at him after battling in your head if you even should, and then, sometimes when you were mad enough, you’d glare at him, and he couldn’t help but grin. Your cheeks flushed in anger that creeped up your body, how you looked at him through your lashes or how you’d tease him back. The first time you had done that, his brain’s chemistry had changed, he was sure of that.

He didn’t care about the mean remarks, and that now seemed almost obvious, considering what had happened almost two days ago in the school bus.

But it got impossible to miss when Seungmin noticed your sleepy self shivering in your slumber. With a mental groan, careful of not making any kind of loud noise in the study room, he slowly got closer to your corner, and tried to close the windows near it. And failed, because the stupid windows were old and rusty, only able to move them a bit.

He bit his lip, arguing in his head. Would that be enough? No, it probably wasn’t, right? Yeah, it couldn’t be. Considering that you always wore thin clothing, always borrowing your mates’ jackets…

…it couldn’t possibly hurt to do a bit more, right?

Seungmin approached you further, and shook a hand close to your face, but you were dead, as still as a fallen tree, despite the sunlight that enetered throught the windows glowing on your face, the Sun in winter, that brought little to no warmth, made you shine in his eyes.

He’d see you in the public library a couple of hours later. It didn’t mean anything. He could probably tease you for sleeping in school later. Yeah. And then he’d ask for his jacket back.

Seungmin was lost in his thoughts as he carefully settled his jacket over your shoulders, and he froze when you sighed deeply, surrounded by a familiar warmth and a cozy scent that you didn’t know you had missed or needed until then, but you didn’t wake up.

He blinked when he noticed your phone in your hand, the screen suddenly turning on. He giggled at your wallpaper, which had a silly joke on it and a funny doodle of a banana.

But then his eyes trailed down to the notification that had made the phone turn on.

[3 new messages from: henry li🫧]

> sorry i didn’t get to see u yesterday, had to sort smth out!

> guys.its.totally.a.real.address.wdym.lol

> it’s the address for later, shortcake 😉❤️

…huh?

Seungmin blinked once. Twice. Nah, his glasses had to be deceiving him. Then, another notification popped up.

> can’t wait to see you ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

He winced silently.

Ugh. What a cringy choice of emojis.

Did you really like this guy?

He frowned, going back to his place in the study room.

Ugh.

He didn’t care, obviously. Why would he care? That wasn’t his business. Never was, never would be. Not like he was interested. Pffft, no. Not at all. Yeah, nah. That kiss had been a one time thing. Totally. 100%. He wasn’t thinking about it again. Nope. Nor did he want to kiss you again. Not in a chance.

Just… ugh.

It was just that… no. Scratch that. No further comments.

He sighed as he went back to his work, feeling a sudden inspiration hit him as he took out a blank paper for the English class valentine’s assignment, but not before he looked at you again, then shook his head, turning the music back on in his headphones. He started writing, drafting, and throwing papers away, getting slightly desperate at his perfectionism.

He sighed. His eyes trailed off towards you.

Slowly, words started to flow in his head. Pretty sentences, things that he had kept hidden in the back of his mind. Maybe it could be good to let it all out. It couldn’t hurt. Yeah.

So he stared writing. Vomiting word after word. And he finished earlier than expected, with two papers.

One was perfect for the english assignment. It was boring and dull enough to be handed in for a school work, but good enough for his perfectionism.

And the other… was something different.

Something that had only happened because you were there, in front of him.

He stood up, letter on his hand. He leaned against the table you were sleeping in, and settled the jacket further on your shoulders. He sighed, grabbing a pen from his pencil case, folding the letter and signed it.

Maybe it was a bad idea, he thought as he picked up his stuff from the table and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

He looked at your figure once more before heading out.

It had been to check if you were still asleep, of course.

Just to check.

Yeah.

[☆★🌷★☆]

Your phone vibrated in your hand again.

And again.

With a groan, you silently accepted that there was no way you could fool an inanimate object into believing that you were still asleep.

But when you yawned and looked around and didn’t find the posters in your room, but rather a whole bunch of tables and chairs, your eyes widened.

It hadn’t been your alarm but a phone call that had awoken you.

“Y-yeah?” You mumbled, picking up the call and quickly taking your backpack and scarf and rushing out of the study room, taking a quick scan and making sure you weren’t leaving anything behind.

“I’m heading to the club now, shortcake.” A low voice greeted. “Are you getting ready?”

Who…?

“H-henry?” You frowned slightly.

You heard him snicker through the other side. “Yeah?”

Fuck, shit, fuck.

“N-nothing! Nothing, I, uh, I was just doing my make up. Y-you know.”

What? You frowned, even more this time. No, that didn’t make any sense. You always blabbered about how you never did your make up for clubbing because the one you owned was cheap and never stayed on anyways.

“Sure, yeah.”

It didn’t seem like he had noticed.

“You can head there before me. I’ll go there eventually, yeah?”

You heard him snicker on the other side of the phone call. “Ok, baby.” He cleared his throat, stuttering a bit. “Y-yeah, I mean, I’ll uh… get there in a bit. Don’t rush.”

Only then you felt that the wind from outside wasn’t freezing your bones like usual. You squinted at the jacket you were wearing.

“Henry, did you…?” But he hung up.

It probably was him. Yeah. That’s why he had called you. To make sure you’d wake up.

Besides, there were little to no people who’d do such a kind gesture towards you, and even if the jacket was pretty much your style and it smelled like heaven, it didn’t feel like something any of the girls would keep around.

So, why didn’t it made you feel giddy that Henry had given you his jacket?

You kept on running through the hallways and catched the bus that was usually there for students who had extracurricular classes, unlucky people who had to stay in school late in Fridays. You never had, using Fridays to be a bit lazy or to start homework sooner just to hand it in earlier than Seungmin.

Oh.

Friday.

Seungmin.

The library.

You bit your nails, staring through the window.

Would he wait there for long?

What was he going to do once he figured you weren’t going to show up?

Were you… feeling guilty?

No… that… that couldn’t be, you chuckled dryly. Mean decisions against Kim Seungmin didn’t spend too much time on the judgmental side of your brain. You just… teased him back. And he’d take it. And double it. And so on.

So why did this feel too mean?

Could it be because of whatever-happened-that-cannot-and-should-not-be-remembered-every-five-minutes?

Could the fact that it had been the best thing that had happened in a long while?

Well, fine.

Not just ‘thing’.

A kiss.

And for fuck’s sake, what kiss.

You groaned and grunted, sprinting home as soon as the bus stopped.

Why did it always have to be him?

You entered your room and burst open your closet. The jacket was cool, you thought. And if you were going to see Henry, you could just wear it and hand it back to him in the club.

It was vintage, but its warmth engulfed you as if it had been handmade. Its funky designs and patterns looked cute, and its grey color contrasted well with it. You chose the first dress you saw, a tight black dress with no sleeves that you would’ve discarded as too short if you had more time, but it wasn’t exactly something you could’ve bragged about.

Jacket, dress, high socks, boots, wallet, phone, keys, headphones… yeah. You nodded, checking all of the boxes in your mental list, and started hurriedly walking to the address he had sent.

You hoped you weren’t going to be too late.

[☆★🌷★☆]

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…”

“The number you are trying to call is turned off or out of coverage. Please, leave your message after the—”

You hang up, tired of hearing that mechanic voice over and over again.

You looked around you, and there was nothing that looked like a club. You had tried to enter the building that the address lead to, but it hadn’t got well.

A strange figure opened a small window and gave you a look, almost disgusted. It took you a second to understand that they were wearing a mask, with dark lace and other colours. But just when you were about to speak, the window slammed close.

You blinked, puzzled. Where the fuck was Henry sending you? What kind of club was this?

You had started to roam around the building, trying to call him —and failing misserably, because the damn guy couldn’t pick up the fucking phone for the life of him—, but now you were starting to run out of ideas.

It was past 12pm, your legs shivered with every slight wind that swooshed your way, and there was no one that was going to pick up the phone. Not Henry, that ridiculous imbecile, not Lucas, who always bragged about having his phone in night mode, so nothing would get to him until morning, and not the girls, because Noa had her phone turned off, Atenea was most likely sleeping, Abril and Lara hadn’t picked up either, and your list of close friends who could possibly pick up was… that.

And no one was picking up the fucking phone.

You were about to keep on ranting about how disgustingly bad this was turning out to be, but you heard footsteps coming your way. You looked around, but didn’t find the source. With a frown, you walked to the building again

Placing your hand on one of the windows, who were dark and almost impossible to see through, you could notice that in the dim light from what could be seen outside, Henry was well entertained with a certain kind of company, so much that he couldn’t even pick up your phone.

You closed your eyes and leaned your forehead against the tinted glass. Of course. Yeah. That made total sense. It was Henry, after all. He had always been known to be kind of an asshole anyways. It couldn’t possibly come out as a surprise the fact that he actually was.

