#Or maybe it's just because coffee has always been bitter either way so it does not matter
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okage-kirana · 1 year ago
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Why the adults didn't think in put sugar in coffee to sweeten and don't taste bitter? Or it didn't work because of soot can't be sweetened?
That, I am not sure either! I'm mostly guessing that they didn't know, don't care enough, or just going with the flow on how things were done in the past. But it's pretty unlikely that they didn't know, since for example, Suzanna herself adds sugar and milk to John's coffee that one time so the taste is bearable.
Regarding the soot part, I thought it's mostly just because soot don't really mix with water nor sugar, so they can't be sweetened and perhaps stand out a lot in that aspect. But coffee is out of question, it can still be sweetened regardless.
I don't know how and when do they add the soot into the coffee, how much there is, or what side effects does it give other than brainwashing- But maybe that gives another reason as to why the coffee is bitter.
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acaciusbride · 2 years ago
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Jealousy, Jealousy (Alternate Version) [ Tommy Miller x Reader ]
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Summary: an alternate version to Jealousy, Jealousy, where instead of making up with Joel? You go back to Tommy to pick up where you left off. 
CWs: age gap (implied) / oral sex (f!receiving) / cum play / cum eating / use of pet names / derogatory language / questionably safe sex / spanking (with hand and with a belt) / light dom & sub dynamic but only if you squint.
Tag List: @pedritosdarling @chaotic-mystery @loquaciousferret @bearsbeetsbeskar @funnygirlthatgab @dreamingofdaddydin @pr0ximamidnight @joelsgirl @mydailyhyperfixations @cutesyscreenname @serenaxpedro @beskarandblasters @darlingpedro
Notes: It probably makes sense to read the original first?
Buy Me A Coffee?
It’s been two days, and you’re still hurting. Still bitter, still can’t get the image out of your head. Not just the image, but the sound.
Alcohol isn’t helping. Hell, the only thing that did help was the distraction in the form of Joel’s younger brother.
The implication that you could have had more still hangs between you, and it’s that, combined with your own frustration, that leads you to Tommy’s apartment door.
He doesn’t seem remotely surprised to see you, but then again, he’s been thinking about your last… interaction… a great deal, as well. The way you looked so pretty on your knees for him, your mouth full of his cock…
Yeah. Safe to say he’s been hoping you’d show up, and here you are.
You shrug off your thin denim jacket, leaving you just in your dress, having already left your shoes by the door.
“And what can I do for you, hon?” He has his arms crossed over his chest, trying to at least attempt to be a gentleman, but you both know what you’re here for.
“I was hoping we could pick up where we left off.”
You don’t bother sugarcoating it, there’s no point, not with the way he’s looking at you, undressing you with his eyes.
“That so?”
You nod, chew your lower lip in between your teeth, take a little step closer.
“If that’s alright with you?” You try not to let your nerves show, worried fleetingly that you might have made a mistake.
“More than alright with me, didn’t I offer the other night? I try to be a man of my word, you know.”
The smirk on his face makes it easier to relax, gives you the confidence to slide your dress from your shoulders, let the fabric pool at your feet as you step closer to him. No underwear. You knew what you were doing, wanted to be as enticing as possible.
As if you just showing up and asking wasn’t enough to make him so hard it hurts.
His eyes burn a searing gaze as he looks you up and down, takes in every inch of bare skin as you approach him. Once again he wonders, vaguely, whether his brother is a complete idiot to have not noticed you, to have simply strung you along for as long as he has.
Or maybe he just doesn’t have the control that Joel does. Maybe he’s easier tempted by a younger, pretty girl, especially when said girl shows up at his door and practically begs for his dick for the second time in as many days.
He’s not the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth, after all. That, and he’s only human, only a man, and quite frankly the way you’re looking at him has him far too hard to ignore.
You’re so tiny he has to lift you up to kiss you, but that’s fine; your legs lock around his waist as he carries you over to the nearest surface - the island kitchen bench - and sets you down on it.
You keep your legs wrapped around him, keeping yourself as close as possible.
He’s used to coming second, used to being the other brother. Everyone either wants to be Joel or fuck him, and he’s always been the second option.
Make no mistake, he knows you’re here because of Joel, knows that something has happened between you and his brother to push you to him, but it doesn’t bother him. It doesn’t bother him because he knows Joel hasn’t touched you. Just this once, he gets something first.
Knows he isn’t your first choice, but you came back to him. You chose to come back to him, and that prompts some sort of smug reaction in him, some sort of need to prove a point, to prove that you made the right decision.
He loves his brother, truly he does. But he’s also tired of being in constant competition. Having you here… it feels like a win.
Your lips latch onto his neck, sucking a mark into his collarbone as you unbutton his shirt, wanting to get rid of the damn thing so you can run your hands along bare skin.
Vaguely you remember him saying something about being in the army before the outbreak, but even then, you hadn’t been excepting him to be so solid against you. Everyone’s a little worse for wear in the QZ, but he’s still bulky, and you like it.
It makes you feel safe, which is stupid because there’s no such thing as safe anymore, but really you just want a distraction and he’s right there, exactly what you need, solid and warm, his mouth so, so hungry against yours.
This is exactly what you need, to feel wanted, to forget what’s hurting you.
“Now if I remember correctly, I owe you something, hon…”
You blink at him, confused, but also intrigued.
“Wha-?” Your half spoken question is answered when he pulls you against him, leans down in a half crouch so he’s eye level with your thighs.
“Didn’t forget that pretty mouth… figured I’d return the favour.”
You can feel the blush rising to your cheeks as you understand what he means, your suggestion that he doesn’t have to halfway to spoken, dying on your lips as his mouth latches onto you, sucking on your clit greedily.
Fuck, he’s done this before. Done it a lot, if you’re guessing right. That or the men you’ve been with before are seriously lacking in this department.
Your head tilts back, eyes half closed as your hand finds his hair, settles into it, keeps him in place as his hands hold your thighs open for him.
The sounds he’s making as he devours your soaked cunt are absolutely obscene, but there’s nobody here to eavesdrop, just the two of you, the wet sounds of his tongue laving at you and the whimpers it draws from your throat.
When you walked here, you half expected to be thinking of Joel the entire time, but he’s a fleeting thought right now. Oh, sure, it hasn’t escaped your memory that you’ve chosen his brother of all people to take your mind off things, but you’re in no danger of accidentally moaning his name.
Then again, you didn’t expect that he’d have you dripping onto his tongue within moments of touching you, either. You gasp out, brace yourself on the counter edge as you feel your climax creep up on you, splinter you apart, thighs shaking beneath his sturdy hands.
All too soon he’s pulling away from you, albeit with an air of reluctance as he gets to his feet, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, dark eyes glittering with lust as your hands find his belt, yank down the zip of his pants.
“All eager for me, hon?” He leans in to kiss you again as your hand wraps around his cock; god, you love how thick he is, the slight curve to him.
“Tasted so good, been thinking about it all day, ever since you got on your knees for me…”
Remembering how he tasted, how good he felt in your throat, makes your mouth water and your pussy ache.
You moan into the kiss, stroke him, try to scoot yourself closer so that he gets the damn hint. Lucky for you, he’s just as eager, wasn’t lying when he said he’d been thinking about you since the other night, has spent the last two nights fucking his own hand, hoping that you’d come back.
Guess luck was on his side. Luck, or some deity who’s just as fucking needy as he is.
He teases you, traces the thick head of his cock along your dripping cunt, taps your clit with it until you half glare at him, wordlessly pleading.
“Fuck.” He groans it as the practical side of his mind kicks in.
“What’s wrong?” You blink at him, suddenly worried you’ve done something wrong.
“Don’t have a condom.”
You shrug. “They expire anyway. I trust you.”
You have a point; while an expired condom is better than nothing, it’s about as foolproof as pulling out anyway. And besides, the thought of fucking you bare…
His cock throbs at the thought.
“I’ll pull out.” He promises you, and he means it. There’s no fucking way he’s risking that, putting you through that.
“I trust you.” You repeat, wriggling again so the tip of his cock is brushing your entrance.
For an army boy, he has a considerable lack of self control, hands gripping your thighs again as he pulls you closer, lines himself up and presses into you in a single fluid thrust of his hips.
Your hands rest on his shoulders, bracing yourself as he leans you down against the cool surface of the bench, bigger frame caging yours as he starts to move.
You love how big he is, how he fills you just enough to be almost too much, the slight curve to his cock ensuring he hits that sweet spot inside you while barely trying.
Fuck, everything about this feels good, feels right, no longer about being hurt or about anything but sheer need for this man, the precise distraction you needed as you cling to him.
“God damn, hon, you feel so fucking good.”
His voice is low in your ear as he moves, slow, lazy thrusts that build into a steady rhythm, easing you into it, even though he knows you can take it, can feel how wet you are.
“Yeah?” You look up at him with half lidded eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. “This what you’ve been thinking about since the other night?”
He groans softly, presses deep into you, holds himself there and grinds against you.
“Figured any girl with such a sweet little mouth would have a perfect pussy to match.”
He’s still just grinding into you, not actually moving, and you know almost straight away that he’s doing it on purpose, trying to get a reaction from you with those filthy words and lazy movements.
Lucky for him, you’re in a giving mood. That, and he just feels too fucking good, it’s been far too long since you had anyone inside you, and god, he knows what he’s doing.
“Did I prove that theory correct?” You tease, smirking.
In answer, he starts to move again, hard and fast, losing what little restraint he had. It’s been a while for him, too. He isn’t really in the habit of sleeping around, not enough that he’s been intimate with someone recently.
That and you’re just so wet and tight around him, soft pussy milking his cock just right, drawing him in deeper, even better than your mouth.
Joel doesn’t know what the fuck he’s missing, but it doesn’t matter because he’s just as good, just as capable, and he’ll take care of you now, the way you deserve to be taken care of, fucked into a needy mess beneath him.
“How about we try something a little rougher, hm?” He won’t push you, but he’s curious, wants to know just how much you can take.
Your hazy eyes flicker with interest.
“What did you have in mind?”
One hand leaves your waist to toy with the buckle of his belt as he considers for a moment.
“Pretty thing, but you’ve got a mouth on you… has anyone ever spanked you?” He stills to barely moving inside you as he speaks, wants you to have a clear head to answer him.
“With their hand, or?”
“No, hon, not just my hand.”
You chew your lip, eyes wide as your gaze falls on his hand resting on his belt, understand what he’s suggesting. It’s not that you like pain, it’s that you like the idea of submitting. Truthfully, nobody’s ever done it beyond using their hand, but you want him to.
He takes your silence for hesitation.
“We don’t have to, don’t feel like you have to say yes.”
“No,” you say, staring him right in the eye, “I want it. I want you to.”
Fuck, can you get any more perfect? Effortlessly he lifts you into his arms.
“Gonna put you somewhere more comfortable.”
His apartment is small, one room and a bathroom, so it’s only a few paces to deposit you on his bed, reluctantly pulling out of you to set you down.
“You want me on all fours?” A thrill rushes through you as you look up at him, as he unhooks his belt and discards his jeans, loops the belt in half in his hand.
He’s holding it in a way that the buckle won’t hit you, only the soft, worn leather.
“That’s right. All fours.” He can’t help but admire the way you move for him, arch your back up so your ass is in the air.
One handed, he grips your waist, pulls you to him so he can tease his cock against you as he moves to kneel behind you.
You whimper, feeling the length of him sliding against you.
“Please…”
You sound so pretty when you beg, he can’t help but give in, lines himself up and slams back into you, buried to the hilt. The momentum drives you forward, hands gripping the sheets to steady yourself.
“I think we’ll start with four, don’t you?” He brushes the soft leather of the belt across your ass. “One for each day and night you kept me waiting.”
He can feel your cunt pulse around him at the words, knows you’re anticipating this just as much as he is.
“Do you want me to count?”
You can’t see it, but he smirks slightly.
“If you can.”
You open your mouth to comment, to suggest that of course you’ll be able to keep count, but then he starts to move again, steady, deep thrusts that feel, somehow, even better than when he was fucking you on the kitchen bench.
A ragged moan leaves your throat the moment he brings the belt down on your ass, arguably a gentle swat. He doesn’t intend to hurt you, has no plan on beating you, he’s practised enough to know how to be gentle and controlled.
“Start counting, sweet girl.”
He doesn’t seem remotely flustered, drilling his cock deep into you.
“O-one.”
“Good girl.” He brings the belt down on the opposite side, making your cunt tighten painfully around him the moment it makes contact.
“Two, fuck…”
He doesn’t bother demanding more from you, brings the worn leather down again, twice more, waits for you to count them out for him.
“Such a good girl. Do you want me to stop?” He can feel you tightening around him, knows how close you are.
“No, please… need it…”
It surprises you, how addictive it is, the sharp sting of the belt hitting your ass, no more painful than if he had used his hand. It leaves prettier marks, though.
“God, so needy… gonna cum for me if I keep fucking you? If I keep spanking this perfect ass?”
He’s honestly losing his own composure, impressed by how well you take him, by the way your tight little pussy milks him, so desperate and needy.
“Please please please…”
It’s all you can get out, that one word, repeated as he slams into you, rough, erratic thrusts, all of his control focused on bringing that belt down on your ass just hard enough to sting, but not to hurt, until he curses under his breath and tosses it aside so he can grip your hips with both hands, pulling you roughly onto his cock.
Your hands fist in the tangled bedsheets, moans and mewls filling the tiny apartment as he hits your sweet spot, again and again, finally bringing one hand down to slap roughly at the marks his belt has left on your ass.
