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IN-BETWEEN DAYS

Carl Grimes x Reader

⚠️ Warnings: language ⚠️

The light was so bright it hurt your eyes.

The smell of the hospital room was one you'd never forget. It was your dad's last moments, after all, and the place reeked of death and old perfume. You tried your best to focus on something as silly as the smell to keep you distracted from the scene that was playing out before you. Your dad, lying helpless and stating up at the ceiling as a flurry of doctors rushed around the room and around his bed, yelling incoherent sentences to the others before beginning the procedure. You knew it wouldn't work. He was already gone.

The same light that seemed so bright to you left his eyes and a hoarse sigh escaped his lips. He died smiling and you knew it was purely because he saw your mother waiting for him on the other side.

...

Your father never had to live in this apocalyptic world, which was a good thing. He had died of a heart attack a few years back and you focused on keeping yourself alive throughout all the chaos surrounding you. You were a different person now then you were back then. You wondered if he'd be proud of the shitty decisions you've made leading up to this point; the way you had to teach yourself how to fight and kill, never letting anyone into your heart and break down your walls. That is until you met Carl.

You had been an orphan after your father's death, going in and out of orphanages and foster homes until the apocalypse hit. You found yourself all alone after that and did your best with what you could to survive with what you had. You had met Rick's group along the way, finding out later that they had just lost their last shelter which apparently was a prison not to far from where you were stationed. An old treehouse.

Why you were remembering your past at a time like this, you didn't know why. You just felt especially nostalgic today of all days and you were reminded of your father because Carl had found one of your favorite CD's while out on a run- The Cure.

Your father had also enjoyed The Cure and it felt even more painful to listen to it today, because of the nostalgia and the fact that you were finally starting to enjoy bits and pieces of what was left of the world without him. You felt guilty. Guilty for letting him die.

No. It wasn't your fault.

But it felt like it.

You pet Carl's hair as he laid in your lap, eye closed and lost in thought as you both listened to the song 'In Between Days' by The Cure. You weren't sure what he was thinking about, but part of you felt as though he was reliving his past and overthinking the his actions too. It was songs like these that made you feel your past creeping up on you again. You didn't mind thinking about your past. Your father had been sick for a very long time. You had killed people before but you would do it all over again to save those you cared about. You wondered if Carl felt the same.

He didn't let anyone into his head. He never had a problem showing emotion around you, he just preferred to lay in your lap as you both reminisce of the way things were before and you glide your fingers through his messy locks of hair. It calmed you as well, being able to hold him in that way, a way he wouldn't let anyone else.

The winter was colder, so often times Carl would make his way over to where you were sitting on the couch and lay his head down in your lap looking for the comfort that only you could give him. Sometimes he'd fall asleep on you but you didn't mind. You were an insomniac anyways, so having something as soothing as Carl's short and heavy breathing as you lied awake helped you relieve the tension of the day.

"Are you still awake?"

The blue eyed boy looked up at you, finally opening his eyes and letting a tear slip down his cheek. He looked beautiful that way. His eyes were stormy and the light shining in through the windows of your living room cast shadows across his face and made his freckles seem electrified.

"Yes." Was all you replied with. It was all you could reply with since you were still zoned out.

He moved so he was sitting next to you on the couch and eased you down onto his lap so he could return the loving gesture. You made yourself comfortable against the cold denim of his jeans and felt his hands run through your (H/L), (H/C) hair.

"(Y/N), I don't know if I've told you this before, but Robert Smith is a wonderful musician. I can see why you and your dad liked him so much." He said, as you started to fall asleep against him.

"Yeah. He really is. This song reminds me of you."

"How so?"

You sighed. "It's a beautiful irony. Isn't it? The song seems so happy and uplifting at first glance, but there's so much meaning behind the lyrics and the more you think about them the sadder the story gets. But it is also beautiful. It's beautiful in the way that it reminds you of all the times you felt infinite, the times your heart was broken, and the overwhelming sense of being forgotten but then remembering how meaningful love is."