You shook your head and mentally mocked him and the blond girl he was kissing.

Henry Li could go to Hell.

Guess there was nothing left to do now. You had dumped Seungmin, and Henry had dumped you. It was an ass move over an ass move. Maybe you kinda deserved it.

But then your thoughts ended in a halt, because you swore you could feel a shadow starting to follow you from a distance.

They were behind you, but not too close, and due to their hoodie it was imposible to distinguish their face.

So you started walking. Turning left. Right. Left again. Right. Just kept on walking. Don’t look behind you. They’d probably just leave. This had to be your imagination, 100%.

But when you took a peak, the silhouette was not only still behind you, slowly walking towards you, but a slight bit closer this time.

You swallowed dry, gulped, even. Your heart tightened in your chest. What kind of joke was this? Your eyes were tearing up. You were tired, and this was mental. Adrenaline rumped through your body, and even if you were already lost, you kept on walking.

You took your phone from your pocket. Think, think, think. Who could you call? Who could pick up at one am? You scrolled down your list of contacts, until for a reason you don’t fully get, your eyes stopped at a certain name.

—> seungmeannie

It couldn’t possibly hurt to try… right?

You sniffed almost silently, and pressed call.

One beep.

Two beeps.

Three beeps.

You started crying a bit louder, unable to hold it back.

“Eh, hi…?”

“S-seungmin!” You sobbed, smiling. It was the first time in your life you had been that happy just from being able to hear his voice, raspy and low.

“W-what?” He stopped talking, and you guessed that it was because he hadn’t figured out who was calling him so late at night. “Do you know what time it is, you fun-sized dingus?” He groaned sleepily at the phone.

You bit your lip and sniffed.

“Wait. Are you… crying?” His tone had changed.

“I-i’m sorry about t-this eve-ening.” You sobbed, failing to hold back the tears, hugging the jacket that was still on your shoulders.

“Are you drunk, little one?” You never thought your shoulders could relax as fast as they had when his soft tone of voice called you that stupid nickname.

“N-no, I… I went to this stupid club, with-“

“With Henry, yeah.” The way he said his name, as if he wanted to put that stupid bitch in a box and send him to the end of the world took you by surprise.

“B-but um, he’s not picking up my phone and I…” you gulped. Taking a peek behind you, you shivered. “I think someone’s following me.”

“Wait, what?” Seungmin had never stood up from bed as fast as he had done that night. “Where are you?” He asked to the phone as he randomly picked a sweater and his glasses, biting his lip as he struggled to put on his shoes.

“I… I don’t know.” You sobbed. “I started walking away so he’d go, but it didn’t work.” You mumbled, sniffing. You felt so stupid.

“Everything’s going to be fine, yeah?” It was the first time in the whole afternoon that you felt like that statement could be true. Because Seungmin was going to help you. “Don’t hang up. Tell me what buildings can you see. Try heading away from small alleys. I’ll find you.”

Seungmin rushed out of his appartment, not before scribbling down what was happening in a post it note and left it on his mother’s bedside table.

“T-there are some restaurants, but they’re all closed.” You started, dubious as how was this going to work. “There’s a road to my left.”

“Can you name any of the restaurants, little one?” Seungmin had a hunch, and he huffed, sprinting to the plaza closest to his appartment.

“I just passed by a Mexican, I think.” You sniffed, Seungmin’s soothing voice working like a charm and calming you down slowly. “In front of me, I think this is a Japanese… it’s called Ginza.”

Seungmin chuckled, feeling relief flooding his body. “Y-yeah, ok! I- god, yes, I know where you are. Keep walking straight ahead. There should be a park, right?” He started running, hiding the fact that he’d have to rush and make the usual fifteen minutes it could take him to arrive where you were and make them five.

He needed to see you and make sure you were safe.

“I… shit, yeah! I can see it!” You went back to crying, a smile planted in your features.

“I’m almost there. You’re doing so well, little one.”

You felt your cheeks getting warmer at that. Walking a bit faster, you looked behind you, finding that the silhouette was still there.

But Seungmin was close. Seungmin said everything would be fine.

“S-seungmin?” You mumbled at the phone, wanting to hear his voice, so soothing and warm.

“Under the streetlight, silly.”

You heard the beep that sounded when Seungmin ended the call, but he was there, tangible, a couple of meters away from you.

You chuckled, happy to see him for the first time ever, and crying away the pent up stress and worry, you ran off to him, and clung your arms around his neck tightly, unbothered at the need to stand on the tips of your toes to do so.

Seungmin stuttered, still panting from the marathon he had ran to get there, 100% baffled at this. But it was ok. You were there. You were safe.

“T-they’re still behind me.” You whispered against his chest.

He could feel your nervousness on your tone, how scared you were judging by how strongly your arms closed behind his neck, and hesitated for a second before hugging you back, his arms pulling you closer by your lower back, keeping you grounded and so weirdly safe in his grasp, and it felt so strangely comforting coming from him that your eyes swelled with more tears.

You couldn’t see or feel the person behind you anymore, but Seungmin did, somewhat clearly.

The only thing that his mind made up that moment is that for the person to leave, they’d have to believe you two did know each other.

And Seungmin’s heart beated loudly in his chest when your grasp loosened and you stood back on your feet, allowing him to see how your lip trembled, how you were holding back tears and how you looked at him with a million emotions hidden in the colour of your eyes. He had never seen you cry before.

His hands itched to touch you again, a sudden need to comfort you that overwhelmed him.

So he did.

His hands cradled your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away your tears, and he pecked your lips softly, smiling at your baffled face. His arms engulfed you in a comforting hug that smelled so much like the jacket you were wearing.

He looked behind you, and the silhouette was nowhere to be found. As if it had never been there before.

“It’s ok.” Seungmin whispered in your ear. “I’m here now. You’re safe. They’re gone, yeah?” His arms rested on your shoulders as his slender hands stroked your hair. “No one’s gonna hurt you now, pretty.”

And you started to cry on his shoulder, because not only then you realized how bad you had needed a hug, and not even the fact that it had been a hug from him that you had secretly yearned for, but because none of your excuses made sense now.

There was no ‘fake’ or ‘real’ Seungmin.

Whatever he was, fake or not, stood in front of you as he hugged you under the streetlight.

And you sighed as he cooed at you softly, because deep down you had known for a while.

It was time you came to terms with it.

[☆★🌷★☆]

{ACT 3: WINDOWS, LETTERS AND POEMS}

Wednesday. 9:56 am. 14th February.

Most of your classmates were still arriving from their next class as you stared at two papers in your hands slightly from afar, pencil in your lips.

You had discarded most of your creations all Monday and Tuesday when you finally ended with a draft you liked for the stupid english homework. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

But the letter in your other hand, however, was something you had never done before.

“What’s that you got there?”

Any kind of bubbly and nervous emption you had vanished at the sound of that low voice.

“Fuck off, Li.” You grunted in a husky tone, frowning at him and grabbing back the letter from his hands.

“Is it a love letter for me?” He chuckled, ignoring your behaviour.

“Why the fuck would I write that, huh?” You laughed, a chuckle full of acid, one that had much more hatred that you had ever said before.

Henry brushed a hand through his hair, and you couldn’t help but think he looked stupid. You had liked this guy? Ugh.

“Because today is valentine’s day, shortcake.”

You squinted and frowned at him.

“Swishing those dyed and damaged locks like a Loreal advert won’t make anyone fall in love with you.” You snorted, and realized the people in the hallway had fallen into silence, listening to your conversation. “Or maybe it worked with that blond girl in the club?” You pretended to ponder out loud, leaning against the locker behind you, facing him with confidence.

“Wait, what?” He mumbled.

You snickered, taking him by surprise. “Oh, silly. I was never going to date you. I kept hearing that you were an ass and figured that was right, because aside from me, little to no people talked to you. I guess I just felt pityful.” You faked a pout.

He clenched his fists, his shoulders tense.

“You’re lying.” He grunted.

You chuckled. “You wish I was. That blond girl didn’t steal my man. She stole my problem.” You heard some gasps from the people in the corridor, as they had formed some kind of circle around you two.

But then, Henry snorted, and cleared his throat, talking with a much louder voice. “So you’re not going to let everyone know about you and Seungmin?” He smirked. “I feel like that’s a bit unfair. Making it seem like I’m the bad guy and all.”

You tried hard to make it seem like that hadn’t surprised you. You were so surprised by it that you didn’t have time to react when he yanked your letter from your hand.

“Such sweet words, all dedicated to him,” he mocked. “I think these people want to know.”

“Give it back!” You clenched your jaw, your eyes dull with embarassment.

Even if he wasn’t as tall as Seungmin, there was still a decent difference between you and him. And with a sly grin, he raised the paper above your head.

You licked your lips, anger filling your body.

“Give. It. Back.”