It’s that slap that pushes you over the edge, that and the way that he pulls you up so one hand can roughly palm your breast, toying with your over sensitive nipple.
It’s too much, all too much, and your body shatters beneath him, cunt tightening and fluttering around his cock, pulling him in deeper, responding perfectly to his touch.
He holds you up through it, doesn’t slow, fucking you through every blissful moment of your climax, until you slowly come back to your senses.
“Gonna cum soon, hon. Where do you want it?” His voice is steady, but barely, his own pleasure evident in his expression, in the way his cock aches and throbs inside you.
“Don’t care,” you manage, still dazed.
He considers as he slams into you; you’d look so pretty with his cum all over your bruised and marked ass, and he knows you’re happy to swallow it…
He pulls out of you, flips you onto your back effortlessly, watches the way your tits bounce lightly. There. That’s the perfect spot, marking those perfect tits and soft, sensitive nipples with his spend.
His hand wraps around his cock, strokes roughly until he feels himself getting closer, moves at the last moment so that every drop of the warm liquid coats your tits, watching the way your eyes flicker with lust at the sight.
It takes him a moment to come back to himself, to take in the absolutely beautiful mess he’s made of you.
Your fingers are skimming through the mess he’s made on you, bringing your coated fingers to your lips, tongue darting out to lap at the stickiness.
He groans softly, pulls you into his arms so he can lean down and lick at your hard nipples, sucking on them, uncaring that he’s tasting himself on your skin.
Your eyes are half closed, your ass sore from his belt, pussy aching with satisfaction from how urgently he’d fucked you. Your hand settles in his hair, keeping him where he is, his mouth so soft on sensitive skin, the fact that he’s licking his own spend from your nipples making you want to pull him down to you and beg him to fuck you again.
He could stay there all day, honestly, might have if the door hadn’t opened at that precise moment. Only Joel has a spare key.
“Tommy, are you - fuck.”
Your eyes fly open, meet the gaze of the very man you’re trying to avoid. Trying to forget.
“Christ, Joel, get the fuck out.”
Your body is mostly hidden by his bigger frame, but there’s no mistaking that Joel’s seen your face, a flicker of something in his gaze as he walked in on you, when he saw the raw pleasure in your expression.
“You and her, huh?” Joel looks about as pissed as he sounds. You want to argue, point out that he chose Tess over you, and that you aren’t going to sit around pining over him. But you don’t have to speak.
“Not your goddamn business, Joel. Someone had to take care of her. Now get the fuck out, before I throw you out.”
It shouldn’t mean anything, but hearing Tommy defend you? Lay claim to you? It lights some sort of furnace inside you, makes you feel a warmth that has nothing to do with your recent activities.
For a moment, you think they might fight, but Joel says nothing, just gives you a look before he turns and slams the door behind him.
Maybe once, you’d have followed, but right now? Right now you’re more interested in staying right where you are.
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kysuguru · 1 year ago
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you REPLIED IM SO HAPPY😭😭🤞 btw the fact that suguru AND satoru are both her love interests im so HAPPY stsg for the WIN!!! i love how suguru and shoko automatically know what satoru is implying cause hes so so OBVIOUS!
i cant imagine the troubles suguru and satoru would have with reader.. shes so enduring and she allows them to do whatever because shes too sweet! ofc shes serious when the time comes down to it but i just know she takes the two lightly and cares too highly of their opinions to really say no to them. i 100% know suguru is worst when it comes to teasing her. in this universe i want to believe suguru does not deflect so he stays there w them. although reader probably does not realize the two actually is in love with her, she probably assumes they are with each other so she does not want to intrude.
what if shoko and reader were discussing about first dates and she finds out reader never had her first anything and sets her up with one? maybe rin or shin?! LOL and behold satoru and suguru being menaces and completely mean to her . the trouble they would cause to the way they would be so upset. reader actually enjoyed her first date but shes confused why stsg are so upset over her. they always teased her for not having a bf and when she does try theyre even more ruthless?? bc in reality to stsg they always thought she belonged to them and they’re actually in shock that shoko would do that knowing about their crushes on reader? (cue shoko laughing in the background)
i love these asks smmm😭 tysm for sending. and ur right!! i have chapter one and two written and posted on my ao3, but suguru doesn’t defect, i cant allow that. and yes… stsg are sooo annoying when it comes to jealousy. like they are so suffocating..
this is new, very new.
it was a brief conversation, so mundane you wouldn’t bother to remember it unless brought up. shoko asked a simple question. “you ever been on a date before?” after talking about her horrible experiences with lousy men. it was an easy answer, “no.”
and you thought it’d end there. of course it’s normal for girls your age to go on dates with other people, experience the life of romance at a young age, but it wasn’t odd to meet a girl your age who hadn’t been on a date. so you weren’t sure why shoko put you up to this.
rin sits across you with a beaming smile, the fluorescents of the cafe highlighting his freckles. you fiddle with the warm cup of coffee in front of you. you weren’t much of a coffee person, but you panicked and ordered the first thing on the menu. it was bitter, terribly so, you weren’t sure whether you’d prefer this or satoru’s cups of diabetes.
you sip on it occasionally, to make yourself look engaged. you hope your poker face has improved, you’d be humiliated if the bitterness on your tongue manifested itself onto your expression (rin noticed, but felt too awkward to speak up).
it’s weird, and you try pretending this wasn’t set up at a romantic date.
you like rin, he’s really nice, but you’d never even imagined him romantically.
he’s beaming at you, you think he’s blushing, and he looks as if he’s in a daze with his cheek resting on his palm. the look of adoration is so shell shocking you’re gazing around the cafe at other customers he might be looking at.
you chalk it up to excitement of being in such a nice place.
conversation with him is easy though, you realize.
it’s unlike satoru or suguru. suguru’s a listener, unlike satoru who’s a talker. they fit in so well with one another it makes it hard to fit in. you don’t mind that, watching from afar is enough for you. but you still yearn.
maybe that’s why shoko did this in the first place. to get your mind off of them. you suppose it wouldn’t be bad to broaden your spectrum, you needed more friends anyway. you couldn’t always hang onto shoko, suguru, and satoru forever.
hours pass, and before either of you know it, the sun sets.
rin was full of stories, he had so much to tell about kyoto, his classmates, and his missions. he was so fond of it all that you couldn’t bear to stop him. it was nice listening to someone on the same level as you. not that you disliked listening to satoru boast about his missions and how awesomely strong he was, but it was a nice change of pace to hear such things come from someone of your caliber.
you could get used to this.
your entering the school with a content face. you feel them both before you see them.
satoru drapes himself onto you, talking obnoxiously loud in your ear as suguru sends you a soft smile. your company with rin was wonderful, but you didn’t realize how much you missed your favorite people until you see their visages.
“where were you at for so long?” suguru asks calmly, though there’s a hint of something else you can’t really decipher. maybe suspicion.
“shoko set me up on a date with rin.” you say sheepishly, scratching your cheek.
they both freeze, you can feel the way satoru’s breath stutters as his hold gets loose. you look up at them both, brows raised.
it’s so silent. was it something you said? were they perhaps upset you didn’t say anything? did they want to tag along? you would’ve said yes immediately.
“rin from kyoto?” satoru whispers, and you think he sounds angry. you can’t fathom why, so you try and brush if off. even though there’s a seed of dread starting to grow in the pit of your stomach.
“yes... shoko said something about chemistry. whatever that means!” you chuckle nervously.
satoru let’s you go, backing away. now you’re worried.
“i-is something wrong?” you look up at suguru for assistance but he’s turned his head.
you shuffle your feet, anxious. they’re obviously upset, but you don’t know why. “did i do something?” that’s the only thing you could think of. or did they not like rin? he was a nice guy, so you wouldn’t understand why.
satoru rubs your head, startling you.
“it’s nothing, sweets,” he says.
but he’s walking off before you can speak any further, he makes a point not to let you see his face as he departs. suguru gives you a strained smile before he’s following. “night,” he mutters.
and even though satoru reassured you, that seed of dread continued to grow.
satoru and suguru are busy. satoru hasn’t asked for your notes in awhile. you wanna assume that he’s got it down until you hear him loudly bugging suguru for his notebook. your heart drops at the fact that satoru just hasn’t asked you. you don’t know why that hurts, it shouldn’t. maybe suguru just conveys the answer better, there’s nothing wrong with that.
they go out for lunch, leaving you and shoko in the empty cafeteria with your cold noodles. shoko’s great company, of course, but the lack of satoru’s loud voice and suguru’s scolding makes it feel eerily quiet.
nights in the common room have shrunk to just you and shoko. it’s been like this for a few days. only a few days. yet you feel as if these days are dragging on slower than usual. shoko notices, and rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath how pathetic boys could be.
you think she’s spoken to them, for they look at you a little more now. but they barely talk to you unless the situation calls for it, even then, they’re awkward.
but it isn’t until shoko has been in high demand after a dangerous mission that the first years came back from that you’re alone with them. you’re nervous, feeling their eyes trained on you. you don’t dare make contact.
they begin talking to each other, and you feel joy consume you at the familiarity of it. you’re looking up now, making eye contact with the both of them. satoru opens his mouth, but you intervene.
“i’m sorry!”
their eyes are wide.
“i’m sorry for whatever i did. it’s just.. you guys feel distant. if it’s because of me then—”
“i should say sorry,” your eyes flit up to suguru’s as he scratches his neck sheepishly. “i was being childish.” he speaks into his palm. “we were being childish.” he corrects himself, eyes glaring into satoru’s, who huffs and crosses his arms.
“so it was something i did?” your brows knit as a frown etched itself onto your lips.
“it’s more complicated than that,” suguru says. but you’re not convinced.
satoru mutters something under his breath, you catch nothing but rin’s name. so you ask him to repeat himself.
“i just don’t like rin, is all.”
you blink.
“d-did he do something?” you needed to know, if he hurt or insulted suguru or satoru in any way you were ready to break it off—
“no. not exactly, we just�� don’t like you being alone with him,” suguru admits, flushed.
oh!
you felt relief fill your chest.
“i think i know now.” you smile, happily. they stare. they both lean slightly forward, anticipating. “if i ever go out with him again i’ll invite you both out!” you clap your hands together.
they were upset that they weren’t invited along. that makes sense. you’re relieved. satoru did eye that cafe whenever you three passed it.
they share a look, one of amusement and one of exasperation.
“such a ditz,” satoru grumbles.
“we’d like that,” suguru smiles.
you’re happy, so happy you could cry tears of relief.
“i’m glad, i thought you were both gonna hate me forever.”
suguru grabs your hand, caressing your palm, your heartbeat spikes. “that’d never happen.”
satoru scoots closer to you and drapes himself over your shoulders, the familiar action has your cheeks hurting from how big you’re smiling. he squishes his cheek against yours, rubbing softly as he speaks, “never go out alone with rin again, okay? you need at least me or suguru there, not even shoko’s enough!”
they will never forget how she betrayed them so.
“of course,” you exhale, joyful.
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and yes, abt stsg ur also right! this is kinda a poly thing. stsg love each other and the reader
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atxxzist · 2 years ago
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with a touch of sweetness | c.s
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pairing: choi san x f!reader
summary: working at a cafe, you have to deal with a certain customer with dimples who always like his iced coffee extra sweet
genre: fluff, slight angst?
word count: 2.6k
a/n: i should be using this time to write my series but this idea came to me at 1am and i couldn't stop myself sdjskdssfkf
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friendly brew
the font isn't too eyecatching, the style is a little bland, and the size of the cafe isn't ideal. but it's right next to a big and bustling university--attracting a lot of customers.
usually young, sleep-deprived college students, but it does well in business despite its shortcomings; a couple regulars who are very loyal, they frequent the place so often, you've come to match names to faces, as well as their usuals.
especially, choi san.
your face drops when you see it's him, trying to reframe from an eye roll as you go to tap the screen, mumbling in such an unenthusiastic tone, "one iced coffee?"
"yes please. and with extra vanilla syrup, please."
you don't say anything, a huff under your breath because you don't know why he always want his extra sweet. the regular one is already too sweet, in your honest opinion.
"thank you, angel."
"don't call me that," you snap quietly, pinching your brows together.
"why not?" his mouth draws a straight line before leaning closer to the counter and settling his arms on it, a smile eventually blossoming on his handsome face that makes those stupid dimples pop out. "you really are one, though. you always make my coffee the way i like it."
"because that's my job," you reply, going on to scribble his name on an empty cup before turning around to scoop up some ice for the drink.
after pouring the brewed coffee onto the cup of ice and milk, not forgetting the extra vanilla syrup as he requested, you place the finished product on the counter again before slapping a lid over it.
"well, then how come yoojung and kangmin never makes it the way i like it?"
you shrug, scooting the drink his direction.
"maybe they just don't like you? i mean, can you blame them?" you try to be snarky, but instead pretty much walked yourself into his trap.
"so... does this mean you like me?" he smirks, the retort immediately whisking your breath away. "because i swear..." he picks up the cup and takes a sip, your eyes innappropriately trailing to his adam's apple before he puts it down again to glare at you.
"you always make it the sweetest." he smiles softly and you hate how your heart dances around in your chest; hate the look in his eyes, and hate how much--
"you haven't even paid for it," you change the subject, trying the very best to hide the effect he has on you because god knows how smug he'll be if he finds out you're also just very good at putting on a performance.
he giggles and searches his pockets, pulling out a ten dollar bill and placing it on the counter.