He was silent for a moment before he spoke "I've never had someone understand me on a level that emotional before. It's kind of nice being around you. I don't have to say anything and you've already got me all figured out. It's why I love you."

You felt the importance of his words flow through your mind and travel down every part of your body. It was so nice to be told you're loved and not from your parents. You weren't sure if there was a greater feeling then that of being loved. And you were loved by Carl so it was extra special.

"I love you too Carl."

And with that, you drifted off to sleep, Robert Smith filling your ears with happiness and Carl underneath you, rubbing small circles in your hair and making you feel infinite. You only felt infinite with Carl. Next time you listened to this song, you knew you would be reminiscent of this moment.

(Gifs aren't mine, sorry the story was so short it's currently 4:00 am and I am on day #2 without sleep)

me scrolling through the eddie munson x reader tag every morning like it’s a goddamn newspaper, knowing full well i’m about to spend the rest of the day reading every new fic that has been posted

This just made my day omg it's so cute 💛🦐

Dog Days (TASM!Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned.

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Andrew Garfield!Spiderman; friends to lovers; heated make-out; cursing; minor injury; mutual pining; possible part 1 of 2? characters are in college & of age.

It was hot. That sticky kind of hot that clung to you and made you feel like tearing your skin off. That makes the sweat pool at the nape of your neck until it slides in a cold streak down the curve of your spine. The New York air was shimmering, alive with exhaust fumes and the output of overworked air conditioning units of every apartment on your block—except for yours. The dumbass thing had broken overnight and when you woke up at five a.m., damp and uncomfortable, you’d called your best friend knowing he’d make a quick fix of it.

But you’d gotten his voicemail, unsurprising given that he’d never been a morning person. Since you’d met him three years ago at freshman orientation, Peter Parker had perfectly offset you in every way. Where he could stay in bed until noon, you were decidedly not a night owl, often cosy in your pyjamas by ten p.m. Peter had a sharp wit and loved to tease, and though his wit brought out a sharp tongue you’d never known you had, you were infinitely shyer than he was. He was perpetually late to everything from the Christmas dinner you’d invited him to at your parents’ home to your final exam for Organic Chemistry—which he’d passed with flying colours—whereas you were punctual to a fault. And perhaps most significantly, you’d never known heartbreak in your life, never had the opportunity because you’d never given anyone your heart to begin with. Peter’s heart, you knew, had endured the worst kind of break. Though he only spoke of her sometimes, you knew his high school girlfriend had died tragically and each year you went with him to visit her resting place, holding his hand and running your thumb over his knuckles as gently as you could. The depths of that pain, written on his face and in his body language whenever he spoke of Gwen, made you steel yourself against love, afraid to give yourself to anyone in case you left them broken and alone.

There was a flaw in your plan to avoid love forever though, and that was Peter himself. As much as you’d tried to swallow them, shut them up in the deepest pits of your soul, bury them where they’d never see the light of day, your feelings for him had only grown in the last three years. At first it was a little thrill each time his eyes met yours, a tingle on your skin when his fingers grazed your own while you shared a carton of fries at a Yankees game. That had grown, exploded really, into a brilliant whirl of colours every time you heard his voice—a sort of love-induced synesthesia that turned Peter’s laughter yellow and his whispers soft purple and his calling your name the deepest, richest scarlet.

You’d fallen desperately in love with your best friend and you were resolutely not going to do anything about it, thank you very much.

“Y/N!” There was a knock at the door of your cramped apartment that drew you out of your crossword puzzle—stuck, as you were, on 18-Down. “It’s Peter!”

You’d barely heard the knock over the sound of Eminem in your headphones, but there was no mistaking Peter’s voice. You were at the door, earbuds abandoned on the coffee table, pulling it open before you remembered that you’d traded in your baggy David Bowie tee and jean shorts for a barely-there camisole and blue panties of the lightest cotton. You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned. If only you’d known he was being entirely serious—his neck having had a near miss with some villain’s techno-reproduction of a classic medieval weapon only hours ago. “It’s hot as hell in here, Y/N. Are you trying to get me naked?”