But then he started reading.

“I looked at him as if he were the Sun, in that I never looked at him except in frustration.” He read out loud, moving the paper from your reach everytime you tried to reach. “I seeked his warmth, I complained when he was gone, but I never looked, not until I noticed he was leaving, and in the beauty of the sunset, I wondered how I had never seen him before.”

You stared at the floor, a blush spreading through your cheeks, coming from your neck.

“And that’s basically what happened.” You mumbled to Abril and Lucas over at a bench in the school grounds, hours after that whole thing had happened.

“What?!” You flinched at Abril’s loud voice. “I’m going to kill him. I am so going to murder that nasty ass bitch.” She threatened to stand up, but Lucas grabbed her forearm.

“And what about Seungmin?” He questioned softly, a lot more gentle that what you usually would expect.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“I haven’t spoken to him since Friday” You stared at him with a weakness you had never felt before. “It’s like he doesn’t want to talk to me, I…” you sighed. “I don’t know what to think anymore.” You sniffed.

You had to stay in the study room for the afternoon, waiting for Atenea to get out of the club she was in so you could head to the library together like you had promised, but as you studied in silence, someone sat in the chair in front of you, frowning at you.

You took your headphones off and scratched your eyes. “Eh… Hyunjin?”

“Abril told Lara and she told me,” he mentioned in a huff. “And I’ve known Seungmin for many years. He’s not an impulsive guy. He hasn’t treated anyone like how he treats you.”

You blinked, puzzled, but frowned at him. “Are you going to scold me?”

“You better believe I am!” He scoffed. “Would you like me to politely tell you that you’ve behaved like a total idiot around him?”

“What are you—?!”

“You simply never bothered to talk to Seungmin about any of what Lara told me!” He stated with force, and you didn’t think to tell him to shut up, considering that the study room was empty that time.

“Do you really expect me to understand whatever was happening and tell him right away?” You blurted out with anger, a bit shocked at his rough approach. “Had I had the opportunity I would have!

He rolled his eyes, passing a hand over his face in a sign of desperation.

“You had every opportunity! For months!” He left his hand on the table, and started tapping at it with force, trying to make a point. “Admit it. Seungmin has been in your head ever since we both changed from the other class and you two started bickering.” Hyunjin’s eyes stared at you with a fierce glare that almost threatened to pierce holes through your skull.

“That’s bullshit!” You spitted out defensively.

“Oh, spare me!” He brushed it off. “There have been countless clues! Your stupid need to make everything a competition when it comes to him is infuriating. He talks to me about these things, you know?” He swallowed, and you leaned back in surprise, but he kept on going. “How you look at him when you’re angry, or how you mock and tease him back. It’s stupid!” He cursed out loud. “And these last two weeks have only made it so much worse.”

“What do you mean, worse?” You pondered softly, slowly taking in Hyunjin’s dramatic act.

“I mean, you were totally smitten by how he ridiculously kissed you at the back of the bus last week, considering that you kissed him back.” He stated clearly. “And he wouldn’t shut up about it and how you were ignoring him after, which, great fucking work, by the way, the dude wouldn’t shut up about you.” Hyunjin blinked slowly, trying to recall and voice what he was thinking. “And then he lends you his jacket when a mystery debutant shows up.”

“A—a what?”

“Motherfucker, eh, that Henry asshole.” Hyunjin rubbed his eyes. “I had to endure him talking shit about him for an hour because he saw him texting you some weird shit with cringe emojis.” The exasperation on his tone rendered you almost speechless. “And even then he struggled to admit how fucking jealous he was about that guy. He had your attention. He had your smile. You looked at Henry, not at Seungmin, and ah, for fuck’s sake.” Hyunjin covered his face with his hands. “He felt so ridiculously powerless that he talked to me about it. He’s never done that before!”

You were only able to blink, struggling to grasp everything he was saying.

“And then, with no word of warning, you called him, at, what, like, one in the morning?” Hyunjin said in a huff, the thought of that bringing back his anger, making him stare at you with a frown again. “He, jesus, he talked for AGES about how you hugged him, and the fact that you were wearing his jacket, like— like you’re doing now, what the fuck.” He stopped mid-scolding, staring at you with confusion.

“It’s… it’s his?”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened slightly as he nodded. “What, you didn’t know? You helped him with tecnical drawing, he gave you his jacket, bla bla bla. That whole thing?”

You blushed, shaking your head sideways. You had done what?

“Nevermind. You can talk to him about that later.”

It was your turn to scoff now. “Judging by the fact that he sent you, I don’t think he would like to see me anytime soon.”

Hyunjin chuckled dryly.

“Don’t you even dare keep ignoring him. This stupid game has lasted for too long. Besides, he doesn’t know I’m here. He thinks I’m in dance practice, but whatever. You needed to know, because he’s a mess.” Hyunjin stated, passing a hand through his hair. “He can’t sleep well, he can’t concentrate, he can’t do anything.”

It looked like the scolding was over, but there was a remaining anger that came back to him as a memory struck.

“And, moreover, you callously ignored the letter Seungmin wrote you, even though he told you he loved you!”

You were looking at your notebook on the table, halfly staring at your nails and fidgeting with them, but your head almost snapped when you stared at him.

“What letter?” You muttered, your eyes locked on his. He frowned, his eyes slightly widening.

Your heart started beating faster, almost so loud you could hear it in your head.

“Hyunjin, what letter?!”

[☆★🌷★☆]

Seungmin felt his lungs on fire.

Run, run, run.

His feet were hurting, because his old ass shoes were busted enough that their insides were almost destroyed from everyday use.

But he needed to find you.

Maybe it was because it was Valentine’s day, despite the obvious influence that a certain friend of yours had done.

“Wait, you— you missed school this morning?” Lucas had muttered with a puzzled look, eyes wide.

“I had to go to the dentist to take my braces off. Yeah.” Seungmin stated again. “So whatever you meant by ‘being an ignoring bitch this morning’, I know nothing about it.”

And then someone next to them had chimed in. “You’re talking about Henry and what happened this morning with—“

“Yeah. Why?” Seungmin had interrupted, frowning slightly.

“There’s a video of it.”

Run, run, run.

The look in your eyes when you spoke with Henry. Your smug smile when you caught him by surprise.

Your poem.

His eyes had widened when Henry started reading it in the video.

Was it…?

Could it…?

Could it really be for him?

He wanted needed to find out.

He needed to find you.

“Watch where you’re going!” A man grunted at him, and Seungmin quickly apologized, running off.

Run, run, run.

He knew where you lived just because of Friday, when you had asked him if he could head towards your house with you, still a bit scared from what had happened. He accepted in a heartbeat, reassuring you that it was fine with a million smiles.

His hand had never left yours. Your touch, colder than his, had something so adicting to it that he didn’t want to let go.

Time seemed to pass slowlier when he recognized your neighbourhood. He was about to ring on your floor, but then, your silhouette got out of the elevators, and you both blinked at each other, staring through the glass door.

You opened it slowly, approaching him.

The look in your eyes was different than what Seungmin was used to.

It wasn’t similar to how you had looked at him ever since the school year started, with a shimmer of anger that turned your cheeks pink. Or how you had looked at him that afternoon in the back of the school bus, pupils dark and lips red and slightly swollen from kissing. Or how your eyes glowed in hope and comfort that Friday night.

It was different. He wanted to savour it. He wanted to see every detail of it.

He walked towards you and cradled your face in his hands.

“Wait.” He muttered in a whisper, taking off his glasses in a movement that to you felt almost enticing.

“What is it?” You whispered back.

He blinked at you as he cleaned his glasses with the hem of his shirt.

“You’re fucking blurry.” He snickered softly, with a sheepish smile that tinted his cheeks pink.

You giggled.

He settled his glasses back in place, and smiled when your image made sense before him.

“Better.” He muttered.

“Seungmin, I—“

But you stopped speaking when his lips crashed against yours.

There it was. He tasted sweet like how hot chocolate tastes in a rainy day. You smiled at your discovery, wanting to taste it for hours.

He wanted to kiss you for days to come, even if there was a million things left for both of you to say.

“I’m sorry.” Kiss. “I wasn’t in school this morning.” Kiss. “But I saw a video of it.” Kiss. “And I needed to—“

You giggled, taking his glasses and settling them on the top of his head.

“We can do the talking later.” You smiled, your cheeks red as your hands grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

“Are you sure?” He gulped, blushing too as he mumbled.

“Yeah.” You smiled even more. “I’d rather do the kissing now.”

You'd never know what happened with his letter. But considering where that had lead you, maybe it wasn't totally bad that the wind had carried it out the window.

[☆★🌷★☆]

~Kats, who, believe it or not, took the text argument in the beginning from an old school groupchat (yes i was the target akbdksbdks idk why lol, but no, i did not have an enemies2lovers :( lmao)

HAPPY FUCKING VALENTINES DAY!