"keep the change."
he grabs the drink and downs another sip, uttering in that usual sly tone, "thank you again, angel."
the wink before he fully exits is the last thing that does you in. he's so annoying, but like every other times, you can't help but to look forward to his next appearance.
ever since you got hired six months ago, having been a replacement for an older lady who had quit, there's not a single monday, wednesday, or friday that you do not see him. those are the days he comes in.
the boy having sparked an interest in you shortly after the first encounter, finding out the mean ahjumma who never made his drinks the way he likes it--it was always either too bitter or had too much milk--have been replaced by a girl about his age with a pretty smile, and who always makes his drinks exactly the way he prefers it.
"you know, angel, maybe someday, you'll finally draw some hearts around my name," san remarks, observing his name written plainly on the cup.
a dry chuckle tumbles out of you.
"you should be grateful i even wrote your name when i really wanted to put dickhead instead."
he frowns, placing his free hand over his chest and pretends to be in pain.
"ouch. i thought this was friendly brew? you're not being very friendly right now."
your interactions with him typically plays out like that, always with the small banters and playful exchanges; your harsh words and dismissive behaviors countering his that are the complete opposite.
but whenever you hear the bell to the door clink and you see it's him, the butterflies in your stomach along with the tiniest smile that graces your lips always prove otherwise.
"what other names to substitute instead of dickhead? maybe pervert? creep? nuisance?" you cock an eyebrow.
"okay now, that is a reach. i just really really like you."
there's a short silence that befalls when he says that, your eyelashes blinking and the quietest gulp traveling down your throat.
"san, don't say things you don't mean."
"who said i don't mean it?"
"but... i'm mean to you."
his lips quirks to the side, his shoulders shrugging and not moved in the slightest from your statement.
"i don't mind."
"and also, i can't even stand you."
"even better. i love a challenge."
you roll your eyes, bouts of giggles suddenly appearing from behind, turning around and seeing yoojung and kangmin straightening up immediately as if they weren't prying on your conversation with the boy who you have already denied having a crush on.
you absolutely do not like san. not at all.
you just get a little giddy at the sight of him, and lately, you've developed a knack for listening to stories about how his day at campus went, although you always act like you don't care.
and sometimes--not often--but sometimes, your stomach will churn in the weirdest way whenever he'll talk about his female classmates; the worst being when he actually comes with one of them, her eyes full of admiration and his with something you can't quite read but still effective in invoking that pang of jealousy you're in denial of.
but something else so consistent about him aside from his flirty tactics, is the smile on his face never falters. you don't think you can ever recalll a single time he didn't walk into the shop with that idiotic grin.
which is why you know something is off the minute he comes up to the counter and a rather sullen look is his current expression.
"one iced coffee?" you're the one to speak up, and he nods in return, the silence from him is almost too out of character.
he doesn't even seem to be paying much attention when you go on to write his name, his mind seemingly elsewhere, so you take the chance to grab a sticky note to write something on it, sticking it on the cup when finished.
"one iced coffee with extra vanilla syrup."
he fiddles with the pockets of his jacket and gives you eight dollars to be exact. you remember asking him why he would sometimes give more than the cost and he told you it was for the 'service'.
yoojung and kangmin has assured you they never got tipped for their 'service' before.
he picks the drink up and shoots you one last smile, mumbling, "thank you, angel."
you have to remind yourself that san isn't just the cute annoying guy who would always hit on you every time he comes in for his coffee. that he has a life outside of conjuring up butterflies and pestering you, he's going to have bad days and you shouldn't overthink so much.
next time he comes in, it will be with that idiotic grin alongside those pleas that's become a permanent residency in your head.
except... he doesn't.
not this wednesday and not the following friday.
you see wooyoung the next monday, recognizing him as san's friend the few times he came with him to grab a cup of americano.
it's a constant battle whether you should or should not ask about his friend who'd usually pay you weekly visits, but now all of a sudden dropping off the face of earth.
eventually, you settle for should not, bidding wooyoung the customary parting; a melancholy feeling brewing when there's no sight of the black-haired boy with sharp eyes and dimples on wednesday, as well.
it's a known, rather unspoken fact that you always look forward to the showing of san, no matter how pestering and annoying he is with his attempts that makes you want to roll your eyes all the way to back of your head, the small ten to fifteen minutes exchange you'd have with him were always the highlight of your shift.
if he has given up or found someone else who makes his coffee even better, you think it'd be nice to get a proper notice at least.
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friday shifts are usually your favorite because there's no tedious routine you have to follow, like commuting from class a good couple minutes away; you get to rest on the weekend after, and you start early, so you get out early, allowing the remaining of the day to be spent however you'd like.
the hour and a half left before you get to clock out is slow, the counters being wiped over and over again because you're trying to kill time, bending over and under to get spots you think you might have missed, when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching.
"welco--"
the word cuts short and the towel in your clutch drops onto the counter, your eyes only able to stare ahead in a starstruck gaze at the person before you, your heart doing laps but at the same time, there's a wave of relief that comes over.
"hi." san smiles, his messy black hair slightly falling over his eyes and the gray hoodie he's wearing clipped under his backpack makes him look like the college boyfriend you wish you had.
you swallow a knot, playing it cool.
"darn, i thought i finally got rid of you for good."
san chuckles... damn him for being so good looking.
"oh, i know you were miserable, yearning for that something that was missing from your everyday life."
"please..." you dismiss, actually hating how much truth it holds.
"you're not going to ask why i was gone?" he pouts.
you lowly sigh in annoyance, though the question has been plaguing your mind ever since his mysterious disappearance.
"okay... why were you gone?" you try to contain the tone, afraid you just might let the eagerness slip through.
"i was sick."
you raise an eyebrow in concern.
"oh... well... how are you now?"
his eyes swell innocently, genuinely surprised by the softer voice.
"a lot better now. thank you for asking, angel." he cracks a tiny smile.
oh, how you have come to miss such a nickname that used to raise your blood pressure just because you haven't heard it in over a week.
"i thought you have officially ran away or maybe you found a better shop."
he retracts with an offended scowl on his face.
"never. i would never do that to you."
you fight off a smile, quick to tap the screen and divert the subject.
"one iced coffee?"
"well, yes, but actually," he fidgets in his spot, "i was thinking if you want to uh... hang out after your shift?"
you look up from the screen to glare at him.
"huh?" you heard him, you just... want to make sure.
he's always flirted with you shamelessly, but actually asking you out is something he's never tried before. of course he's had a few impulses but have always reframed from acting on them, until now.
"i'm asking if you want to do something together. cause you know... just figured we can catch up. when you're done with your shift, of course."
the longest stare-off between you and him ensues shortly after, and you think for the first time, san might be growing shy.
you chuckle quietly, breaking the silence, and a smile blossoming on your lips.
"i get off in about an hour and a half."
"perfect. i'll come back then."
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you find san seated on a nearby bench when you're out, watching the way he whips his head side to side to admire the scenery.
"your coffee," you announce, your arm stretched out, and he snaps to you immediately, eyes scanning over your attire.
he's never seen you in anything other than your work uniform. he thinks you look even prettier with that sweater vest and pair of jeans. but then, you're always too pretty for your own good.
"extra sweet?" he asks, all playfully.
"extra sweet," you reply, taking the seat next to him and observe as he goes to confirm it.
"doesn't taste like it."
you scoff. "well, maybe you have officially lost your taste bud."
he hums and scoots even closer to you, the side of his leg touching yours.
"that would require more testing. maybe you can help? bet you taste sweeter than anything. i wonder how it would be, to kiss an angel."
an even louder scoff falls from you.
"don't flatter me. and i'm not kissing you."
he laughs and shakes his head.
"i'm not lying when i say that. i was honestly having such a shitty time, having been denied an internship i really wanted, only to get sick not even a day after."
the amusement on you is fast to dissipate, replaced by a look of sympathy.
"oh... was that why you looked so down that day?"
he smiles rather lightly.
"yeah. but it's whatever. i'll just try again next time or apply for a different one."
there's a moment of the birds chirping high in the sky and the sound of pedestrians walking until you speak again.
"sorry to hear..."
you feel bad for him, understanding the feeling all too well; like you're incompetent and not good enough. on top of that, he even got sick afterward.
"i always knew you cared about me," he says, breaking all the empathy bones in your body--you having to settle for a major eye roll.
"pfft."
"you know... when i sick, i always looked back to your note and it always made me feel a little better afterward despite quite literally dying in bed."
a sheer chuckle bubbles out of you at the confession.
"i don't believe you," you tell him.
he looks you straight in the eye and shakes his head, vouching for his honesty.
"i'm forreal. look, i even brought it with me today."
your eyebrows furrow together as you watch him search his hoodie with his free hand, pulling the familiar piece of paper out of one of the pockets, still able to comprehend the black ink you were responsible for.
i added just the littlest bit more of vanilla syrup bc you seemed a little down. not too much though bc i'm already worried abt ur glucose level. but hope u feel better soon.
"you're... crazy."
the temperature on your cheeks heats up like crazy, san witnessing them in action as they turn a bright shade of pink, unable to help the lovesick smile that breaks out on his face.
then another stare-off follows, the longest silence hanging between you two that both badly wants to break but too unsure how.
you take the opportunity to admire his features; his keen jawline, sharp eyes, and oh... the slit in between one of his eyebrows that makes him look extra attractive.
then your gaze travels to his lips. plumped, luscious, and just waiting to be taken in--and it must've been how you've been wanting to kiss him for so long now, that one second you're apart, and the next, your lips are stilled against his when you go to place a peck on them.
pulling away, you search him for a reaction; he's a bit dazed and stunned, until the corners of his mouth turns and a soft smile overtakes his expression.
"you really are an angel sent from heaven."
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starry-nights-garden · 1 year ago
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Jangjun ✧ Bitter-sweet
✧ Golden Child Jangjun x gn!reader �� words: ~2.1k ✧ genre: fluff, a bit of angst, mutual pining, coffeeshop AU ✧ warnings: none
Desc.: You’ve been falling for your coworker Jangjun ever since you started working at the same coffee shop as him, thinking he feels the same about you. However, when one day you finally notice how he’s flirtatious around everyone he talks to, all your hopes are crushed to the ground.
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You were naive. When you thought for a second that maybe the way he talked to you meant he was interested in you, you were simply naive.
“He’s like that with everyone,” your coworker’s words are still ringing in your ears as you watch him talk to a couple of customers, two young women who are very much flustered and charmed by his smile, “a lot of customers come here just to see him.” He’s the type of guy who’s naturally flirty, they say. You’ve heard that he hasn’t had a partner in a long while, though, and even though he seems to regularly have both girls and guys alike asking him out on dates, he’s somehow turned down all of them. Maybe he has a policy not to cross that line with a customer of the coffee shop where you both work, or maybe he’s simply not interested in a relationship.
Either way, that piercing feeling in your chest just won’t go away everytime you see him now. Probably due to you not realizing at first that he flirts like this with everyone, you felt your heart beating faster whenever you saw him. Now that reality has hit, your heart still won’t calm down. Instead, there is another layer of emotion accompanying what can only be the budding of a new crush: rejection.
You tear yourself out of your thoughts that seem to always return to him in the end, and you straighten your back, ready to redirect your focus on work as you see a young couple walking into the shop. They’re holding hands and the way they both smile shyly as they quickly discuss what to order makes you think they haven’t been dating for long.
And it also makes you jealous. Another glance over at Jangjun, who’s returning from a table to the far left of the shop, and you can’t stop yourself from wondering what it would feel like to hold his hand like that.
“An Oreo-frappuccino, please,” the guy who’s not much taller than his girlfriend says. “And for me a pumpkin latte.”
“We’re all out of that today, sorry,” you say, adding for clarification, “the pumpkin latte.”
“Oh.” The guy thinks for a short while, then he says, “Then the same as her, please.”
“Two Oreo-frappuccinos, coming right up.” You watch as they pay for their beverages, noticing a bunch of customers entering the coffee shop and approaching you. Just as you think to yourself that you’ll have to hurry up with making the drinks, you find that Jangjun has already started preparing them for you. You raise your eyebrows at him, when he smiles at you and your heart involuntarily skips a beat.
“I’m on it,” he says. “You can leave the drinks to me.” And so you simply nod, because words fail you while you’re trying to suppress all the conflicting feelings about to overwhelm you, and you return to the counter to take the next customer’s order.
Your afternoons and evenings working at the shop pass just like that. You’re always simultaneously a little too close and a little too far away from him, while he always remains his usual cheerful, helpful self. Sometimes when you have a few minutes to yourself, you catch yourself observing him from afar - you can’t help but marvel at the way he has seemingly any customer wrapped around his finger in no time. The way he smiles, teeth showing and creases appearing next to his eyes, staying polite but still charming enough to have all eyes in the room drawn to him. You too can barely peel your gaze off of him, even though you know you shouldn’t be out here, pining over your coworker this obviously. But he doesn’t seem to notice, because even when he does catch you staring, he simply shoots you yet another one of those smiles that have burned themselves into your mind and keep you awake at night with a fast beating heart, and then he moves on with his work. 
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“Y/N!” you hear his voice calling out to you just as you’re about to leave the shop in order to return home late at night. Your shift finally being over, you look forward to a hot shower and some food, but his words make you stop in your tracks immediately anyway. You throw him a look over your shoulder, feeling nervous as it’s just the two of you left in here, and he quickly comes running towards you. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but… can you help me lock up today?” You raise your eyebrows at him questioningly - usually there’s not much to do except for sweeping the floors and making sure everything’s clean and prepared for the morning shift, and normally Jangjun does all that work by himself. However, you decide not to question it, and instead you’re simply thankful that you get to spend a few more minutes with him.