Your cheeks flushed and you made quick work of rolling your eyes as dramatically as possible, trying to distract Peter from the change of colour in your face. He was an expert at changing the subject, so much so that you’d long since given up trying to get him to talk about anything he didn’t want to, such as why he was chronically late or where he’d disappeared to that night you had tickets for the Rangers playoff game, or how he managed to find time to workout with his ridiculous school schedule and familial duties because god damn, his arms—you stopped yourself from letting that thought full form, knowing it would send you down a rabbit hole.

“Don’t think I’m not keeping a tally of every time you dodge my questions,” you muttered, moving to the refrigerator and opening it briefly to let some cool air out on your heated chest. The emptiness of the shelves reminded you that you really needed to get groceries because ramen noodles, eggs, and the rapidly decaying bananas on the counter would not keep you alive forever. “And didn’t you get my voicemail?”

“No,” Peter shrugged, “I saw you left me one but thought I’d just swing by.” A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, though you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what the joke was.

“Well, the AC is broken,” you informed him, straightened up and facing him where he stood in your living room, his tall and lean frame a familiar sight there alongside the stacks of textbooks and novels, the record player, and the pile of throw pillows you couldn’t stop collecting. For a long moment, Peter stared at you, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he was just now seeing you since coming in. You felt much more naked than you actually were under his stare and shifted your weight from one leg to the other, your hand coming to tug down at the hem of your camisole. Peter had seen you nearly nude before, but this felt—different. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the unfamiliar expression that flashed across his eyes. Either way, it had you squeezing your legs together as subtly as possible. If Peter noticed, he didn’t let on.

“That explains the outfit,” he grinned, tone light, though you noticed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard.

“It was hardly my first choice,” you shot back, “But anyways, now that you’re here do you think you could fix it?”

“This feels like the start of a por—”

“Don’t say it, Parker,” you cut him off with a warning glare, eyes wide. Peter only laughed, though stopped almost immediately, favouring his jaw. Already it looked like the gash was healing and you wondered where he’d gotten it from—it reminded you, oddly, of the ankle he’d “sprained” while showing you a skateboarding trick last summer. You would swear up and down, on every holy text that existed, that you’d seen his bone popping out of his skin. But the next day he’d been absolutely fine and you were certain that the limp he’d had for a week was half-faked.

“Y/N? Are you alive in there?” Peter’s amused voice drew you from your reverie and you nodded, running your fingers through your hair to get it out of your face.

“Alive and well,” you reported, “So you think you can fix it?”

***

As it turned out, Peter could fix the AC unit, but he’d need to pick up a part at the hardware store down the street. While he examined the ancient device mounted on your bedroom wall, you sat perched on your bed, silky pink blankets long since tossed to the floor, watching him with interest, noticing everything about the way his hands moved carefully over the shabby metal, the way his brow furrowed when he peeked inside the unit, and the way his eyes crinkled when he announced that it wouldn’t be an issue to repair.

For his part, Peter knew your eyes were on him—he wouldn’t go so far as to call it Spidey-sense, he just knew you and he’d had an inkling of the feelings you harboured for him for quite some time, though that part probably was Spidey-sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way, because god knows he did, but he was terrified to let himself fall in love again; beyond hesitant to ever let anyone get hurt again because of him. But then there was the way you looked at him, your eyes sparkling with delight when he made a stupid joke. And the way you said his name, like it was a magic spell wrapping itself up inside him and making him forget everything other than your voice. Yes, he loved you—more deeply than he’d thought he’d ever love again—but he was afraid to be in love with you.

When he delivered the happy news that he’d be able to get cool air back into your apartment, he felt his heart swell at the look of relief on your face.

“You’re my hero, Pete,” you said earnestly, “Really and truly.”

You had no idea.

“Yeah,” he said lightly, “I’m the best.” He saw the pillow coming at him even before it fully left your hands and dodged it in a swift, graceful motion.