TAGGING! (oh wow) @that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick @deadcrow-donteat @obyyyy @euphoric-univers @aslou @19marka @daisyjihannie @im-loco66 @coolbabydumplings @amarecerasus @sharonxdevi @han-to-my-minho @abbiespooks @moon0fthenight @koala-wonderland @hecrtful @hheesungsung @vampcharxter @kpopandblunts @daisy-dont-play @skz-lover21 @skyl1nninie @lunathewonyoungstan @5starlee @pchyyhoe @4ln-stay8 @michelle4eve (bolded and/or purple means it won’t let me tag you, pookies! please check your blog’s privacy settings <3)

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holdinbacksecrets · 2 months

Text

uninhibited (and drunk) voicemails from seventeen

forever sending gratitude and love to j @un-love for helping assign these

seungcheol: “i watched you tonight with another man. he held your hand and kissed your forehead. he drank your tea first to check the temperature. he made you laugh. for real. i know because you covered your mouth, still feeling insecure about how far it opens when the reaction can’t be avoided—when the something said was so funny it surprised you. you’re wearing red. your arms were exposed for a while, and i felt my eyes prick with tears at the sight of more tattoos on your skin. ones i didn’t know about. maybe ones you mentioned when they were still just possibilities in your head. not once did i think i wouldn’t see them actualized. not once did i imagine another man’s fingers brushing the ink through the motion of draping his jacket around your shoulders.”

jeonghan: “i’m at home and alone, and it’s wrong to call you. it’s so unfair to call you. i didn’t know how to tell you that the wanting is scary. that the way we love each other is impossible—not for a second do i believe it’s possible to have again, and i’m fucking afraid, probably because i know how much you’ve grown. the thought of letting you down leaves a sour taste, and i’m trying not to be so fucking afraid.”

joshua: “i’m sobering up now, sitting on my mom’s back porch. earlier, i was trying to describe the color of your hair. the best i could come up with was blue frosting like the cupcakes she made for my 10th birthday party. isn’t that outrageous? embarrassing? in my head was a poem, but the alcohol released the silliest set of words i could’ve possibly used to describe a part of you.”

jun: “everything is weird. everyone is strange to me today except for you. i’m drunk. i lost my shoes at some point in the night i think. i can’t recognize anyone around me. their voices don’t sound familiar. i wish you were here. i wish you’d tell me this is miserable for you too; it’s not worth it anymore. would you tell me the truth if i asked? sorry. what a stupid question. i don’t know anyone more honest.”

soonyoung: “i should’ve watched you all day more often. i dream about that. i wanted to, but something always had my attention or interrupted its focus on you. i’m laying here with my eyes closed, imagining all the moments i did watch and wondering if every single one pieced together could consume an entire day.”

wonwoo: “is it ok that i still have your spare key? i’d like to believe it’s something you’d ask to get back, but i wonder if that call isn’t worth making. if the idea of seeing me makes you anxious. but you trust me. out of everyone to still have access to your home, it’s ok that it’s me. i feel sad thinking about it.”

jihoon: “you baked cookies. i froze half of them. there’s one left, and i’m debating whether or not to eat it today. it’s freezing outside, and any view through my window is ruined by the snow. it feels like the perfect night for a cookie with what’s left of my second americano like i can risk losing sleep, but what will be left from you if i give in? everything else feels lifeless—it’s been so long since you’ve touch the clothes and read the books.”

seokmin: “i’m going to a wedding tomorrow. your old neighbor is getting married, and i thought about so many things when he sent me the invitation. i thought he was in love with you for the longest time. remember that? it took me months to admit. then he told me he’s just protective, and i realized there are so many people who see us and care without us ever knowing. so i wondered about a what if between us… what if our paths crossing was shallow and they never intertwined? what if you were just a woman in the grocery store who i’d see once in a while if the timing was right? how long would i think about you before forgetting your face, before forgetting i ever saw you? unless i never would and end up talking about you in my old age to adult children who only know i loved their mother.”

mingyu: “is it ok to call you in the middle of the night? you told me i could. years have passed since that conversation. *laughs* is it strange to think about us back then? how we started on a park bench, basically dated for two years on a park bench. i still think about how your approach to reach me gave away your feelings. you started poised, avoiding eye contact. then it became goofy looks and confident strides before calling my name and skipping to singing the song stuck in your head while you ran to me. i can’t help but wonder what would it look like now?”

minghao: “if you listen to this voicemail, can you tell me what you want? whatever comes to mind after hearing the question. from something small to something weird and the the thing you believe is better left unsaid as if i’d judge the answer, but i won’t. i have no reason to judge you. all i have is curiosity and love and hope for your every day, every want, every touch, every song you sing, every picture you hang, and every night spent barefoot on the balcony- i want to marry you.”

seungkwan: “there’s something on my mind. i’ve wanted to tell you all day. i thought about it at breakfast and started texting you before my manager called and interrupted. so here it is: i used to not understand how tired you’d be with me around. i thought i was boring you for the longest time until i visited my sisters. they exchanged a knowing smile before telling me you’re completely comfortable, that you feel safe enough to slip into the kind of vulnerability that only sleepiness and sleep allow, with your guard lowered, and your heart open. i appreciate how much of you i’ve seen, how deeply i know you—knew you… know you? hmm…”

hansol: “are you traveling? i hope you’re traveling. i know it’s something you promised to do at the start of your 26th year. where did you go? … are you taking lots of pictures? … how does the moon look? that’s your souvenir: the moon in the sky a thousand miles away from home. when you told me the moon thing, i realized i knew nothing about you, and i wanted to know everything.”

chan: “you were in the audience tonight? i didn’t… i wasn’t… thank you for coming. i mailed a ticket, but it was returned to sender. *clears throat* you’re the only person i couldn’t shake wanting to be there. do you know what i mean? people from our pasts we wish could still be present, especially for things they witnessed in early stages. i could shake off all the other absences… old friends, a mentor, but you… *sigh* no way.”

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen blurbs #seventeen drabbles #seventeen angst #seventeen fic #seungcheol scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #joshua scenarios #jun scenarios #soonyoung scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #jihoon scenarios #seokmin scenarios #mingyu scenarios #minghao scenarios #seungkwan scenarios #hansol scenarios #chan scenarios

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azullumi · 10 months

Text

“are we…” ; kazuha, ayato, alhaitham, & tartaglia

details — here on another agenda of listening to songs, reading the lyrics, realizes how it would sound so good on a fic, and boom! slapping it on a character i think would suit it; basically, songs and tropes as some genshin men

characters — alhaitham, ayato, kazuha, tartaglia (w/gender-neutral reader)

tags — a sprinkle of angst, some of them are out of character, nothing happy is going on (my life relates to it) ; headcanons/scenario

words — 1558

note — getting back to writing so sorry if this fic seems shitty, i’m trying to get my style back by reading the fics i wrote. also i’ll be mostly writing in lowercase now bcs i’m typing on my phone

waiting ; unrequited love — kazuha (bags by clairo)

“can you see me? i’m waiting for the right time.”

kazuha settles on a boundary between you two, standing close behind it, afraid to take a step and cross. and though he was a man who had no fears and wouldn’t let anything hold him back from attaining what he wants, he was scared of going past the boundary as if he would be treading the path of misery once he chooses to do so.

there is always the urge to touch you, the desire to feel your skin underneath his fingertips and unbeknownst to him, his hand would act on its own—he would reach out, his fingers stopping close to your skin before immediately taking his hand back once the realization of his actions had sunk inside his head: “what is it?” you have asked him upon noticing his actions and he could only shake his head before saying, “there’s something on your hair.”

he has this strong sense of denial whenever he does something for you or says something to you, reasoning the flowers that he gives from time to time as an act of friendship and appreciation or the poetry that he creates with you in mindbut he keeps hidden was just because you were too beautiful to not have your being expressed in words and written in poems—

—and every single day, in each morning that he wakes up, he strongly believes that his feelings for you had already dissipated into thin air as if it never existed in the place but only to see your stupid smile and mesmerizing eyes and having himself fall in love again. oh, the amount of times he convinces and tells himself that he’ll avoid you from then on only to have himself basking in your presence later on: “this is the last time,” he tells himself.

there are only two states he would end up in if he decides to go further the line, without you and with you, and he wasn’t stupid to not know that he’ll only have the former happen to him.

he would rather have you close to him and yearn for you despite being so near than the heartbreak and admiring you afar.

“it’s not like you’re in love with me or anything, right?”

toxic ; unhealthy relationships — alhaitham (cry by cigarettes after sex)

“saying you’d wait for me to stay, i know it hurts you.”

you don’t have a toxic relationship with alhaitham nor did you have a healthy one but instead it was miserable, simply one-sided. however, it wasn’t like that at first, he wasn’t like this at first when you two would decide to start over again and create a fresh new page of your love story only for it to end in the same way.

he was good, was great, was wonderful—was. you don’t even know how it got to this point. how did the gentle and sweet murmurs of love and compliments turn to endless shouting and fights at every chance you two get? alhaitham, despite already having raised his voice at you on several occasions, had never raised his hand at you but nevertheless, it doesn’t make anything less hurtful.