“Sure,” you say, and he lets out a breath of relief.
“You’re a lifesaver, really,” he says, reaching for your hand without thinking and squeezing it tightly in his. “One of the boxes got messed up during delivery, and now there’s kind of a mess everywhere…” You walk to the back of the shop together, and when you see the puddle of syrup on the floor, you sigh. The sticky liquid has spilled under one of the shelves in the storage, and there’s no way to figure out where it’s coming from by just looking at the cardboard boxes once.
“So we have to open and check all of these?” you ask and he nods.
“I’m afraid so…” He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration once, before adding, “And I thought I’d be home early for once.” Hearing his words, you feel the need to find the culprit quickly, not wanting this to keep him here for longer than necessary.
“Let’s start by taking all of them out,” you say. “If we check the bottom of the boxes, we’ll probably find the one with the broken bottle quickly.”
“You’re right,” he agrees, and he’s already reaching for the first heavy-looking box. Fetching a cutter knife from around the corner real quick, you open every box that has a stain of the sticky syrup, until eventually you find the right one. Carefully taking out the broken plastic bottle, you dispose of it together. Now all that’s left to do is cleaning up the sticky mess on the floor, and sorting the wares from the stained boxes into the shelf. 
When you’re done, it’s almost an hour later, and a look at the clock hanging above the entrance to the storage room makes you sigh.
“Sorry for taking so long,” you apologize - though you know it couldn’t have been helped.
“No, no,” Jangjun immediately cuts you off, and he looks away as he continues, “We were a lot faster thanks to you, so… thank you for staying behind with me.”
“Of course,” you answer, and then you add with a laugh, “I couldn’t have left you here all by yourself.” He looks up, his surprised gaze almost piercing through you, and you let out a gasp you hope he doesn’t notice.
“Y/N,” he then calls out your name again, and you gulp at the way the feelings rush through you.
“What?” Jangjun comes closer, until there’s only an arm’s length of distance between you. At this point you’re starting to panic - what if he’s finally going to call you out on the way you always have your eyes glued to him? What if he’s gonna tell you to just give up on him? You know how stupid you are for having feelings for him, and if you knew how to stop them, you would.
You hold your breath for a few seconds as he sighs, his gaze wandering from you to the floor, as if he was searching for the right words to say.
“Why did you give up?”
“Huh?”
“I mean…” he clears his throat, letting out a tense laugh as he realizes how dramatic he must’ve sounded just now. “I mean, why are you keeping your distance from me? Did I do something to upset you?”
“I-” You’re still speechless, and so you’re glad when Jangjun immediately keeps talking,
“I just-… Please forget about this if I’m wrong, but… I thought you liked me.” Your heart is racing at this point, and from the way his expression has grown serious, you’re not sure if you should be happy about the fact that he’s bringing this up or not.
“I… I do…” you eventually admit, telling yourself that maybe if you confess and get rejected properly, you would find a way to move on. However, the guy in front of you seems to have no such plans.
“Then why are you suddenly avoiding me?”
“What…?”
“I mean, you used to talk to me a lot, and then suddenly all I get are stares from across the room,��� he says, and it makes you feel embarrassed. “What’s that about? I thought we were on the same page.”
“On the…?” You attempt to collect yourself as you take a deep breath. Should you really tell him the truth?
“I like you, Y/N,” he continues talking, laying bare his feelings as if he had not a single fear of getting hurt in the process, and you’d have to be lying if you said it didn’t make you admire him. 
“You… like me?” you repeat, and Jangjun lets out an exasperated laugh.
“Yes! I thought I made that obvious…”
“But… but you flirt with everyone like that…”
“Huh?” There’s a surprised expression on his face now. Was he not aware of the way he talks to people?
“Someone said you talk to everyone like that, so I thought… I was just imagining things and I felt really stupid about it…” you admit, feeling ashamed of how naive you were.
“Y/N, look at me.” You do as he says, and when you find nothing but sincerity behind his eyes, you’re suddenly starting to feel like maybe you weren’t naive at all. “I like talking to people. I like making them laugh and making them happy. And yes, maybe it all comes across as me flirting, but… I swear to you, I’ve never looked at any of those people the way I look at you. And I haven’t felt about anyone the way I feel about you in a long while either.”
“That means…?”
“I like you, Y/N,” he says. “That’s what it means.” You stare at him blankly for a moment, while his sudden confession is still sinking in, and then you start smiling. You reach out to wrap your fingers around his hands, and when you look up again, you can see that his ears have turned a deep shade of red. Suddenly there’s a big grin creeping onto your lips, and you feel both stupid for not having noticed the way you affect him sooner, but also happy that you finally know.
“Jangjun,” you say his name, and he gulps. Despite him being the nervous one now, he does his best to seem calm.
“What?”
“Can I kiss you?” You understand that your request could come off as too bold and out of the blue, but the idea that he could refuse doesn’t even cross your mind. And instead of waiting for you to take the initiative, he’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist, stumbling forward a few steps with you in his embrace until your shoulders hit the nearest wall, and before you can realize what’s happening, you already feel his lips on yours. Warmth spreads in your chest as he kisses you, and you’re overwhelmed by the way he moves his lips against yours with need - as if he couldn’t have lived another day without it. Your hands find their way to his back, where you grab onto the fabric of his shirt, tugging at it as you give yourself up to his kiss. 
You don’t expect him to run his tongue across your lips, eventually deepening the kiss - especially not considering that this is your first kiss with him. But somehow you don’t mind, because as much as he’s rushing into this with you, his every touch is still careful in a way, and you feel yourself melting against him.
When you part, both of you need some time to catch your breath. And now that you’re standing right in front of him, his arms still wrapped around your body, and your hands still holding onto him, you can see it clearly. The way he looks at you is different from how you’ve seen him look at everyone else, and though thinking about how you haven’t noticed it until now leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, it gets washed away with sweetness as soon as your lips connect again.
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mr-aizuwu · 2 years ago
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my dabi hc of the week: he says he doesn't like coffee and for the most part that's true, he only likes it to be 1/6 (MAYBE 1/5 if he has to) coffee and the rest cream,sugar and flavors. if youre a coffee drinker and know what im talking about, hed really only choose to drink it if it has one or two shots of coffee in a large cup lmao preferably not very pressed either
hes a pickey eater,always has been, but in his life he can't afford to be choosy. he hates bitter things but doesn't want to admit he cant handle them so he just says coffee doesn't do anything for him so he doesn't see a reason to drink it. he also knows if anyone found out the truth it will tarnish his evil bad boy villian reputation
dabi x reader part: if you drink cold coffees, the first time he sees you have one he will most likely steal it to take a sip after you tell him the flavor,as with most foods and drinks. he'll only try it if its cold, a flavor he likes and doesnt have many shots (much actual coffee) in it though. he only likes it cold because hot ones draw out the coffee flavor too much.
lord help you if you like your coffee the same way he does tho because now you either have to buy him one too or suffer him drinking most of yours. he says its 'too sugary and shit' but he still always steals it. if you fight him off and dont let him take a 'sip' (drinks most of it) or bite he WILL sulk and pout. dont you love him? why wont you share??? he 'drinks it all'???? no youre just a cruel,uncaring and unjust s/o and hate him (he still sneeks a drink when youre not looking)
if you like yours strong or prefer hot ones he will always subtly scrunch up his nose at the smell, especially if you make it at home so your house fills up with the smell of it. he tends to open a window or two everytime you do.
its safest to just get him something other than a coffee tho, he has to be in the mood for it otherwise he has a habit of not finishing them and just leaves it laying around.
all in all he is an over dramatic bitch who, when isnt constantly wondering when his next meal will be, is a picky eater and doesnt like coffee much.
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mediocre-daydreams · 2 years ago
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hello 🫶🏻🫶🏻 can i req a peter parker x stark!reader who r also bffs (with feelings 4 eachother) where both of them have this little game they like to play with eachother where they make up like insane conversations and the other has to follow along until they get tired ?? like “oh you look fine even though you got stabbed by an alien yesterday” “u dont look too shabby for someone who had to give birth to a baby” IDK like anything u want but they didnt know that their conversations were getting overheard by the other avengers and once the avengers come together and talk about it they’re like wait.. why the fuck does it sound like [] have two children at home and are secretly married IDK ANYTHING U WANT BUT AS CRAZY AS POSSIBLE i love crack fics
TYSM <33
— 🦜
i've been putting this off bc i love the idea and want it to be perfect so i stayed up late last night and in my delirious haze i came up with some dialogue prompts and i woke up this morning and found it in my notes so here's the beaut! i lowkey love it thank you 🦜 !!
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞
peter parker x stark! reader
summary: at first, you and peter were like "let's see who can uphold the most ridiculous conversations," but bro... you don't think the sexual tension is a joke anymore, and neither do the other avengers.
w/c: 3.1k
notes: crack crack crack, fluff, swearing, many sexual innuendos (and also just jokes about sex outright) and swears (c'mon it's me), mentions of abortions and roe v wade in a humorous context, murder, cannibalism, and foot fetishes in a humorous context, one "ur mom" joke, if it sounds crazy that's because it is crazy and i think u should just read it already
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
you and peter’s friendship was anything but normal. well, you supposed, nothing could ever be normal for the two of us. peter’s an arachnid abomination and i’m the daughter of an egotistical billionaire who cosplays as a flying suit.
there were two ways in which your relationship was unusual. one: the practically nonexistent line between platonic and romantic, which everybody just always had to point out. the two of you had always been a bit touchy-feely—to be fair, mostly with each other, but were you really to blame? you were stuck in a tower full of traumatized assassins, spies, and people in metal suits; it wasn’t like there was any good cuddling options around. peter was a self-described “nerd and loser,” so girls weren’t exactly lining up to cuddle with him either. 
two: you had a game going on (if it could even be called that). peter had a hard time transitioning into an “official” member of the team, so you, being the coolest and closest to his age, tasked yourself with the responsibility of being his friend.
what started as making up nonsensical greetings or coming up with more and more obscure versions of “see ‘ya later, alligator” had spiraled into a competition of who could keep the most ridiculous conversations going.
--
you were sitting beside natasha at the kitchen bar, the two of you nursing copious amounts of black coffee and sporting dark eye bags. (so maybe karaoke with katy and shang-chi on a wednesday night wasn’t the greatest idea you’d ever had.)
peter took a double-take as he made his way towards the fridge, looking perfectly refreshed and wide awake.
“lookin’ good!” peter clicked his tongue at you in greeting, smirking at the scowl on your face. he knew you would’ve flipped him off had you not been holding your drink.
“thanks,” you drawled sarcastically. “i’ve been trying this new diy skincare routine, where you use curdled breastmilk as a face mask for 20 minutes. it’s really helping with my dark circles.”
natasha, the woman who was never caught off guard, was caught off guard.
peter hummed thoughtfully as he poured himself a glass of milk, which he was now losing his appetite for. “20 minutes seems pretty short, don’t ‘cha think? i keep my menstrual blood mask on for at least 35 minutes.”
you scoffed, taking a large swig of your coffee and wincing at its bitterness. “yeah, well you should probably do it for longer. i can see your premature wrinkles forming from here.”
peter slipped into the seat beside you and smiled in greeting to natasha, whose eyes were bleary and unfocused. peter turned to shove his face close to yours.
“hm, maybe you should try juice cleansing. your skin is looking awfully dull today, unlike mine, which is dewey and radiant.”
you rolled your eyes. “sure, dude. look at your birdnest for hair.” you tangled your fingers through his mess of curls and scratched his scalp. peter couldn’t hide the content groan that slipped from his mouth.
“if my skin is dull, your hair is practically straw. unlike mine, which is easy, breezy, beautiful: covergirl.” you made a big show of preening your bedhead.
natasha made gagging noises. “alright, you two are disgusting. in more ways than one. can you please stop, because i’m so hungover right now and i will not hesitate to aim my projectile vomit onto one of your faces.”
you and peter looked at each other with big grins. peter shot finger guns at natasha. “eyy, that’s the spirit!”
--
you and peter found it especially funny to start these sorts of conversations in front of steve and bucky. not only were the two perplexed by modern lingo, they were also the most gullible two people on the team, which made them easy targets.
bucky and steve exchanged testosterone-fuelled jabs at each other in the sparring ring as you tied your shoelaces as peter sprayed his face with water. the two of you listened to the grunts of exertion and the various gruff noises that filled the air to appease the two supersoldiers’ masculinities.
you sighed, stretching your sore arms. you and peter had been fooling around with the gym equipment for an hour now, waiting for bucky and steve’s match to finish (and it didn’t look like either of them planned on backing down anytime soon). with a final tug on your shoelaces, you looked up at peter curiously, who blushed at your wide, innocent eyes. or perhaps he was just red from the exercise.
“you smell really good,” you commented, bumping your shoulder against his. “what cologne do you use?”
peter paused to consider his response. “it’s… my au naturale body odor. it’s cruelty free and uh, vegan.”
“that’s so earth conscious of you!” you gushed, running a warm hand up and down peter’s arm. though he was sweaty, gross, and overheated, he shivered at your touch.
“y-yeah. i haven’t showered in three weeks. it really enhances the… musky base notes of the scent. it’s very masculine,” he nodded as if he knew what he was talking about.
“well, it’s very aromatic. i like it.” you patted peter’s bicep definitively, jumping to your feet as you bent in half to stretch out your limbs. peter stared at your ass toned calves, and thought that he should work on his legs as well.