“That’s not very nice,” Peter grinned wolfishly at you and your heart fluttered, “Here I am helping you out like a dear old gentleman and you throw things at me.” With another two quick, almost instantaneous steps, he was at your bedside, his hands coming down to your ribcage, fingers curling in as he began to tickle you mercilessly. You couldn’t do much more than squeal, kicking gently to get him off of you, whining his name as you begged him to stop.

“Peter!” you cried out, “It’s too hot for this!” There were tears in your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks and your bottom lip was swollen from where you were biting it to try to keep control of your laughter. Looking down at you, Peter knew he was finished, absolutely doomed, to fall into the warm and beautiful void that was loving you.

His fingers paused their attack and you both seemed to take stock of the position you found yourself in; you, flat on your back in bed, hair a dishevelled mess haloed out over your head; him, legs spread so that they were straddling your hips, his arms on either side of your body, lean muscles holding him up.

“Pete—” you whispered, eyes fluttering down to where your bodies met, lashes wet with unshed tears.

He blinked once, twice, three times, a pregnant pause in the hot air before his brain supplied the two words he’d been wanting to hear, giving him permission to plunge forward. Fuck it.

“Y/N,” he licked his lips, “You—” his fingers moved from your ribs to the edge of your camisole, thumbing across its stitching, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your eyes shot up to his, pupils dilated. Your lips twitched, uncertain. “Don’t do this,” you sighed, all the while your own hands moved as if of their own accord, coming to rub up and down his arms, caressing lightly over the rippling muscle.

“Do what?” he asked, hand pausing in its movement to slip under your shirt. He withdrew it immediately, hoping he’d not grossly misread the situation.

“Don’t start something with me that you won’t finish,” your voice was barely there, “I—” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, couldn’t utter those little words out loud, but you knew Peter understood. You could tell from the way he settled down closer to you, his lips running feather-light kisses along your collarbone, the way he brushed the lightly calloused pad of his thumb over your eyes.

“Y/N, I feel like I was finished the moment I met you,” he said, “And now I’d really like to give you a proper kiss, if you don’t mind.”

“Hopefully you’re as good at kissing as you are at running that mouth, Par—”

The words couldn’t finish leaving your lips because Peter’s shut them right back into your mouth. He kissed you gently at first, then ran his tongue along your lips, asking entrance which you granted easily enough. Your kiss went on for what felt like years, each of you learning the other with care and attention. His hands explored your body freely, eliciting small moans of approval that led him along a path he was memorizing and then his lips were navigating that same path, kissing and nipping at your shoulders, your clavicle, your navel, between your breasts at the edge of your shirt.

You were on fire as your hands tangled into his soft brown hair, nails gently massaging into his scalp. You knew, from the vibrations on his lips, that he liked the sensation and filed that information away for a later date.

Once he’d kissed all the way down to your ankles, Peter flopped onto the mattress beside you, watching as your chest heaved with pleasure.

“It feels even hotter in here than before,” he smirked, “I should go grab that part, yeah?”

You swatted at him, laughter on your lips. “You’re the worst, Peter Parker.”

He caught your hand in mid-air, wrapping his fingers around yours and gently squeezing your palm—once, twice, three times. Three squeezes for three little words that neither of you were ready to say yet, but that you would willingly show each other.

“I’m serious,” Peter said, “I’ll grab the part and a pizza and we can hang out, even though I’m the worst.”

You rolled your eyes again, still trying to steady your heart rate. “Like I said, my hero. How can I ever repay you?” For good measure, you placed the back of your hand against your forehead, faking a swoon.

Peter only looked at you with fire in his eyes. “I can think of a few ways.”

He was out of the room before you could throw another pillow at him. Shame.

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hello im here

Okay Panko Shrimps,

Have you guys seen Bullet Train yet?? Do you guys want Bullet Train content?? I know it's a newer movie but I would be writing for both Tangerine and Ladybug! (Brad Pitt, hello?)

I've tried to find some content but the fandom is pretty dead on Tumblr so far WHICH SUCKS ASS BECAUSE I FEEL SUCH A NEED TO WRITE THIS like my fingers are trembling with excitement to get behind my computer and start typing this out.

How do we feel? Thoughts? Do I write this anyways?