“let’s just stop this, i’m tired,” it was clear, it was obvious that the only solution for this wretchedness was to simply just stop and end everything, to cut yourself off him but it doesn’t seem to happen. alhaitham, who possesses such great knowledge and intelligence to know the answer to nearly every problem, never seems to understand that. moments of begging, of asking for forgiveness, for a chance that you always give him, that you always provide him outright, seemingly served and topped with the syrup of your tears and blood.

he only loves you when he’s about to lose you, you know that. you weren’t blind but perhaps you were dumb with that but he loves you then, right? if he really does love you at those moments, then perhaps he did love you right from the start and he just never realized it—it was an endless cycle of gaslighting and making a fool of yourself, finding the reason and making logic out of his actions and words.

it was hard to lose him, you were too used to his presence always guiding you, helping you, and encouraging you that the moment you lost him, you just never seemed to know anything—like a child that was just taken out of the womb, you knew nothing, even yourself. it was a clear fact that you were nothing without him and without you, he was nothing.

“what happened to us, alhaitham?”

convenience ; arranged marriage w/ one-sided feelings — ayato (you’re losing me by taylor swift)

“i wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser.”

it was a marriage of convenience—oh, how you hated the word itself. it feels like a painful slap on your face whenever you hear it being used along with the word marriage, one that would leave a burning mark on your skin.

ayato tried to be a good husband, he tried, really. even when he would come home late, he would always have something to give you. despite not having that many conversations and seldomly seeing each other outside the dining room and bedroom, he would still treat you rather kindly and gently, even when you spend most of your nights alone in a bed that was too large for one, you never felt lonely (perhaps you do, you just don’t want to face it because then you’ll realize that your good husband wasn’t good at all); “i apologize, my dear. here, i bought you something on the way back.”

perhaps all of those acts of kindness and sweetness are his way of saying sorry but what’s there to say sorry for even? was it because he failed to arrive for dinner every time or was it just the whole marriage experience overall?

everything was built on convenience, the only time you two would talk to each other is when it’s needed and the conversation you two will have would end rather shortly and the only time he would touch you in a way that makes you feel loved and cherish—making love—is when it’s convenient for him; you were just never a priority, not anything of importance in his life.

what hurts even more is that ayato isn’t even doing any of this because of a boundary that you two had made but rather there was really nothing in between you two, nothing, not even a speck of dust could be found in the distance you two had.

ayato wasn’t even in a state of turmoil, he wasn’t in a position wherein he had to choose something, to sacrifice, to risk something, it’s just that you were there—you were convenient and not because he chose to choose you over anything else. you were easy to woo, easy to hold, easy to fool.

did he really lose you when he never even wanted you to be his in the first place?

“isn’t this convenient for the both of us?”

pleasure ; one-night stand turned to friends w/ benefits— childe/tartaglia (k. by cigarettes after sex)

“we had made love earlier that day with no strings attached, but i could tell that something had changed how you looked at me then.”

it was simply a relationship that was born out of pleasure; created with the foundation of desire, lust, and need. formed in a single night to escape the reality of the misery of your own lives and consistently being nurtured like a seed that was dropped into the soil and naturally taken care of by the rain and sun—it all seemed natural, him inviting you out for dinner, enjoying your time with his stupid jokes and flirty remarks that is luring you to another night of passion just to wake up with a note and a cold bed the next morning.

and there are times you wish to disappear from his life, to stop whatever you two have, and simply just release yourself from his grasp and though he also wishes for the same, childe always holds onto you so tightly as if he never wants you to leave, as if he always want you to stay even if he knows that he’s hurting you, even if you’re just hurting each other; somewhere deep inside his bones, in the crevices of his mind, he doesn’t wish to see you with someone else other than him despite the fact that he wants you to be happy; “stay with me,” he had told you as he kissed and held you.

but childe was a romantic, he always shower you praised in and out of the bed, he was sweet to you; a gentleman with his words and actions. he was lovely, so breathtaking, so poisonous and it wasn’t hard to love him. and he was well-aware of how your gaze seems to linger at him, how there’s something swirling and drowning in the depths of your eyes, and he was well-aware of what it was. and yet, he chooses to ignore it—was it for the good of himself? for you? either way, he can’t have himself falling.

had you known that night with him would end up in this way, you wouldn’t have taken his rough yet gentle hand on that night.

“what’s there for me to stay for?”

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heliiacus · 1 month

Text

to traverse this with you

tags: armin x reader, fluff, reconnecting, banter, sharing a jacket, cuddling, reader uses she/her pronouns

warnings: none!

words: 1.9k | masterlist

They used to love one another, long ago. Not loudly, nor ferociously, or even in a way that the other knew about, but they did. She knows that now. It could have stayed simple. They could have stayed apart. It has been years since she's been deployed to Marley, to live and work under a secret identity; and grieve as she may have for him, she could have lived with it. She really could have. They could have stayed star-crossed, torn away by war, but things just had to get difficult. Now, with tensions rising, she is forced to relocate – to trek through the lone mountains in the desolate Marleyan wilderness, in an attempt to clandestinely reach a port outside Liberio. And in another world it would have, perhaps, been a task of a casual undertaking. It could have been simple. Were it not for him, by her side: the man she has grieved for this entire time. Were it not for this one simple, stupid mistake.

All day. All day, she sees the looks he gives her. Watching her carefully – almost militant – his eyes follow her, looking for something she thinks she has an idea of; for her to stumble, or to feel ill – to need a break, perhaps.

And yet, she can't quite read it. Not entirely. Something in that unfaltering, watchful eye eludes her, and though it does truly bother her, she pretends it does not.

She can't blame him. She knows she couldn't. She knows, by now, that she really did scare him, and it's not like she does not understand: he was afraid for her, and had she not been afraid for him, before? Or ever since? She still remembers it starkly, those long days on Paradis; the uneasy, ill-ridden palpitations she would get when tending to his training wounds. Not the cuts or scratches, but the larger, deeper ones. His would not heal as fast as they should have, she remembers that vividly: steam rising, and rising, and yet the wound would heal so slowly. Sometimes, not at all.

So she says nothing, in spite of it all. She lets him watch her, coddle her when he deems necessary. She takes breaks when he suggests them, three times more than necessary, and she dare not cough – moreso for his sanity, rather than hers.

And through it all, they talk. They talk, and they talk, heavy-footed through the hard ground, and all the while she does not stop to think why it is so different now: why now, of all times, two weeks after they have met again, it is as if she were seeing him for the first time. He is different, he was different, but now, unexpectedly, it is as if those differences have wound themselves in her, in some far-off, untouchable place.

Discarded were the pleasantries, the world events and major life changes; they talk about books, and the 104, and the horrible, sordid, and joyous things that have truly changed for them in all these years; and she is shocked speechless when she hears he does not like Razomov anymore, and he just laughs and laughs when he hears that her favourite poem has not changed, not one bit. "Stubborn," he tells her, over and over, and she just laughs with him, knowing it's true.

And the day drags, it stretches, it is grueling to the last drop, but suddenly, somehow, though nearly strangers they were, they are not anymore – it is as if a shift happened in her, strange and disorienting. But she smiles eagerly at him now, and she can see it clear as day that he does, too: blooming and exuberant, his timid frame slowly turning loud and animated.

"I think," Armin says eventually, wind falling quiet. "We should break for camp here. It's a good spot, and we need rest."

She stops, looking around. Here, ahead of them, the summit of a hill towers over them, with a thin sliver of a trail behind. A soft impasse, she thinks, with not an animal in sight – safe and sound, or so it looks like.

"Camp it is," she says, hauling her backpack to the ground.

Camp is set swiftly, as is dinner, and soon they sit by the smolders of a small fire, talking back and forth in hushed voices. The day had been warm, but now, with the thin light melting over the horizon, she feels a coldness bloom harshly in the air. It must be the altitude, then, she realises quickly; the cold grows unnaturally quickly here. Suddenly, the night before begins to make more sense.

She startles when she sees Armin stand over her, pulling his jacket over her shoulders. "Aren't you–" she begins, but cuts herself short when she sees his lips curl softly. "I guess not."

"Not," he confirms, sitting back down in front of her with a tired thump, and then he sighs, looking up at the sky. "This is by far the most precarious mission I've been sent to."

She hums in response, finding herself, momentarily, at a lack of words. She sips her tea, and does not speak until her eyes meet his again. "I imagine it's more difficult to travel when you're escorting a.. civilian."