“oh hey, it looks like bucky and steve are done!” you pointed at the two heaving supersoldiers, who had stopped fighting altogether so they could stare at you and peter.
bucky mouthed “what the fuck?” to steve. steve mouthed “language” back.
--
peter was busy scrawling illegible physics notes as he, tony, and bruce watched planet earth intently. bruce was busy jabbering away at the “incredible biological discoveries” that david attenborough was narrating, and tony was absentmindedly filing his nails while occasionally poking peter in the back with his toe to correct him on a mistake he’d written.
“hey dad. bruce.” you caught sight of peter’s unmistakable form, hunched over the glass coffee table with papers scattered haphazardly across the surface and a bulletpoint pen between his teeth tha you found very seductive endearing.
“hey peter!” you squeaked. “it’s- uh, fancy seeing you here!” you blurted, cheeks heating as peter turned to you with his cute stupid fucking glasses.
“hey,” he raised his eyebrows. “you come here often?” peter purred lowly.
you gulped, unsure as to why he was bothering you so much today. maybe your period had come early.
“no, actually. i was stopping by to meet my real estate agent here; i’m loving this property,” you played along, tucking yourself into peter’s side.
“ah, well, they’re not here at the moment. i think they got stopped at security—something about smuggling exotic animals. but i could be your tour guide, if you want? i’m very… thorough.” peter waggled his eyebrows.
david attenborough began discussing whale mating habits.
“oh, are you now?” you challenged, biting your lip smugly as you watched peter began to stutter.
“y-yes, i am. and, as a matter of fact,” peter turned to pull something from his pocket. he presented you with a microfiber cloth. “i’m such a gentleman, i’ll even clean you up after.”
peter’s head was suddenly slammed into the glass table. tony had rammed his foot (not just the toes) against peter’s curls.
“stop sexing up my daughter, spiderling. i’ll take out your suit’s built-in heater.”
“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, mr. stark,” peter sputtered.
you giggled at his immediate change in attitude. leaning in, you murmured into his ear. “me, you, my bedroom, nine pm. i’d like that thorough tour.”
neither of you were sure if the offer was genuine.
--
sam had invited the team to a backyard party with his family, but not without warning everybody to watch their language around the kids. (it was an empty threat; everyone knew sam would be the first to slip up.)
you were “chatting” with a little kid; in other words, nodding along as they infodumped about cretaceous period with surprising expertise for a 5 year old.
you felt a poke in your side and screamed embarrassingly loudly. peter stared at you for a second, cheeks puffing and lips pinching together, before he burst into laughter. spit went flying all over your face.
“ew, you nasty! eugh,” you made a big deal of it. looking at the kid, you pointed at peter. “c’mon, let’s attack him! like a… brachiosaurus!”
the kid looked at you disdainfully. “the brachiosaurus was a herbivore, idiot. and it lived during the jurassic era, not the cretaceous period.”
your jaw dropped at the child’s betrayal. the mini-paleontologist toddled away, leaving you and peter dumbfounded.
“i sure missed a lot,” peter gaped.
“i- apparently, yeah.” you tucked your head into peter’s shoulder, fiddling with your empty plate. conversation buzzed steadily around you, but you and peter only cared about each other.
the two of you sat in comfortable silence, watching as sam teased his sister and as wanda was unsuccessfully trying to teach bucky how to use a pair of tongs. (bucky insisted that his vibranium hand could do the same job.)
“so, how many of those things have you eaten?” peter pointed his chin towards your empty plate.
“uh, approximately four.”
peter nodded approvingly. “four’s pretty good. you still hungry though? i could go for some food right now.”
you smiled evilly, untangling yourself from peter. “oh petie… i’m always hungry. i was skeptical at first, but damn, do these barbeque grilled fetuses hit. they’re gluten free, i think.” 
you stood up and yelled over the table to sam. “hey, are these things gluten free?” you pointed to where wanda and bucky were tussling over the grill.
sam looked at you incredulously. “no?” 
you turned back to peter. “well, you heard the man. at least they’re ethically sourced, though. better eat up quick, before roe v. wade gets overturned. fuck scotus.”
“yeah, fuck scotus. i’m all for womens’ sexual liberation. anyway, once you’re done, can you fuck me too?” peter deadpanned.
you choked. “oh, wow. you got me that time. i concede. i-”
--
“so, what’ja do for your art project?” you and peter were entwined on a common area armchair, you resting casually on peter’s lap with one hand pressed to his chest and peter’s arms pulling you even closer to his body.
“i made a collage of my feet pics.”
“huh.” you nuzzled your nose into the collar of peter’s shirt, taking a deep inhale of his cologne (his actual cologne, not his au naturale body odor). “for free?”
“what?” peter, much like everybody else in the room (who were all clearly listening but pretending not to.)
“i mean, you’re showing your feet pics for free? you’re spiderman, pete. you could charge so much for them. here, you can use my onlyfans account.” you began to pull out your phone.
“DAUGHTER?” tony roared from the couch diagonal to the two of you. whoops.
“…father?”
“can somebody tell me why my pure, uncorrupted, virtuous daughter is in the lap of a hormonal, horny teenage boy? god knows what the white sticky stuff actually is…” tony cursed under his breath. “and would somebody like to explain why the words onlyfans, peter parker, and feet pics are being used in the same sentence and coming out of my daughter’s mouth?” 
you cringed at all the innuendos (intentional and unintentional) that tony had just dropped in front of nearly the entire team.
bruce choked on the sandwich he was eagerly chowing into. natasha choked on air. wanda was biting back a mischievous smile and steve looked like he was about to faint.
bucky leaned over to sam and loudly whispered, “what’s an onlyfans?”
--
friday rolled around, which meant it was time for the avengers’ weekly family bonding event. this week, it was movie night. wanda and natasha were clapping enthusiastically as sam and bucky danced along to the jingle bell rock winter talent show performance, which meant you and peter could snuggle up to each other and converse freely without fear of being overheard.
peter’s head was in your lap, and you were mindlessly scratching and tugging at his curls as you smiled at your teammates’ antics. even from this odd, unflattering angle, peter couldn’t help but think you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. the television screen illuminated your face and made your eyes sparkle more than they usually did. and he had the perfect view of your lips—so soft, sensual, always containing such happiness, always begging to be kissed…
“hey bug?” you looked down at peter, smiling softly with the look you seemed to only reserve for him.
“hi,” peter whispered breathlessly, heart racing at the nickname. the corners of his eyes crinkled in the way that seemed to be only reserved for you.
“uh, this might be a- a little forward, but what are your weekend plans, ‘cause-”
“homicide.”
“excuse me?” you squinted at peter.
“you heard me. this weekend, i plan on committing homicide.”
you sniffed, a little disappointed in where the conversation had gone but willing to play along nevertheless.
“that’s it?”
“what do you mean, that’s it? what are you doing?”
you smirked deviously. “UR MOM!” you burst into a fit of giggles that peter found adorable, so he couldn’t stop himself from laughing with you.
“my mom- my mom’s dead!” he said through cackles.
the two of you looked at each other and only laughed harder, garnering the attention of the rest of the team. 
wanda opened her mouth to speak, but tony was too quick.
“alright, this has been going on for too long. peter, off of my daughter. daughter, off from… underneath the kid.” he cursed. “god, that sounds so wrong.”
“what?” you questioned, genuinely confused at what the issue was.
peter rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a warm pink crawling up his cheeks and to the tips of his ears.
“what? the problem is, you two are discussing matricide in front of a team of superheroes, not to mention practically dry-humping each other in a public space! not that it would be acceptable in a private space, but you get what i mean,” tony gritted.
“while we’re at it, can we talk about how your daughter has a stash of breast milk? and peter has menstrual blood? where do you even get the menstrual blood, peter?” natasha shook her head before gasping in horror. “it’s not- it’s not hers, is it?”
you waved your hands. “no, ew, gross! on the plus side, if it were hypothetically mine, that would mean i’m not pregnant.”
tony glared at you, finger in the air pointing shakily at your chest.
“okay, am i the only person who’s worried about the murder bit? because i’m pretty sure the kids were talking about cannibalizing dead fetuses at the party i threw last weekend—”
tony shrieked. “excuse me? you just said you weren’t pregnant, missy. where are you getting the fetuses from?”
“i said, hypothetically, but anyway-”
tony slapped himself in the face a few times. “god, this is why we need to stock up on condoms around here. do you guys even have sex ed in school? i don’t care if the two of you,” he waved a finger between you and peter, “are doing the deed—wait no, i do—but please tell me you’ve had the banana demonstration.”
“tony, i think the kids are quite a nice couple,” steve chimed in bravely. tony spun around and gave him a withering glare, but the supersoldier didn’t back down. “i said what i said. well, peter should definitely shower more, three weeks is criminally disgusting, but other than that, they’re good for each other.”
wanda nodded seriously. “i can hear both of them thinking about jumping each others’ bones every time i see them together. it’s kind of annoying, actually. so if you just let them fuck, my mind would greatly appreciate that.”
bruce sighed. “the sexual tension is so obvious that david attenborough doesn’t even need to narrate it for me to identify it. it’s like when those two whales were mating…”
tony dragged his hands down his face, overwhelmed. you and peter’s hands had found their way closer to each other, despite your bodies being a modest distance apart, and your pinkies intertwined reassuringly.
“care to explain?” tony waved his hands around. “the sexual tension bit? the cannibalism? the feet fetishes? just… anything?”
“it was a joke, i swear, mr. stark!” peter jabbered desperately. “it’s… a game we play. where we try and come up with the most ridiculous conversations and then just keep it going.”
you nodded furiously. “right! and i’m totally the winner. none of it was real. plus, friday would have alerted you if i ever made an onlyfans account.”
tony stroked his chin contemplatively. “so, the sexual tension bit? that was also a joke?”
peter opened his mouth, “ye-”
you opened your mouth, “no!”
the two of you gaped at each other.
“what we mean to say is, no, it’s not a joke! yes, there is… sexual tension.” you widened your eyes at peter pleadingly.
tony mumbled angrily to himself, pacing the room as the avengers watched the live-action reality tv unfold before them.
“is there really sexual tension between is?” peter hissed at you.
“uh, yeah. unless you were being serious about wanting to thoroughly fuck me and also fuck me after i went through the entire supreme court, then no, that would just be flat-out sexual.”
peter pursed his lips. “right, okay then. you’re right. there is sexual tension between us.”
you mock pouted. “so you’re saying you don’t want to thoroughly fuck me?”
peter turned bright red just as tony turned to the two of you, who had gotten much closer to each other in the time that he’d been worrying.
“gross! i’m getting secondhand cooties. whatever, you guys go have a play date or something. just… please be more classy than cady and aaron, dear god. the teenage foolery in this movie is actually-” tony shuddered, unable to express himself with words.
“i’m still interested in the property, y’know?” you whispered.
“well then, can i extend another real estate tour offer?”
“absolutely. and i will gladly take you up on that offer.”
you took peter’s hand, the two of you giggling madly as you raced and slipped down the hall towards your bedroom. you heard tony groaning and whining from the common room before he shouted, “keep it pg-13 in there!”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
peter parker masterlist | main masterlist
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emeraldenha · 2 years ago
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TO YOU
chapter 4 | “real love”
w/c: +1k words
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A handful of chaotically nonsensical drinking games in and you were completely wasted.
You were already tired from staying up the night before—baking your signature college dorm chocolate chip cookies with Joshua and Vernon—but there was a lot more fatigue from the thoughts that had just been weighing on your mind.
After a long day of rehearsals and band talk, the five of you had decided on crashing at Soonyoung and Jihoon’s apartment considering that the rest of you stayed in dorms.
One second you’re singing ballads at the top of your lungs with Joshua into a beer can as a makeshift mic, and the next second you’re on Vernon’s back spinning around to see how long it takes for you both to collapse out of dizziness.
It took approximately twenty-five seconds. There you were, back hitting the floor as you burst into a fit of laughter.
“You okay, Y/n?” Jihoon lightly shakes your arm, crouching down next to you.
Jihoon usually doesn't participate in your drunken gatherings, opting out more times than not. Maybe he’ll take a swig if it does no harm. Tonight is no exception.
Whether it be fulfilling the role of the designated driver on outings or babysitting the three of you indoors before things get out of control, he doesn't mind—or at least he tolerates it. Plus, someone has to control the volume before a noise complaint comes filing in. Jihoon spent too much time searching for this damn apartment to lose it because Soonyoung was unabashedly yelling SHINee's discography at three AM in the morning.
You ignore Jihoon's question, turning to your side, knees to your chest as you form yourself into a ball.
“Sleepy…”
Jihoon sighs, ready to peel you off the carpet and prepare the fold out couch for the night when a crash is heard from the opposite side of the room.
Tripped over a plastic picture frame and an unlit candle was Soonyoung in an eerily similar position as you. However, he quickly bounces back on his feet and stumbles forward until he’s right beside you, weaving his hand into yours to pull you up.
“I got you!” Soonyoung exclaims, keeping your hands interlocked.
The scene feels familiar. Just like earlier in the week when he stepped in as your knight and shining armor to buy you coffee.
Knowing he’d be unsuccessful if he even tried to pull either of you apart from one another, Jihoon let’s you be, shaking his head as he retreats into his own room.
The sequence of Soonyoung guiding you to his room is a little blurry, though one moment bleeds into next and suddenly, you’re crying into Soonyoung’s ginormous tiger plushie as soon as you touch the bed.
“What’s wrong?”
At first, you don’t answer, stubbornly stuffing you face further into the plushie.
Seconds pass and the silence deepens but eventually you must come up for air, and with a new sense of carelessness, you speak the latest worry that has been lingering on you mind.