💛🦐

Update: I wrote it, here's the link:

Lady Luck

They Don't Deserve You.

Steve Harrington X Reader

When you ask your friend to go to prom for fun and they decide to leave you, someone far better and more interesting appears and sweeps you off your feet.

⚠️ Warnings: Swearing ⚠️

(Just a short little drabble!)

The lights and music blaring from the venue hid you from the watchful eyes as you were a complete and utter mess. The sky started to darken allowing for a cover as you tried your hardest not to cry, sniffling from the banister leading into the event. Your shoes were scuffed and your wrist hurt from the once pretty corsage and your makeup felt much too heavy on your face. You had tried so hard to make everything about tonight fun since this year truly hadn't been the best. It's supposed to be the night of the year but of course it just ended the same way your previous ones had; you were alone and unhappy.

Your "date's" words rang through your head as you remembered how blatantly rude they had been to you and your friends. Deciding to up and leave the prom entirely, they had walked in with you for the approval of everyone else and left the minute they didn't have a use for you anymore. It wasn't fair. A part of you didn't blame them though. Why would you have expected them to want to stay?

The doors were announced to be closing from the main entryway which you were standing directly outside of. You needed to feel the wind to calm yourself down after today, so you opted to remain right where you were standing beside the railing and hoping for your date to realize they had made a mistake and come driving back to you.

Of course this didn't happen though, and after a couple more moments you picked up your dress so as not to step on it as you walked back towards the horde of other students in sparkly attire and smiling faces. It was going to be hard to meander back into the rest of society after being out here for so long, but you were sure that after a few drinks later this entire school event will be long forgotten.

"Hey!" You heard from under the stair railing. The entire venue had been elevated due to it being on a hill so there was a blind spot out of sight from the teachers roaming around. Looking behind you, you contemplated walking back to your original spot to scope things out but decided it was probably your imagination. Until you heard the voice again.

"("Y/N")!"

It was louder this time, but still a whisper of sorts. Going back towards the banister, you look down and see the most brilliant head of hair. Bright eyes and a shining smile, your friend Steve Harrington stood below you in a black suit and red button up. He had come with a different girl, but he was alone now. Alone with the most excited look on his face.

"Harrington?" You called and tried your best to hide the fact that you'd been crying. Wiping your face with the back of your hands, you put on the best smile you could possibly muster with the sinking feeling in your stomach.

"You look beautiful." He said, coming up to your level from his secret hiding spot. With him standing this close to you, the height difference was apparent as he stood at 6ft. Well, add a couple inches for the hair.

"Thank you." You said, even though you didn't believe it. If you had looked prettier then maybe you wouldn't have been left outside from the party by yourself.

Steve offers his hand out to you and motions his head towards the road. "Wanna get out of here?" He asks, slipping his other hand into his pants pocket.

Confusion dawning your face, you looked for Steve's date. He couldn't just up and leave her, could he?

"What about-"

"My date?" He began, smiling even wider, "She left with yours."

"Oh." Was all you could say, shocked at the idea of your friend leaving because of someone else. You felt the pain in your chest tighten just a little bit more as jealousy filled you. What wasn't envy was self-doubt. Why had things turned out the way they did? And who on earth would leave Steve Harrington when he looks this goddamn good?

"It's really okay! Fuck them." He laughed, placing his hand in yours. You caught a whiff of his deliciously intoxicating cologne and stared at the rest of his outfit. He looked really nice. Too nice to be by himself tonight. Little did you know, he thought the exact same thing about you.

"You know what? Yeah. Fuck them." You said, wiping the stray tear that fell from your cheek as you took off your shoes and followed Harrington into the night towards his car. Running through the grass, you heard one of Kate Bush's popular songs playing, urging you to run faster. Laughing, you allow yourself to feel free and happy being with someone who didn't take you for granted. The way it should've been.

"They don't deserve you!" Steve called out to you over the music, trying his best to be heard over the intensive bass.

"What?!"

"I said, they don't deserve you!"