"On enemy territory. On high alert. In foreign wilderness," he lists off, one hand delicately marking each peril on the other, and she smiles at the familiarity of the gesture; he's never stopped doing this, it seems. "Thank the walls we're not that far now."

"A week more, right? Give or take."

"Closer to eleven days, if your health will stay," he sighs. Then, eyes sharp, he looks back at her. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugs nonchalantly, then smiles at him. "Fine. I don't feel like I’m about to fall ill and die." She watches as he begins to smile back at her. "Unless you count being brought to death by being coddled too much."

Armin has the audacity to blush at that. Deeply, eyes cast down, but he laughs with her when she kicks his shin.

"I’m just worried, alright?" He chuckles, then, softer: "You really did scare me last night."

"I know," she says, air heavy in her chest. She nudges at his shin again, eager to have him look at her, and he nudges back. The gesture is simple, short, and yet she lingers on it, watching him. "I’m sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Granted, I don't think I approached it with the gravity that I should have.. or something."

"Stubborn," he says, smile crooked and warm and so close to something she once called home, and he rubs at the nape of his neck before telling her: "I’m sorry, also. I feel like, for these two weeks, I've been.. I don't know. Everything is just so different now – out of control different." Though slow, his smile falls, eyes eager as he looks at her; open to her. She can read him, if only just for this moment: contrite and discomforted; palms up and open for her, if she were to just reach for him. "I had to adjust. It wasn't easy."

"I know," she says, and his jacket feels heavy on her frame. "Me too. It wasn't easy." She thinks to reach for him; she does not dare. "Everything is different now."

He hums then, craning his head back, eyes on the halcyon sky. "Not everything," he says, and he smiles. It's so simple. Such an easy smile. She looks and looks, watching the man with this strange, earnest yearning in her heart, wood cracking softly in the fire, and it is as if they were seventeen again. As if he were, once again, reading to her by the campfire well into the night, wind grounded between the trees; or if they were burrowed, once more, into notes and inks by the weak lamplight.

"We should head to sleep," she tells him finally, winded and adrift within this vast feeling in her chest, and it is only when he stands, boot stomping at the smolders, that she is able to breathe.

Then it is moonlight that envelopes her, and as Armin heads to their tent, she sits there still, heart racing unevenly. It is so quiet here, so quiet it's almost overwhelming. She feels the cold walk on her skin, beneath the jacket and her clothes, and she knows Armin was right this morning. A feeling roils in her at the thought: discomfort, she thinks at first, but it is not that. It certainly is not that.

"Are you coming?" Comes a voice, and she turns to him, standing hunched at the foot of the tent.

"Yes," she says, standing quickly, and in few quick steps she's back inside with him.

They glance at one another carefully, readying for bed. She unrolls her bedding, settling it down with a meticulousness that is not akin to her; tucking and unfolding, straightening the blanket. And yet she can't help it. Armin's jacket now burns on her shoulders, and yet she dare not pry it off of her.

When she finally stops, she stares at it. She thinks she should ask him, or wait for him to say it, and yet somehow, somewhere in her stomach, the thought irks her, so she does not wait. She grabs the bedroll by the edge and drags it, pulling it close to Armin, and finds him, with surprise, doing the same.

"You should keep that on," Armin tells her, pointing to his jacket.

"Won't you get cold?" She asks, almost absently.

"Oh, no," he says, nodding, tone distant as he handles his blanket. "I mean, with the titan and all."

"Right," she agrees quietly, and as she watches him lie down, as she watches him rest his head, that roiling, disorienting feeling returns: vicious and grasping, holding her breath hostage. She feels it in her hands – an urge to take the jacket off, and a stronger, more omniscient urge; one to take the lapels in her hands, to fold them closer to her, to inhale his scent and keep it in her memory and to not let herself forget it ever again.

She lay by his side like this, hands almost shaking, chest trembling with a broken breath. And he watches her. Of course he does.

"If you're uncomfortable.." he begins, gently, of course, carefully. He lays a hand between them: a barrier, perhaps; maybe an offer.

She does not take it. "Oh, I’m alright," she says, willing herself, by the breadth of her last will, back into balance. "Just some things on my mind."

He seems to settle at that, the worry in his eyes softening. "Want to share?" He asks placidly, and it is only now that she realises how awfully close he is.

"Hell no," she replies with a swiftness, smiling readily as it gains a giggle out of him.

"Thought as much," he says, grinning widely at her. "At least you've smiled."

And she did. She continues to, watching the man next to her settle. She breathes in, and out, her lungs not stuttering once. "We should sleep," she tells him once more, beneath her breath.

"Let's," he agrees, and his hand stays still, and then he asks her, so quietly she barely hears it: "Do you want me to hold you?"

"Yes," she breathes. She doesn't think when she says it, she doesn't wound herself into the future or the past. She simply closes her eyes when she feels his arm curl around her frame, as she feels his warmth come closer to her, beckoning to her: not as desperately close as they were this morning, but tentatively, tenderly, almost. Her hand touches his chest, and for a moment she feels his own on top of it, clasped soft and delicate, before he lets it go.

And she is tired, she knows that now. Her eyes droop heavily, lulled with an ease by the warmth undulating from him to her. Head spinning with exhaustion, pulse beating in the hand that lay on Armin’s chest, she finds herself with no energy, no light within her to feel embarrassed about telling him: "I could get used to this."

Armin doesn't answer, not for a while. His hand – flat at her back – pushes itself into her, just a little; a peculiar sound leaves him – contentment, she thinks, but just barely. And in the silence, in the stillness that surrounds them outside of their bed, she feels herself begin to drift, melting seamlessly into his arms. Then, as she lay on the precipice of sleep, she thinks she hears him say, so quietly it feels almost private: "Then do."

dividers by arlerts-angel

tag list: @arlerts-angel @nilaaaas @supersupper @levistealeaf @sukunascrustyfinger @bel-https @arminarlertssword @dilfkentolover @er3nscottonpicker @lemontrees-things @layla240 @funkkage @ryoiii @siy-draws @katestrophes

as always, thank you so much for your support 💗 reblogs are very welcome!!

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neil-gaiman · 1 year

Note

Hi Mr. Gaiman!

I hope you're happy and well.

A part of me hopes this ask gets lost, while another really strongly hopes you answer (not a good beginning, but fuck it).

Okay, so here goes *deep breaths*

My parents have some connections in the publishing industry (they know publishers, dad is an author, etc), and they want me to give them something, anything, that they will then get published. Because I write relatively frequently, stories, poems, research articles, and they know it, they keep telling me to create a book out of my written stuff. But I honestly don't want to, primary reason being that I really don't want to get published because of contacts and stuff. My first book was published that way, and while it holds a special place in my heart, I still feel it shouldn't have been published (some stuff is practice, and some maybe needs the right time - is what I feel). I want to do this on my own, and even if I fail, I'm good with it; but I don't want to get published like this, even if it's for initial books that might help me career-wise. But the parents say that time is running out (I'm 22 btw, and sometimes I do get scared that it's really running out), why not use opportunities when they're coming to you on a plate, doesn't matter if the quality is bad, nobody really reads, only the CV is read, etc. And while the idealistic part of me is strongly against it, another more sensitive part of me really gets affected and scared and just...fucked. When I decline, the parents get angry, say I'm stupid, idealistic, don't know what's good for me; and I get sad seeing them disappointed.

Could you please give some advice on this? Should I give in? Should I keep walking the idealistic path and keep trying on my own? I absolutely love the act of writing itself, and honestly, a lot of the time, finishing a piece of work and polishing it is usually enough for me. I can wait for however long, to first find a proper place(s) and then send it, and even then, rejection won't hurt. I'm already working on some stuff, short story collection, etc. but these talks (lectures and scoldings rather) really scare me. Am I doing the right thing, going against them, at least as far as my own writing is concerned (coz I'm usually pretty passive)?

Thanks for reading so much of my crap, and sorry if your time was wasted. It's perfectly fine if you don't answer.

PS really really love your works, and The Sandman (along with Discworld & Good Omens) honestly really saved my life in one of the darker parts - so thank you for that.

Hope you're happy!

Time is not running out. Don’t let anyone rush you. Write a book you are happy with first, and then see if you can get it published.

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wolken-himmel · 1 year

Text

In which Sebek discovers (Y/n)'s passion for writing poems and decides to be supportive — perhaps aggressively so.

He just wants to see that smile again.

Request by anon.

"Human, have you already finished exercise four? Do you still require my help?"

"Yeah, that would be nice. I've been stuck here for quite a while now."

Sebek and you had chosen to occupy a table at the far end corner of the hall. Studying together had always been something that both of you looked forward to eagerly, although none of you dared to voice your excitement. Instead, you continued to sit there in silence, each busy with your own identical sheet of exercises.