“I can’t write love songs.”
Soonyoung tilts his head, curious. “Why not?”
You mumble something incoherent, sitting up to face him with evident stubbornness in your expression despite bringing up the topic in the first place.
“Tell me!” he whines and begins poking you impatiently.
You start mumbling again, this time with an actual intent to reply though you’re still barely making any sense.
Soonyoung pouts, frustrated that he can’t hear you clearly. "What?"
He pokes your side again and you finally give him an answer.
“Because the one time I fell in love, I got hurt. I don’t think he ever really loved me. Not in the way I loved him.”
There. You said it.
It has always bothered you more than you’d like to admit, not being able to write a single line to a love song that didn’t come off as unbearably cheesy or inauthentic.
It all felt so dramatically cynical. So bitter and pathetic. It’s not like you actually swore off love or anything, not when you knew deep down that whatever butterflies you felt towards the boy right in front of you was more than just a measly crush.
Maybe you were just awful at finding the words to express a feeling you’ve never been able to explain.
Maybe you were scared. And a coward.
Maybe you were just a shit songwriter.
Either way, you didn’t want to mess things up. You didn’t want to repeat history and have to write about it in the end too.
Soonyoung pauses to stare at you, trying to comprehend the situation with whatever coherence was left in his drunken state of mind. All he knew was that you were sad and he wanted to do everything in his power to cheer you up, fill the hole in your heart that had left you so hurt.
You looked like a kicked puppy, knocked down with no hopes of getting back up.
“Then let me show you.”
Soonyoung rests a hand on top of yours which switches up your mood in an instant.
It’s like the moments before are erased and you’re already painting over the vulnerability with giddiness.
“Show me what?” you mindlessly giggle, sending him a lazy smile that makes his heart skip a beat.
He raises his hands to cup your face, clumsily wiping your previously fallen tears the best he can. You watch him with wide eyes as he begins leaning in closer, but you don’t back away. You don’t move an inch.
“What real love feels like.”
Then, before you can process what’s even happening, Soonyoung’s lips are pressed against yours in a quick, gentle kiss. Well, as gentle and coordinated as it can be for two people that have had one too many drinks.
You’re the farthest thing from sober and your head is pounding with a million hazy thoughts, yet one look at Soonyoung and suddenly the world is only him.
When he eventually senses you pulling away, his eyes hesitate to flutter open until he feels your arms wrapping around his waist. You’re hugging him so tightly, as if you can’t afford letting go.
Too tired to question what this changes or if this kiss will make any difference at all, you tilt your head to lean comfortably in his chest, your body falling limp in his embrace as you fall fast asleep.
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❁ TO YOU
SUMMARY: how to save a bad song in three simple (yet not-so-simple) steps: a guide for struggling musicians.
TAGLIST: @kwonranghae @ihrtadri @mx-insert-fandom-here @squishy-maimon @ayoseventeencarat @shuaslvr @thedeeppoet @shiningstar-byulxx @renjunphile @favehoshiposts @hochipochi @turnipthe-beet @younjunie @kuleo26 @1122ljh @kookiedesi @ineedaherosavemeenow @theduvetpirate @nomniki @luvvelxy @smuchsmut @jxnem @17kwans @enhacolor
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wincore · 4 years ago
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atlas | kim dongyoung
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pairing: doyoung x reader
words: 15.4k
summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.
or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.
genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 
warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,
prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️
song rec(s): playlist here !
a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)
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In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.
You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.
When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 
“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”
“And then what?”
“Fuck.”
So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.
Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 
(Fun doesn’t.)
Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 
And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 
It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 
It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 
The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.
You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.
You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.
Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 
You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.
You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 
You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 
You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)
“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.
“What?” you yell back.
“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.
You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”
Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”
“Loser.”
“No, you.”
“How clever.”
Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.
“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.
“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”
You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.
“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.
Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”
Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 
“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”
“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”
You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.
“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 
You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 
“Yeah.”
And the deal’s done.
It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.
Well, sort of.
You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 
See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.
His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.
God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.
His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.
Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  
An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.
“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 
The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 
“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.
You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”
“In front of a wall?”
You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”
“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 
To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.
“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”
You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.
“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”
“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.
Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).
Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.
Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 
Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.
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The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 
He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.
“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.
“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.
Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.
He’s even better when he’s annoyed.
You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 
Funny.
Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.
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“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”
You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.
“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.
Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.
“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”
“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.
Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”
Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”
“One.”
He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 
“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.
“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”
He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”
“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”
Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 
“Who’s a virgin?”
Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 
But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  
Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.
“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.
“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.
You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.
“Why not?”
“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”
He’s right.
“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 
“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”
“Well, of course it is. I had your—”
Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”
You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.
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“Where were you last night?”
You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.
“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.
You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.
(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)
Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”
You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.
“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”
“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.
“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”
You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”
They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 
You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 
“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.
“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 
You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.
Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.
Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.
Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.
So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.
It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.
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Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.
The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.
You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.
He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.
“How much lon—”
“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.
Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.
“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.
“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.
Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”
You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.
“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”
You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”
You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 
“Are you guys… into each other or not?”
You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”
“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”
“No way.”
You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.
“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”
He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”
You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”
“You seem to like him though.”
“Who said that?”
Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”
“We’re not.”
“—or fucking—”
“Ten.”
“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”
“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”
“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”
“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”
Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”
You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”
Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”
You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.
“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”
“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”
“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.
“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”
“Well, we’re not.”
Ten shrugs. 
“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”
He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”
“No.”
Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”
“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”
“It’s neither, promise.”
You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”
Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”
You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.
“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”
“What?”
“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”
“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”
“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”
“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”
“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”
“That sounds good to me.”
“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”
You roll your eyes.
“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”
“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”
“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”
“Don’t complete that sentence.”
“I was going to say something funny.” 
Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.
“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”
“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”
You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”
“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.
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There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.
Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.
Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)
The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.
“Hey.”
You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.
“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.
“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”
“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”
“No. A little bit. Not enough.”
You sigh. “How will you get home now?”
“I live here, idiot.”
“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.
“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”
“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”
Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”
You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.
“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.
“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”
There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.
“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.
“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”
You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.
“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”
He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.
“Linguistics,” he answers.
“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”
“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.
“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.
“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”
You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”
“Really now?”
“Yes,” you snap, looking away.
You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.
“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”
For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.
“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.
“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”
You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 
“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 
Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 
“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”
“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.
He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.
“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.
“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”
He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.
“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”
You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”
“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”
“No way. You’re lying.”
“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”
“Hurts my ego.”
You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.
You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 
How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.
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Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 
Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.
“Ow,” he mutters.
His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.
For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.
You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.
He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.
He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.
Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.
Doyoung’s out of breath.
“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.
“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”
Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”
“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.
“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”
“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 
Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 
“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”
“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.
After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”
“I know,” Doyoung mutters.
Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.
“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.
Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”
There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.
“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.
“What?” he whispers.
Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.
“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”
Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.
“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”
Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.
“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.
“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”
A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.
It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.
Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.
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Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.
You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.
Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.
You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.
People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 
He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.
“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”
“I’m busy,” he hisses. 
Something’s wrong.
You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 
Inviting him somewhere. 
Rather sensually.
Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.
It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.
Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.
You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.
“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.
“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”
“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”
Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.
Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).
Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 
You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.
“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”
“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”
He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 
For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 
“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”
He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”
Busy. Right.
“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”
“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.
“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”
“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.
“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”
You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”
“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”
“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.
“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  
“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.
“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”
You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 
“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.
You blink.
“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.
He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.
“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 
Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.
“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”
You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”
“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 
You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.
“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”
“No,” you respond, checking your watch.
“Oh.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.
“Then we can- uh- we can—”
“Fuck?” you ask.
He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”
You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.
It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.
Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”
“Tell me you drove here.” 
He holds up his car keys in response.
You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.
So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”
You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.
“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”
And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.
The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.
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Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.
It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.
You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.
You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 
You’re disappointing. 
You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.
You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.
For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 
Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.
Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 
Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.
It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.
When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.
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“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 
The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.
Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”
Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.
You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.
“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.
“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”
“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 
You feel something close to guilt.
“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”
The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.
“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.
“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”
You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”
“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.
Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.
“I guess you’re right.”
You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”
“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”
You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 
“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.
“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.
You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”
“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 
You blink. “Fresher… girls?”
“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.
You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”
You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.
“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”
Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 
“You do that a lot,” he notes.
“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)
The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 
“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”
You look up at Doyoung amused.
“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”
“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 
It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.
The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.
“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.
“As what, the start point?”
A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”
You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 
For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 
So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.
“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.
“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.
You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.
Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 
You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.
Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.
When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.
“(name). Is something wrong?”
“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 
Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.
You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 
He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.
“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.
You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 
Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 
“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”
For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 
“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”
“I know,” he whispers.
Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.
He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.
“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 
You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.
“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”
Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.
“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”
You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 
Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.
“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.
You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.
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“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.
Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”
“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”
“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”
You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.
“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”
“That’s it?” he asks.
You nod.
No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.
Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 
A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  
“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.
The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.
You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.
There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.
You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.
And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.
You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 
It’s hard to love the same way now.
You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 
It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.
Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 
The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.
The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 
You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.
It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.
“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”
His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.
Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?
You sigh in response, nodding. 
“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”
I’m here and I get it.
Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 
Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.
Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.
And now, this has gotten complicated.
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An end.
Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.
“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”
His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.
Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?
‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 
He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.
But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.
The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.
He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.
“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”
Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 
“Ten?”
He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.
“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 
Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 
“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.
When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.
“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.
Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.
“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”
Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”
“What the fuck happened?”
Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”
“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”
“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”
Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”
“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”
“You set that up?”
“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 
Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.
“So?”
Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”
“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.
Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.
“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”
“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”
It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.
Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 
He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 
So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.
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With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 
“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 
Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”
“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”
He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”
You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”
“That’s exactly what I did!” 
You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.
“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 
You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.
“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”
You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 
“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”
You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.
You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.
No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.
Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 
For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.
You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.
Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.
“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.
“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.
Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.
“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”
“That you’re fucking other people?”
“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”
“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”
You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”
“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”
Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.
“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”
“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”
“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”
“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”
“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”
“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.
You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?
“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”
“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”
You bite down your lip. “What kind?”
Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”
It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.
“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”
“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.
You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.
“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”
You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 
“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”
“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 
“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”
Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.
“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”
You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 
Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”
You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.
The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.
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You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.
Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.
You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 
‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.
Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 
You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.
It’s December again. 
This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.
You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?
Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.
There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.
You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 
Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.
“(name).”
You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 
“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.
He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”
“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.
It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.
“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.
“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.
He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 
 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.
“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.
The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 
Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.
You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.
“You’re not smoking,” he notes.
“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.
Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”
“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”
Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”
A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.
“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”
Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”
You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”
“I loved you on purpose.”
You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 
“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”
You scan his face for signs of lying.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 
Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”
You let yourself crack a smile.
“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”
Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.
“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”
You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.
“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”
“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”
Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.
“You’re warm,” he says.
He’s warmer.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
You want to kiss him too.
“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.
“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”
Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”
You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”
Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”
The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 
“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”
“Oh? I wonder what it was.”
“Kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got all the time for you.”
You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 
2K notes · View notes
kyberphilosopher · 3 years ago
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Tim Drake Headcanons
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I’m really tired of the way Tim Drake is perceived. You know, he likes coffee and is all shy and soft. His character is so boiled down in fanon to essentially nothing. So here are my Tim Drake headcanons.
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
Didn’t always drink coffee. Tim doesn’t necessarily enjoy how bitter it tastes but uses it for fuel. Now everyone associates Tim Drake with coffee. 
Loves chocolate!
Loves scalp massages. All massages are nice, like backrubs and stuff, but Tim seems especially fond of scalp and head rubs.
I think Tim is either heteroflexible or bisexual. I know a lot of people think he’s bisexual. I don’t have a conclusion like I do for Jason, but that’s a bit different. 
Tim is a bit of a simp. 
Tim bites his nails sometimes.
A sushi enjoyer. Also not a very picky eater.
If Tim is in a relationship or has a close relationship with someone he cares for, and he’s away, he will open his notes app and type out the things he wants to tell them once reunited. 
Assuming Tim has some form of social media, probably not snapchat but maybe tumblr or Instagram or Reddit, he has his pronouns in his bio.
Loves the taste of whipped cream.
You know when you exit cracker barrel and there are all those little checkers tables? Tim plays that when at the cracker barrel while everyone is getting ready to leave and saying their goodbyes before heading to cars. 
Tim is one of the people that doesn’t have anything against drinking straight milk. 
Likes peach, cherry, and strawberry chapstick for himself.
Listens to Mitski sometimes, but not in the way that Damian or Jason do. 
Will sometimes listen to comedy albums. Just because why not?
Maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking of the Take on Me song by Ah-Ha lately, but i can totally see Tim Drake listening to like, 80’s and 90’s music.
ABBA? Loves it. Madonna? He’s hung up on her haha.
Terrible at roller skating, but I’d like to see him on a roller skating date.
This one is more of a fact than a just a headcanon but he does have good business sense.
Always eats those little diner mints. 
Tim has depression. It’s been hinted at forever- in his humor, his thoughts.
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
*These headcanons can be expanded on and added to over time. Headcanons can be left in comments to be added to the list. These headcanons will be used in kyber’s fanfictions for this character. All headcanons can be used to inspire a fanfiction request. All headcanons discussed in comments must be discussed politely and are welcomed. 
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258 notes · View notes
tennessoui · 3 years ago
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hi all of your aus are amazing! pls what happens with divorced!obiwan and the twins?
hey!! sorry this took so long i had to think of an appropriate cliffhanger
this is a continuation of this ficlet and this ficlet, where divorced!obi-wan accidentally acquires a partner and a set of twins.