And just like that, you and Steve drove away into the night, a whole new flood of possibilities overwhelming you and leaving you with the happiest feeling within the pit of your stomach. You silently thanked that asshole for leaving you since someone far cooler with much bigger hair was able to sweep you off your feet.

*In the upside down*

Eddie: So uh, if we survive this, do you maybe wanna- idk-see a movie or something?

Y/N: Are you really asking me out rn?!

Eddie: W-Well I just thought with the VERY possible chance of sudden HORRIFIC DEATH, yeah, I’ll shoot my shot.

Eddie:

Y/N:

Y/N (blushing): Pick me up at 7.

Eddie (ecstatic): *throws fists in the air*

Steve: W-What the hell is happening?!

Robin: Teenage Romance.

Hello!!! Can you please write a Seo Moonjo fic, where he becomes possessive/obsessed with Jongwoo's gf or with a female who works with him?

Overcompensate

Absolutely lovely! Here's a bit of a drabble for you!

Pairing: Seo Moon-Jo X Reader

Warnings: mentions of gore & possessiveness, Moon-Jo shows very yandere tendencies, cannibalism allegories

Moon-jo was a simple man.

Not necessarily in theory, but in practice. He knew what it was he aspired to obtain in his lifetime and with the amount of work and dedication he put into those aspirations, it makes sense that he would achieve them. Simple.

But as to what he wanted and the lengths he would go to, stopping at nothing...that was a little more complicated.

To his surprise, he had found himself in a situation where the goal wasn't in relation to dentistry or murder. He was having a bit of an issue sorting out just exactly why the new tenant of Eden Residence was so captivating, so enthralling to him. What was it about the boy who lived next door that led Moon-Jo to believing that his existence was some sort of spiritual awakening he would have to come to discover? Why was he suddenly so fascinated in the idea of pulling back his brain and picking out all of his thoughts, consuming them in their entirety until there was nothing left of poor Jongwoo but a vessel of the human being he once was? It was Kafka-esque, a metamorphosis of his character; to watch him succumb to the ravaging animalistic qualities that Moon-Jo believed all humans to possess. It was strange and it was beautiful.

And oh, was it something Moon-Jo wanted.

So he put in the work. Day after day he spent trying to get under Jongwoo's flesh, tearing open another layer piece by piece to truly understand his newfound obsession. But with every step closer to his goal he got, the more confused he became. There was nothing he was learning that he had hoped for. Jongwoo was buckling under the weight of his neighbor's madness, yes. But he wasn't the right image of Moon-Jo's work. This frustrated him to no end.

He still remembers when everything finally clicked into place. The night had just fallen and the stars crept up in the sky, illuminating the long path to the Residence. Although the lights were dim, one could still make out the small cats darting back and forth as they played with one another in the underbrush. The air was crisp and still with no wind, a perfect temperature to end an outrageously hot summer day. Moon-Jo awaited on the rooftop with two beers, as he usually did, watching the path below for his Jongwoo to arrive back home with his furrowed expression of displeasure and overly large backpack slung over his shoulders from an excruciatingly long day at the office. He would be lucky to convince Jongwoo up to the roof where he sat and even luckier if he could manage to get him to drink his beer. He knew Jongwoo was onto him and his...stranger tendencies, but he would receive the fruits of his labor. He always did.

The beer can was cold under his grasp, the condensation slipping from his fingertips and falling beneath him as the drops pattered onto the cracked concrete. He was starting to grow slightly warm, however, he wasn't sure if it was because of the weather or the growing anticipation he felt as he awaited the boy's arrival. His eyes didn't leave the road once.

As he looked beneath him towards the winding street, he finally saw his neighbor trudging up the path, same expression on his face Moon-Jo had expected him to be wearing. But, to his surprise, walking beside the man he'd so desperately tried his best to court 24/7 was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life.

It shocked him-almost-his hand immediately dropping the beer he was holding as he lost his composure for the first time in many years. It was sudden, as though he'd been impaled by sword, piercing through his lungs and stopping his breath as his heart skipped a beat. He had never been so hungry, so devout for human meat. He didn't want to cannibalize you, no. But he so desperately wanted to consume you and your being which is almost the same thing...right? He knew what Jongwoo had meant to him now, it was almost so clear in the way it presented itself; Jongwoo was never meant to be the product of his manipulation. It had always had to have been you.