The sheepish smile you shot him drew an exasperated gasp from him. Without wasting any time, he scooted his chair over to you. "You could have told me, idiot," he grumbled under his breath, although a playful look flashed across his face. "But fret not, for I am willing to help."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the boisterous and proud look on his face — the sight brought you amusement somehow. So, with your gaze trained at your sheet, you uncapped your pen again. "Thanks, Sebek. Thanks," you murmured with a silly smile on your lips.

"If angel berries and aspen leaves react with one another, what does the reaction produce without a bother?"

A gasp escaped your lips, and you couldn't help but suppress the giddy feeling in the depths of your stomach. "That rhymed!" Your eyes shimmered brightly as they bore into his.

He didn't reciprocate your enthusiasm, however, due to the confusion that inhabited his eyes. His eyes eyed you up and down carefully. "What...? No, the reaction between angel berries and aspen leaves doesn't rhyme, stupid. They produce a viscous and purple fluid," he muttered and slapped his forehead in frustration.

"That rhymed again!" you cried out with even more excitement lacing your voice.

Finally, Sebek threw his hands into the air and let out an annoyed growl. "I still don't get what you mean!" he yelled before gritting his teeth.

The volume of his voice immediately caused an annoyed head to peek out from behind the tall shelves. "Please keep your voices low..." the student muttered and rolled his eyes. "We are in a library after all."

"Oh right, I apologise!" With his pale cheeks tinted a slight pink, Sebek lowered himself into his chair beside yours again.

You, however, seemed to have forgotten your alchemy homework altogether. Your mind whirred with such excitement that you dared to grab his hands and squeeze them tightly. "Sebek, you never told me that you had such a talent for poetry. It's like you were born to write poems," you exclaimed enthusiastically. "You rhyme without a second thought. You're amazing!"

"You..." Sebek stuttered out, "...think I'm amazing?"

A series of chuckles escaped your lips once you noticed the bashful yet proud expression on his face. You would have never dared to say it out loud, but he was awfully adorable like this. "Yes, I do. And you should think so, too," you joked and shot him a wink.

He finally snapped out of his stupor, and his face returned to the usual stoic and constantly annoyed scowl. "Oh, stop it... Flattery will get you nowhere. Nice words, about those I don't care." His shaking voice betrayed his strict words, and you couldn't help but begin laughing. Although he sheepishly waved you off, he couldn't hide the blush on his face. "So you like poems, human?"

His question prompted you to nod eagerly. "I adore poems!" you began, your eyes vivid and bright — so full with life like he had never seen before. Your shyness was gone. "Poetry is such a beautiful way to express your feelings... Every poem can be meaningful in one way or another and that is what makes poetry great without being repetitive—"

Sebek listened and watched you with great interest, observing all the small details of your face and voice. His surprise of your sudden outburst — you used to be rather reserved, after all — ebbed away after a while. He found himself comforted by your voice, so soft and excited at the same time. And at first, he thought he would grow blind due to the brightness of your smile as you talked. He never averted his gaze though, even when you eventually stopped.

A sheepish chuckle escaped your lips. "Oh, but I'm rambling again... I'm so sorry..."

After he had snapped out of his trance, he shot up and waved his arms around in protest. His voice was loud and echoed through library. For a moment, you feared the student from earlier would return to complain. But, you somehow didn't have the heart to stop Sebek when he was this worked up. "No, (Y/n), continue speaking! I can clearly see that you're passionate... it reminds me of myself, in a way. Also," he muttered quietly, "it's endearing when you just talk away."

"People are usually bored whenever I start talking about poems... They think it's a strange interest to have." You rubbed your neck sheepishly. "I'm surprised you'd like to know more."

His lips curled upwards into a proud grin. "I'm full of surprises, human."

Later that day, Sebek found himself bursting with the need to tell someone about the incident at the library. The usual tension in his muscles replaced by a fleeting swiftness, the first-year pranced around the hallways of Diasomnia in search for a certain fae that he always consulted when he needed advice. And lucky him, he found exactly the person he was looking for busy in the kitchen.

"Lilia! Lilia!"

The fae in question began grinning once he saw the happiness that the first-year exuded. "Yes, Sebek? What's gotten into you?" Lilia teased while holding back chuckles. "You're... smiling. That's a nice sight."

"(Y/n) said I was amazing," Sebek announced between wistful sighs.

The third-year's lips curled up into an amused grin. "You have hearts in your eyes~" His loud laughter soon ceased to be, and he wiped the last tear of amusement from his eye. "But," Lilia continued in satisfaction, "I'm very glad to see you get along so well with another first-year. I worried about your... erm..."

Silver chimed in, "...obsession with Malleus."

A pout appeared on Sebek's face, and he crossed his arms with a sigh. "You two are always teasing me..." he grumbled under his breath. Yet, when he turned on his heel and prepared himself to leave the kitchen, his grumpiness turned into excitement again. "Anyway, I shall be off! I've got all sorts of poems to read— and to write. After all, I need to support (Y/n) with all my might!"

"That's cute..." The smile on Lilia's face couldn't be wiped off, so it seemed. He watched in satisfaction as the half-fae pranced out of the kitchen with feathery steps.

"I'm happy Sebek finally found a friend," Silver said between yawns.

"Perhaps," Lilia drawled mischievously, "more than a friend, even."

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #reader insert #y/n #disney twst #twst x you #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek #twst sebek zigvolt #twst sebek x reader #twisted wonderland sebek #gender neutral reader

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gayerthanevertbh · 2 years

Text

mommy’s little girl

pairings: older!natasha romanoff x innocent!reader

warnings: huge age gap, masturbation, slightly dark!natasha, dirty talking (heavily implied), mommy kink, and praise. 18+ MINORS DNI

notes: mommy natasha who’s also a big bear and i just want to post my fantasies lol enjoy x

masterlist | navigation | kinktober masterlist

“Sweetheart, please turn off your computer. You have school tomorrow.”

I sighed, putting away my book as I turned off my computer with a small smile on my face; showing that I wasn’t ready to go to bed. I recently turned eighteen this month, and I hoped that I’d have a bit of my freedom but that was no longer the case when it comes to my parents. I live in a conservative, religious, and highly respected home. Having a boyfriend or a girlfriend would never be a faith of mine; most certainly having the life that I truly want that isn’t even that stupid. Just a bit of my freedom would be appreciated.

“Mom?”

“What’s wrong, baby?”

I hesitated, but I knew it must be said. I took a deep breath and whispered, “When will I ever leave the house? Like… explore?”

She sighed through her nose and I could immediately tell that she was not having this mere conversation. Every week, I’d ask her about this. And she would ignore or find another topic to talk about so that we would forget about it. But there was no escaping this time; surely, she cannot escape this conversation.

“When you’re ready, Y/n.”

I only nodded and felt her lip kissing the crown of my head and turned off the lights in my room; I felt my own heart grow heavy and lay comfortably on the mattress where I think about another reality. Where I’m happy. When will I ever be satisfied? When will I get to have a life of my own?

Then, I grabbed my phone under my bed and began to download this app that my friend told me, it’s where you chat with strangers. Like Omegle. But she said that this app was different, you get to call and meet them – which is a little strange, but I don’t mind. It was hard to make a profile picture since I don’t take photos of myself; so I chose a photo of me that was almost a year ago and used it instead. I gave it a few minutes and saw an account trying to add me, making my heart beat a little.

At least from an online world, someone could appreciate me.

I clicked on their profile and I almost squirmed underneath the blanket. This woman was a beautiful-looking redhead. She had her hair short, her lips matching the shirt that she was wearing. Pink; is a great color. I smiled when I read her bio, it says: I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading – treading – till it seemed That Sense was breaking through – which I understood immediately. It’s a poem by Emily Dickinson, making my heart swell with joy. Finally, someone like me. Someone that I could relate to.

I decided to add them back and waited for their text; I rested my phone against my chest.

I felt my phone buzzing, I immediately threw myself up.

Natasha: Hi! :)

At this point, I didn’t know how to respond. I could do two things; ghost her, or don’t ghost her and face the person who is texting you right now. I chewed on my lower lip, watching the clock tick at its new number whether I should respond to her or not. I know I should, it would be rude enough not to say a simple hello. I began typing quickly and sent my message.

You: Hiiii! I’m surprised you texted me.

Natasha: I saw you here and I immediately had to add you. You’re really pretty, so so pretty.

You: you’re making me blush. thank you, fellow kind ma’am. :)

Natasha: how old are you? You seem extremely young.

I put my phone down and thought intensely if I should give her my age. If she knew I recently turned eighteen, she might block me and never speak to me again. And if she doesn’t talk to me again, that means I can’t have a friend. But being honest is also a good trait when it comes to these things; I have to tell her or else I’ll just keep pushing her away.

I sighed, sending the message of my age.

You: I’m eighteen. I hope you don’t mind.

Natasha: no, not at all! You’re so cute.