(2k WHOOPS)
The twins are not, and probably have never been described by anyone except their father, angels. They take to Obi-Wan as well as Obi-Wan takes to them, which is to say that all three of them watch each other suspiciously until one day Luke launches himself off the top of the fridge--how the fuck did he manage to get up there--and Obi-Wan drops his morning toast in a frantic bid to catch him.
After that, Leia and Luke apparently decide he is Another Anakin Who Is Just Around A Lot Less But Is Better At Reading Bedtime Stories and deign to treat him as such.
Obi-Wan decides that he’s going to have a heart attack by the age of fifty. Do all children see a childproof house as a challenge?
It somehow takes both a longer and shorter time to win over Anakin’s favor, mostly because Obi-Wan isn’t sure what the man’s thinking at any given moment. He seems to blow hot and cold depending on how he woke up or how the work day goes. Some days, Obi-Wan comes home from campus and Anakin and the twins have waited to eat until he’s there. Sometimes they’ve eaten and there’s a meal under foil on the stove just for Obi-Wan.
(“I don’t know how you do it,” Obi-Wan tells him one night after the children are put to bed. “I mean, work from home with your job, mind the children, and cook?”
“They made me head of the R&D department a few months ago,” Anakin admits, taking a sip of his second glass of wine. “So I’m doing a lot more checking through other people’s work instead of making my own. It just means I can do that and make something edible--no, really, you just can’t cook, Obi-Wan, I’m not the best either.”
“Do you miss getting to make something other than food?” Obi-Wan asks eventually, giving himself enough time to recover from the sound of the other’s giggles.
Anakin shrugs languidly. “It’s better salary, and I’m the youngest ever in the company to have the position. Means I’ll pay off my student loans quicker, same with my mom’s hospital bills. Doesn’t matter what I want.”
Obi-Wan’s chest hurts and he wants to lean across the gap between their chairs and place his hand on Anakin’s arm, but they don’t know each other like that. It’s only been a month and a half since they moved in. Still. “It always matters what you want,” he insists. “And I think you’re amazing.”
Anakin blushes bright scarlet and takes a huge gulp of wine, and Obi-Wan wonders if this is a throwing-yourself-off-the-fridge break through.)
(It’s not because the next day, Anakin doesn’t say a single word to him, which bothers him more than he’d like to admit.)
(“Am I in the wrong for wanting to get along with my housemate?” Obi-Wan asks Quinlan despairingly during their office hours that he should be using to grade papers. Instead all he can think about is Anakin Skywalker and the goddamn cold shoulder he’s been getting from the man for the past three days.
“Yeah,” Quin says absentmindedly, marking something with a red pen before looking up at Obi-Wan’s outraged intake of breath. “I mean, no. I mean, sorry, Obi, what are we even talking about now? Is it still your hot new roommate with the two kids? Because that’s what we were talking about an hour and a half ago.”
Obi-Wan crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m just not sure I appreciate--”
“And you said he’s not been hanging around in the living room when you get home? But he’s still leaving you meals in the kitchen? And you’re upset about the free food?”
Obi-Wan is upset at the lack of Anakin’s presence, but he thinks that’s probably not the right thing to say here.
“Maybe he’s just tired?” Quinlan puts down his pen and rests his chin on one of his hands as he looks at Obi-Wan. “From the kids and the job and putting up with your moody ass. C’mon, Obi, what’s really getting you worked up?”
Obi-Wan purses his lips and stares at the desk in front of him, but he had come to Quinlan for help. He should at least be honest about what’s eating at him, even though he knows how silly it will sound when given a voice. “...Satine always waited up for me,” he mutters. “Until she didn’t.”
Quinlan’s quiet for a worryingly large amount of seconds, before he reaches out to pat Obi-Wan gently on the arm. “Oh, Obi,” he says pityingly. “Repeat after me. You cannot make your new roommate your rebound from your thirty year marriage.”
Obi-Wan scoffs. That’s not the problem at all. “That’s not the problem at all,” he says, not defensively in the slightest. “I think I’m just worried about the children not having enough structure in their lives.”
“Right,” Quinlan says, not quite managing to hide the skepticism in his voice. “Then you should talk to him. For the sake of the children.”
Obi-Wan will absolutely not be doing that, but it’s a nice thought.)
The real turning point in Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship happens five months after the Skywalkers move in.
Anakin and Obi-Wan are in the living room. Anakin is trying to braid Leia’s hair while Obi-Wan tries to pretend he isn’t watching. From the kitchen, there’s a very, very loud crash and the sound of something shattering.
Both adults leap up from their seats immediately and run to the other room.
Luke is standing in the epi-center of disaster, little face scrunched up like he doesn’t know whether or not to cry. At the sight of his dad and Obi-Wan, he starts to wail, moving forward and reaching for Anakin.
Obi-Wan, who is wearing shoes inside the house (a point of contention between himself and Anakin), grabs Luke roughly and picks him up by the armpits before he can cut his feet on the glass. He hands him over to Anakin to soothe, stepping further into the kitchen to find the dustpan he keeps in one of the pantries.
It’s very obvious what broke, though Obi-Wan can’t for the life of him understand how Luke got ahold of Satine’s heavy cake stand. He can definitely understand how Luke dropped it, as the thing was ridiculously heavy.
It had been one of the only things left in the house that had been Satine’s. She’d left it, and Obi-Wan had been too bitter or petty to point it out to her. Yes, it had been her mother’s. No, keeping it had not made him feel any better. But it’s not like Satine ever baked anything anyway.
Good for Luke, actually, for doing what Obi-Wan never could bring himself to do.
He grabs the broom and dustpan and marches back to the pieces of shattered glass. Anakin has placed Luke on the counter, ostensibly to check to make sure his feet are fine if the boy would ever let go of his father’s neck. Leia is peering around at the mess on the floor.
When Obi-Wan comes back and starts sweeping everything away, she darts forward to pick up a rather sizeable chunk.
“Don’t touch that,” Obi-Wan says sharply, much harsher than he intended. Leia drops it instantly and scurries back to her father, eyes wide and sort of watery. Oh, fuck.
“Hey,” Anakin snaps immediately. “She’s just trying to help and Luke didn’t mean to break--whatever that is.”
Obi-Wan holds up his hand to cut Anakin off. “I’m not mad,” he promises all three of the Skywalkers. And he’s not even lying. He’s really not mad, hasn’t even thought to be mad at this last piece of proof of his relationship with Satine shattering on his kitchen floor. “I just don’t want either of you to cut yourself. Glass like this can be very dangerous and none of you are wearing shoes.”
“Promise?” Luke asks, untucking his red face from Anakin’s neck so he can peer up at Obi-Wan.
“I’m sorry I was a bit rough,” Obi-Wan apologizes, coming over and bending down a bit so he’s on the same level as Luke. “I was just worried about you. Promise.”
Luke sniffles but lets go of Anakin to throw himself at Obi-Wan, apologizing all the way.
“Hush,” Obi-Wan says as Leia scrambles up his leg, vying for his attention. With his hands full of children that aren’t his, he raises his head to look at Anakin who’s watching them with a very strange expression on his face. He tilts his head toward the broom and then down to the kids in his arms. “Come along,” he tells them both. “Leia, I’ll finish your braids if you’d like.”
“Braid my hair too!” Luke demands with a pull on Obi-Wan’s shirt.
Luke’s hair is floppy but awfully short. “I’m sure we can figure something out,” Obi-Wan says generously, leaving the kitchen.
“I suppose I’ll just clean this up then?” Anakin calls sarcastically behind them.
“Thank you, darling,” Obi-Wan responds.
There’s the sound of something else breaking, but it’s not Obi-Wan’s problem at the moment.
(A year later, Anakin mentions something over morning coffee about looking for a new apartment, now that he’s got everything straightened out. “We’ll get out of your hair,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ll look today since it’s my day off.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t want to examine why that idea makes something curl tightly in his stomach, making him feel vaguely nauseous, but it does. On his way out of the house, he unplugs the router, and then after a second of thought, takes it with him just in case.)
(Quinlan laughs his head off when Obi-Wan sheepishly puts the router down on the desk in front of him. “It’s a bad market right now,” Obi-Wan says defensively. “I’m just looking out for him.”
“Obi, I mean this in the best way possible, but there are at least four professors in the psych department that would probably love to do a case study on you.”)
(Two years after the Skywalkers move in, Obi-Wan is running late for a meeting with the head of his department. The man is stepping down, finally retiring, and Obi-Wan thinks that perhaps he’ll be tapped as the new head. It would mean dropping some of his classes, but it would be worth it.
“I made you a breakfast wrap,” Anakin greets him at the door, holding out a paper bag. “It’s got that salsa you like in it.”
The salsa Obi-Wan likes is the mild version of what Anakin and the kids eat, but Anakin treats it as if it’s from another planet entirely.
“Good luck!” he says with a sweet smile, also passing Obi-Wan a travel mug of what’s hopefully fully caffeinated tea. Obviously Obi-Wan needs it. He got perhaps two full hours of sleep last night, tossing and turning and thinking about this meeting and now he’s running late and his tie is crooked and none of his favorite sweater vests were clean.
“Thank you, dear one,” Obi-Wan mumbles, mind somewhere else. If traffic isn’t too bad, he could still be on time.
“Text me how it goes!” Anakin chirps, following Obi-Wan out the door to stand on the front porch with his arms crossed in an attempt to fight off the early winter chill.
“Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan replies, turning around to brush an absent-minded kiss to Anakin’s lips before hurrying to his car. It’s a twenty minute commute. If he gets his preferred parking spot and runs to the department building, he won’t be late at all.
Is that too much to hope for?
He starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, looking back in the rearview mirror to see Anakin standing frozen on the porch. That’s strange, usually the other man can’t stand being out in the cold.
Obi-Wan gets to the first stop-sign out of the neighborhood before he realizes what he’s done. It’s lucky that he’s already slowing down, because he slams on the brakes. Did he--
Did he kiss Anakin? Did he really kiss Anakin as if he does it all the time? As if they were in a relationship?
Oh shit.
Frantically, he pulls out his cellphone from his bag and checks to see if he has any new messages. He doesn’t.
Oh. Shit.
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jaysworlds · 3 years ago
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fanfiction :)
It was never going to last. It was never going to last because Michael is the kind of boy who settles down at twenty-seven with a pretty brunette girl and has three point five children and a dog and a house with a white picket fence, and Gerry will be lucky to make it to twenty-seven at all.
Gerry knows, with every fibre of his being, that it was never going to last.
He just never thought it would end like this.
‘This’ is the papers he'd scattered over the floor of Gertrude's tiny office and ‘this’ is the pitying expression on her face and ‘this’ is the words he isn't coming back.
And I'm sorry, Gerard. Really.
And perhaps you should take the rest of the day off.
(He doesn’t. He doesn't, because all he has to go back to is the bookshop and his mother's disapproving glare.)
He doesn’t tell his mother. He's sure she knows, sure she found out from Gertrude, the same way she'd found out they were together in the first place, but he doesn't tell her. It's none of her business, the state of his heart.
That is the end of Michael Shelley, and so that should be the end of it. As though anything in Gerry's short, miserable life has ever been so simple.
It isn't long before he meets the monster wearing Michael's face. It laughs at the way his eyes water against his will and cups his jaw with hands that cut his skin, though it doesn't hurt him beyond that, and it lets him go.
He almost wishes it hadn't.
His tears are dry by the time he makes it home. His mother is still awake, but he doesn't speak to her. He has nothing to say.
He cannot avoid the thing pretending to be Michael (his Michael, Gerry cannot help thinking, as though Michael had ever really been his). It seems to seek him out, though it doesn't seem to know why.
If it were an option, if he thought he'd get away, he would leave. He doesn't know where he would go, but he'd go somewhere, somewhere where his mother and Gertrude and the thing that isn't Michael were not.
That place doesn't exist, though. Gertrude could find him anywhere, he knows that, and thinking the monster couldn't follow him would be naive, and he is haunted by his mother each time he looks in the mirror.
The creature that isn't Michael but looks like him follows him, haunting him with his own failure to protect the man he loves. Loved.
He's angry. He's always so angry, these days. He snaps at Gertrude, fights with his mother, and throws punches at the creature that isn’t Michael whenever it gets close enough. It only ever laughs and takes his hands in its, holding them gently and letting him struggle until he's worn himself out. Sometimes it helps.
His mother is getting sick of him, he can tell. She thinks he's getting weak, that he’s losing his touch. Maybe she's right.
He doesn't know what she's going to do about it. Maybe she'll kill him, like she killed his father. Some small, bitter part of him almost hopes she tries.
She does, because of course she does. It would be too much for him to be blessed with a forgiving mother.
He wakes up to her standing in his room with a knife, and he knows. He knows, and he doesn’t even bother to get out of bed.
“This really is a shame,” she says, and he smiles, wry. A shame, perhaps. Having to get rid of an asset which had, at some time in the past, been useful to her. Not because she would ever shed a tear for her son.
He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. What else is there to do?
The knife never comes down on his chest. Instead it falls to the floor with a quiet clatter, and Gerry looks over to find that his mother is dead.
The creature that isn't Michael but looks like him is standing behind her, its long, knife-like fingers all the way through her chest. She never cried out, never made a sound.
“Are you alright?” it asks.
Gerry watches it shake its hand, dislodging his mother's body. He doesn't know what to say to that.
“You're not him,” he says, finally.
“No,” it agrees, and comes to sit by him. “I am not him, but he is me.”