Your eyes looked up towards Eden, missing the strange man on the roof entirely. Moon-Jo found himself entranced by them, watching the way they shone under the stars and the soft light from the windows of the Residence. They were like Bosch's paintings of the divine, absolutely encapsulating the beauty of the gods. Your hair fell slightly past your shoulders and framed a face he could only assume belonged to heavens itself. Your body swayed with the movement of your feet as you followed your boyfriend's suit, duffel bag in hand.

Moon-Jo thought he had died and been met with the face of a deity.

On your end, the only thing you were thinking about was Jongwoo's warnings from earlier. Once he had moved to Seoul and started living in this dingy place, he had instantly been met with strange roommates whom he'd talk about often. You were worried about his dwindling sleep schedule and his overall safety, residing in a place like this on the outskirts of town. If something terrible were to happen here, you weren't even sure police would show up in this precinct. For Jongwoo's sake, however, you swallowed down your nervousness preparing to have that conversation with him later.

Collecting himself, Moon-Jo practically sprinted towards the stairs and made his way down to Mrs. Eom's desk, leaning against the dilapidated building's walls, forcing himself to contain the sparks flying through his veins. He had to keep himself together, make the most impeccable first impression and swoon you over, whoever you might be. He needed you to like him, to trust him. If he ruined his image right off the bat by voicing his true inner monologue, it would be so much harder to mold you to his image and sway you into his grasp.

"Jongwoo, are you sure this is something you want to do? We could always sleep at my place if you're as uncomfortable by this place as you say." You said, closing the heavy door behind you and setting down your duffel bag for a moment to regain your breath.

Jongwoo shrugged and picked up your things containing all your overnight clothes and whatever else you'd brought to work that day. He had just simple given you a "yeah, this is fine" before turning around to be met face-to-face with the one person he didn't want to see or have the imposition of introducing to his girlfriend at all. He had hoped he might be able to sneak you past and into his room before anyone even noticed he was there; as he usually did. He'd presumed Moon-Jo to be on the roof for his nightly drink, whenever he stayed at the residence and not in his own apartment.

Beside the wall-almost eerily so-Moon-Jo stood, ignoring Jongwoo completely. His eyes were trained on you as you gathered yourself enough to take him in, watching the man before you breathe in the very fiber of your being. He was tall and dark haired with extraordinary cheekbones. With a face card like that, you were sure he'd have had to be a model or do side-gigs of the sort. His smile was a pleasant one as it seemed inviting, but upon staring at it for a few moments, something about it felt off to you. His black button-up was loose around his collarbones and neatly tucked into his slacks. He was fairly handsome, you thought, forgetting that Jongwoo had warned you of this 'crazy neighbor' before inviting you to stay at his place to catch the train back home tomorrow.

A piercing feeling of nervousness took over your body and shocked you instantly. There was something extremely peculiar about this man and you wanted nothing to do with finding out what it was. There was something haunting about the depth of his cold, dark gaze, contrasting Jongwoo's warm and inviting one. You swore to yourself in that moment not to walk anywhere on these premises without Jongwoo for fear of running into this man alone.

However uncomfortable you may have felt, Moon-Jo was in love, if that's what you would call it. He wanted this-you, so intensely and so immediately that his entire body felt as though it were shaking with tremors. He would stop at absolutely nothing to have you, to own you. You were what he had been unknowingly waiting for his entire existence and Jongwoo had only been the key. Smiling, he shook his hand out towards yours, ignoring the complaints from your boyfriend from beside you.

"My name is Seo Moon-Jo. The pleasure is all mine."

"(Y/N)." You replied.

I will be one of these publications someday

The Great Gatsby's copyright expires January 1, 2021 and I for one am quite looking forward to the inevitable publication of Nick/Gatsby fanfiction.

seated for bullet train round five