You: you’re giving me too many compliments, I can’t take it :(

Natasha: well, if we are going to be friends, you might expect me to tell you these things. Where are you from?

You: Queens!

Natasha: Really?! I’m from Queens too! Well, I just moved here recently. Business stuff.

You: how old are you then?

She’s probably twice as old as me, which makes me a little sad. If she was my age and I was allowed to have a girlfriend; she would be the perfect fit. Even though I only met this person not even an hour ago. It took her a while to respond, but she did and it made my heart drop.

Natasha: 38. Are you okay with that?

You: you’re the same age as my parents.

Natasha: I’m sorry, cutie. If you want, we could stop talking. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore :( but I’ll be very sad…

I don’t want to break her heart, I thought with a sigh through my nose. She must be so kind.

She’s probably the kindest person I’ve ever had a conversation with; I decided to keep going, which made me create a smile on my face like a stupid little girl.

You: I want us to keep talking, don’t go!

Natasha: Okay. We will keep talking then. :)

You: why are you in this app?

Natasha: Because I’m going through a really tough time and I wanted some company… hehehe.

Usually, whenever my friends would talk about guys online, they immediately want to have sex. They tell me it’s a turn-off, especially when the conversation is smooth and delicate until shit has been replaced. I haven’t experienced it myself, and I most likely wouldn’t want to experience it. So I decided to type my thoughts, getting a reply from her before a minute.

You: is sex your catch?

Natasha: you made me laugh, on a fond matter. No, sweet girl, that’s not my catch. I just want to make some friends, can’t I do that? :(

You: of course, you can! I was a little scared that you would want sex with me.

Natasha: sweetheart, I wouldn’t. We haven’t built a relationship, hahaha. Isn’t it late for you? Pretty little girls like you need their sleep. :D

You: you’re a flirt, aren’t you?

Natasha: It’s in me, I can’t help it. Plus, you’re not a minor. You won’t report me to the police, right?

You: what would be the reason for that?

Natasha: I don’t know, it seems like you would. :( Wouldn’t that be juicy?

You: I think I’ll go to bed :)

Natasha: lol. Okay, sweetheart. Get some rest, let’s keep talking tomorrow, okay? Goodnight. :)

You: Night!!

I brought my phone back under my bed and closed my eyes, as I think about the night that I made a friend. It’s a swelling feeling, a good swelling feeling. She was beautiful – too ethereal – and was the sweetest person I’ve talked to, even though she’s a big flirt. Though, that didn’t seem to mind me at all. If I would let her stay by flirting with me like that, then I wouldn’t care. I’d let her flirt all day long until I was bored.

I slept humbly like a babe.

Natasha and I began to have a strong bond a few weeks later, which caused a ruckus in the house since I’ve been on my phone too much. My mother, who’s too strict in everything, demands to have my phone and I would simply give her by not worrying (Natasha taught me how to hide our chats, which I’m grateful for) and she would give it to me back with a defeated face – knowing that I’ve won the fight. I would tell Natasha that her plan had worked and she would give me a response that sounded too flirty but also supportive at the same time.

And there was this gnawing feeling inside of me that wanted to roar out. Sometimes, when I’m in bed, I can’t help but think about her lips on mine. Would we be a great couple? Does she see me as her daughter? She’s older than me, she’s smarter than me, and I feel so young and innocent having someone to talk to someone so… mature. I know deep inside of me that she probably is a good kisser and would touch me delicately; but I also want to experience that and not with my dreams.

I was having a small conversation with her while doing my homework, laughing and giggling whenever she would imitate Mickey Mouse from my favorite TV show in the world.

“Natty, you sound exactly like him.”

“I try,” she laughs faintly, hearing herself flop on her bed. “Too bad I can’t see your face. I would be thrilled and blushing if I did.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, knowing that we wouldn’t able to have a video call. “This app is stupid anyway, I wish I could text you properly.”

“When you have your own life, then you will. For now, this is what we have to work with, m’kay?”

“M’kay.”

“God, you sound so cute. I wish I could kiss your cute face.”

My face flushed, and I immediately stopped writing down in my notebook as I repeated the words she had said in my head. A woman like her wants to kiss me. It felt surreal; different. Yet, it’s a great feeling that I cannot describe whatsoever. I gulped and responded quietly under my breath, “What does that mean, Nat?”

“Would you be angry if I asked you to call me your Mommy?”

“H-Huh?” my breath hitched; I could hear her groaning from the speaker of my phone, and I had to ball my hand into a fist so that I don’t let out a suppressing moan that my mom could hear behind my door. “Nat, what are you talking about?”

“I think about you all the time,” she whimpers with a deep voice. “You’re my sweet little girl, my pure innocent girl. That fuckin’ turns me on so much, you make me so wet.”

“T-Tasha…”

“You want me to keep talking, baby? Yeah? Fuck, I’m touching myself right now. Mmph, call me Mommy. Please, baby, call me Mommy.”

“My parents could hear me if I say that,” I whispered close to the speaker, closing my eyes as I imagined her hands underneath her panties. She must be so insatiable, which I find attractive. I took a breath and whispered close, moaning: “Mommy.”

She groans as I can hear squelching sounds from the background. “Fuck! O-Oh god, you make me so horny. You don’t know what I can do to you, little girl. I can fucking lick you like I’m hungry for you, I can fuck you so hard that you might beg for help. Oh, I’d love to hear you beg, fuck baby fuck.”

“Are you–”

“I think you’ll love my cock much more, don’t you think? Please, baby, let me see you soon. I want to lick you, I want to kiss you so much. I love you, I love your little body. God–I know you’d be so little, and your pretty pussy must be so tight.”

“Keep talking to me, Mommy,” I whispered with a whining moan as I slipped my fingers into my underwear to touch my clitoris, shutting my eyes tight; not having an idea what to do next. “M-Mommy, I’m touching myself…”

“S-Shit, you have no idea what you’re doing, huh?”

“Mhm,” I continued to rub my clit, biting my lower lip to keep quiet. “I can’t be loud, they could hear me.”

“Imagine me going to your room as your parents are downstairs, thinking about their daughter being so innocent. I’ll take your virginity, I’ll keep you quiet. Do you think about me kissing your lips? Baby, talk to me. I need to hear you.” Natasha thrusts her fingers into her rapidly, as she thinks about the naughtiest imaginations about fucking me in her head. The things I could do for her.

“I-I can’t be loud,” I rest my forehead against my desk and continued to rub my clit in circular motions, counting how many times I should do it in my head. I heard her groaning from my speaker and heard something, but I couldn’t figure it out. “Mommy, I feel so icky…”

“Mommy wants to help you out so bad,” she whines as she creates a rapid pace into her cunt. “I love you, my little girl. Keep it down for me, sweetheart… I’m going to cum soon. I wish I could cum in your mouth.”

“My mouth?–Oh god–”

“I wish I could fuck you in the ass, I wish I could taste you. Mommy’s cumming baby… yeah, I’m–Oh SHIT!” she lets out a strangled moan and arches her back, whimpering and whining out my name multiple times as she has the orgasm that she wished would last forever; it felt too good for her, especially when she thought of her strap-on inside of my little pussy, as she says.

I pulled my hand out and wiped it on a paper towel near me, I waited for her to calm down before hearing her say: “We have to meet, okay baby girl? I really want to see your face.”

“I want to see your face too, Tasha bear.”

She chuckles deeply as I hear a ruffling sound that was coming from her sheets, I was guessing that she was changing or getting herself comfortable; the sound lasted for a minute. When silence hit us both, I realized that I was about to fall in love with an older woman. And I wished that she felt the same way; otherwise, it would be embarrassing enough to have feelings for someone else who wouldn’t give them back to you.

But she has said I love you to me multiple times; she must love me then, right?

“I’m your bear, alright.”

“You’ll always be my bear.” I responded shyly, tucking a strand of my hair in my ear. I hear another chuckle again that churns my stomach; she really has that effect on me that I don’t understand.

“I want us to meet at the Avengers Cafe, can we? Please?”

“But what if my parents find out?”

“They won’t,” she reassures desperately. “I love you, I want to see you. I promise I’m not a pervert.”

It took me a while to respond, and I could tell that she was losing hope. I knew immensely that Natasha wasn't a pervert nor a threat; it was more of how will I survive when my parents know about her? Especially when I live in such a conservative home, it's really damn hard. But I knew, deep inside, that it was worth it. Meeting the possible love of my life would be the greatest challenge I'll ever do.

I decided to give in and nodded, smiling through the phone.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Let’s meet then.”

“Good,” she sighs happily and closes her eyes; her hand still in her panties. “Tomorrow sounds good?”

“Yeah, it does.”

“Goodnight, my dearest.”

i’m serious. should i post part two where natasha fucks reader in her innocent bedroom? ooooo

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff smut #black widow x reader #black widow x you #a's oneshots!

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