That doesn't make sense, Gerry knows it doesn't make sense, but he thinks he understands. Or maybe he's just hearing what he wants to hear. Either way, he draws a deep, shuddering breath and sits up. It takes more energy than he thought it would.
It – Michael, the Michael that isn't – makes a quiet hushing sound and folds him in its arms, cradling him like a small child. His Michael never held him like this, but for once he doesn't think he minds.
He doesn’t cry. His eyes don't sting, don't begin to water. He just sits there, dry-eyed, and thinks about how he really should be crying. His mother is dead, after all.
It saved his life. The other Michael, the thing which isn't. It saved his life.
He doesn’t thank it. Doesn't even acknowledge it, not really. But he lets it hold him.
Perhaps later he will be angry (he isn't) and perhaps later he will understand (he doesn't) and perhaps later he will cry (he does, until his eyes are red and his throat is hoarse and he's struggling to breathe, and the strange not-quite-Michael will come and wrap its arms around him until he falls asleep).
He wakes up on a twin mattress in a hotel room he doesn't remember booking, with the sin filtering in through the gap in the curtains, and when he takes a breath it feels like a new day, crisp and clear.
There is fresh coffee on the bedside table, steam still rising, and he picks it up, bringing it to his lips. It’s nice, sweet and a little milky, the way he would have made it himself.
The door opens – or at least, a door opens – and Gerry looks up to find Michael in the doorway.
“You're awake,” it says, and giggles. The room twists oddly, and then it’s sitting beside him on the bed. The bed does not dip under its weight.
“You made me coffee.”
“Yes,” it says, earnest. “We remembered how you like it, didn't we?”
“Yes.”
It giggles, perhaps proud or perhaps only amused. He can't tell.
He takes another sip of his coffee. “Where are we?”
It giggles. Definitely proud this time. “Paris, my bookburner.”
Paris. They’d talked about coming here, when Michael was still Michael Shelley. Gerry's Michael.
“You wanted to run away.”
He had never told it that. He had never told his Michael that, either.
“Beholders are not the only ones who know things, my bookburner.”
It keeps saying that. My bookburner. Gerry doesn't know if he wants to be its anything.
But it wraps an arm around his shoulders, almost hesitantly, and in the long moment that follows, as they sit in silence and Gerry drinks his coffee, he thinks perhaps that's not so bad.
Perhaps it could become his Michael again.
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serenawitchwriter · 3 years ago
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BNHA Fusion (LOV/Deku)
shigideku
oh boy
both have been deeply wronged by society
unstable but also instantly aware that they’re more compatible than either is comfortable with
insane, muttering, constantly arguing with them-self
black curls that’s longer the deku’s hair normally is. scarred so badly. but decent skin. eye bags, big green eyes. Mikumo vibes
twitchy hands, will scratch anywhere, plays with lip, constantly writing. hands are never still
wears one fingered gloved so he doesn’t decay everything constantly
a genius, master of planning and deconstruction. take the moral limiters of izuku and he could end any hero quirkless
has a level of morality but it’s hard to define. totally down for crime most of the time, loves fighting, but doesn’t target kids or civilians. has a lot clearer motives than shigaraki did alone
they are gonna take down the government probably
daddy issues x2
laughs like a crazy person, wide scary smile
traumatized, ptsd, anxiety, dissociates, ocd. babe has a lot of mental illnesses
plays video games to calm down
loves homemade food
a loner
paranoid
quirk is just... oof. like a nuke going off basically. so fucking destructive, and you know they know how to use it
hates everyone including them-self
self aware of their situation. recognized that they’re being used and targeted and manipulated. on both ends. Shigi sees how he’s being used by afo, Izu sees how the adults in his life have failed him
honestly kinda baby, they need fucking love
hero students and lov members would put aside differences to help them honestly. the world wouldn’t be okay with it, but their friends are loyal
not quite a villain anymore, but definitely not a hero. constantly has internal conflict over this. like they don’t want to give up on hero dreams times 2 but also recognize how utterly fucked society is and wants to tear it down. they’re so full of hate, but want to maintain hope just out of spite at this point
whatever the hell they’re doing they’re not giving up on it
has the power to reshape society and is going to fucking use it
i don’t need to tell you that they’re fucking terrifying
togodeku
obsessive x2
love heroes x2
long curly green hair worn in twin pony tails, 
short, decent sized chest, big red eyes, and a smile that’s too big. fangs. freckles. 
muscular but in a compact way
more stable than they should be
loves themselves.
in love with uraraka, but gets crushes on everyone else extremely easily. ura is their forever girl though
loves making and consuming fan content. a fangirl to a scary degree
an all might stan
naturally, also loves k-pop
no fashion sense, they wish they had it, but they don’t. probably just wearing t-shirts and jeans most of the time. is still kinda hot, but isn’t doing anything to play it up
will hunt you for sport
incredibly fast, loves running and chasing in general
bunny themed outfit still
changing into others is one of their passions. izu lowkey loves this quirk. they’re experts at mimicking others. izuku’s analysis skills makes them too good at this
feral x2
honestly just here for the lols
still wants to be a hero, but isn’t doing a good job of it
easily distracted
probably knits for some reason?
makes gifts for friends and crushes
way more dangerous than they’re letting on. too many people are underestimating them
cute as a button
dabideku
daddy issue x2
bitter as hell
black and white hair, curly. darker at the roots. 
keeps dabi’s scars. green eyes. tall and muscular, lots of piercings. most of Izuku’s details are lost in the scaring
coffee addict
self centered, has a lot of enemies. including endeavor and bakugou, and every middle school bully.
more empathetic though, can have friends and value them, just don’t piss him off because he will hold lifelong grudges
very good at switching back and forth between scary and threatening to cute and innocent. usually the innocence is mocking but it can read as genuine
a good actor in general, but a terrible liar
quirk is not doing him any favors, still has the feedback, but flaming tentacles gives him more control over the fire itself
reads a lot of comic books
a hypocrite
likes to dramatically point at things while shouting
loves solving mysteries and kinda wants to go down a sherlock holmes or batman route
is not pulling that off, maybe jason todd vibes at best
high key just a dramatic dork that’s too good at murder
chaotic neutral to chaotic good
talks too much
good at pissing people off
kinda deserves to get the shit beaten out of him, and i feel like bakugou can pull it off
twicedeku
neurotic
they love their friends so much though
oblivious as hell
like a genius in observation and knowing stuff, but a dumbass at applying that knowledge
would make a good information broker if they could learn to shut the hell up
are they basically deadpool? kinda.
short green hair, cut close to their head
long face, covered in scars, tallish, looks like an adult
pouts and cries easily
smartass
talks to himself x2 god help us
overpowered with his quirk. god help us
laughs at his own jokes
always hungry
winks at the fourth wall
has many stims and hobbies, hands are litterally never not doing something. he’s the kind of person you’ll glance away from, turn back, and find juggling.
we’re talking cat’s craddle, rubix cubes, instruments, puzzles, tearing up candy wrappers, painting his nails, braiding friendship bracelets. he is never still
directionless. lacks motivation
internalizes criticism really easily, to the point that he gets depressed and struggles to act
indecisive to a clinical degree
probably has and anxiety disorder but refuses to acknowledge it
is pretty fucking baby. protect him
spindeku
lol what a nerd
fanboy x2
cries easily. izuku’s habit of crying does not decrease
ultimate ride or die
still a lizard, mohawk is green instead of pink
mixed feelings on stain
searching for the ultimate person to stan. all might stays in their heart, but they want to be edgier
absolutely uses a sword. not the dumb one that spinner uses but it is still a buster sword that’s too large for them. they’re strong enough to swing it around like nothing, i’m picturing cloud from final fantasy’s sword. again they’re really nerdy
disillusioned with society and heroes. both are marked by discrimination and have recognized the failure of heroes and government. aren’t as bitter but determined to do something
sassy but not quite sarcastic
gives really good advice. the friend you go to to have an emotional breakdown
considering pursuing psychology more for this reason. realizes he can use the skill to help a lot of people
isn’t willing to give up fighting or using his sword though. he has an aesthetic
would get along fantastically with tokoyami
also the friend that feeds you. can’t cook very well but always has something on him to give you when he notices you haven’t eaten in a long time.
loves bubble tea
social anxiety, if it weren’t for the fact that he already had friends and a mission, he probably wouldn’t leave the house
surprisingly close to shigaraki, enough of a gamer to play with him, and even gets away with calling him out
(i’m debating how comfortable i am with fusing kids with adults. it seems weird to me, especially the bigger the age difference)
(masterlist)
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parkjimin1010smuts · 3 years ago
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Breaking Point || Kth
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Summary: Taehyung reveals just how he deals with his stress to his best friend y/n and late one night y/n reaches her breaking point and decides to put Taehyungs tactic to the test, but there is a slight problem she has no one to help her out, or does she?
Warnings: daddy kink, overstimulation, thigh riding, virgin reader, multiple orgasms, fingerings, unprotected sex (yalls stay safe out there though this is just a fanfic), dom tae, sub reader, pwp. Enjoy!!
An elbow nudging into the side of your ribcage pulled you back into the conscious realm. A slight gasp leaves your mouth as you jerked your head back up. Now who the hell thought it was the perfect moment to need your attention.
You gathered your surroundings haphazardly, a subtle frown settling upon your face as you realized just who it was, Kim Taehyung. “Morning princess, I almost thought you’d never wake up,” his velvety voice mocked.
Turning towards Taehyung, the frown on your face only deepened, a small sound of annoyance escaping you. With your eyes now in his direction you unintendedly began to check him out. The cluster of blonde hair that was normally nestled peacefully was a disheveled mess exposing his forehead. His plump cheeks were pushed up due to the goofy grin he had plastered on his face nearly concealing his chocolate brown eyes that were now mere crescent moons. I had to admit he had a very attractive smile, reminiscent of a box.
His body was clad in a pair of black slacks that clung beautifully against his muscular thighs leaving very little to the imagination. His caramel chest peeked at me from the confines of the loose summer shirt he wore. I was brought back to reality when the view of his chest was suddenly obscured by the change in his position as he was now bent over packing his things. Releasing I heavy sigh I began to mirror his actions before throwing my bag over my shoulder and making a beeline straight to the double doors. In true Taehyung fashion he was right on my tail, trailing me like the faithful guard dog he pretends to be.
You and Taehyung  have been best friends now for over 15 years, you both met in the early years of preschool and by the grace of the angels above you have not been separated ever since. Through thick and thin, trials and tribulations, Taehyung has been there every step of the way. Everything you have experienced so has he, that’s how close you two are and, in all honesty, you wouldn’t have it any other way with any other person. 
This closeness however was more often than not met with questioning glances and needless two cent comments, most of them romance related. But Taehyung was always so quick to shut them down with a little more fervor and enthusiasm than you would deem necessary.  It was clear to you that Taehyung simply had no interest in you romantically, and you understood. Who cared if you had a tini, tiny crush on him. Not you that’s for sure.
But I mean it was inevitable, the man who was now glued to you side in a steady march that matched your own was a literal god send. He was loyal, attractive and physically in shape. What more was there to ask for.
“What’s up with you lately, every time I see you you’re either lethargic or in one hell of a mood.” My best friend voiced before abruptly coming to a halt in front of his black pick up.
“Nothing I’ve just been up studying for finals and the stress Is finally getting to me I guess,” you say through clenched teeth. You really do feel like you're reaching your breaking point and seeing how well put together Taehyung just riles you up even further. Its really not fair, we are in the same course, the same exams, the same workloads and yet there he is basking in his ethereal beauty, fair skin with no signs of exertion. While you on the other hand are left to wallow in the deep dark bags that have taken residence beneath your forever dropping eyes. Don’t even get me started on the acne that picks the absolutely best moments to choose your face as their next canvas, please note the sarcasm.
Allowing your curiosity to surface you voice the question that has been eating at you for quite some time now, “How do you do it?” Taehyung shots a quick glance your way before reverting his attention back to the bustling road before us but the slight dip of his eyebrows was enough for you to know he wants you to elaborate.
With a deep breath you laid everything that had been forming a cluster in your mind out on the table for Taehyung to digest. When you was through with your mini rant session an eerie silence danced between you two for a good minute before Taehyung finally released a hearty chuckle. With his head thrown back and eyes closed from the intensity of his smile he was unable to see the way your face twisted in confusion.
“You think I’m ethereal?” Of course, that was the only thing his pea sized brain was able to pick. Suppressing all the swear words you had an indescribable urge to throw his way you simply rolled your eyes while sinking further into the leather car seat.
“I release my stress through other things.” He finally said after calming himself.
“Other things,” you said with a raise of my eyebrow. 
“Yeah, other things, or more specifically sex.” your eyes grow tenfold as you choke on your saliva. Sex?! Should this really have been a surprise to you, I mean he’s young healthy and oh just look at him.
However it still does nothing to subside the slight blush you feel creeping up your neck as you avert your eyes to your lap. While he was indeed your best friend and things not discussed between the two of you were few and far between, one thing he never seemed to ask you about was your sex life. Not that there was much to ask about in the first place. You were a virgin, not entirely from lack of trying but still a virgin none the less.
“Oh,” that was the only logical response your mind could muster given the circumstances.
“Oh,” Taehyung retorted as he maneuvered the car to rest in his driveway. Choosing to remain silent you purse your lips into a thin line, you refuse to falter, even when he turns his body to allow his eyes to have unlimited access to scrutinize you with their chocolate depths. The car suddenly feels so hot or maybe that’s just your face which is now beet red.
“What’s with your reaction y/n,” Taehyung presses fully failing to read the room, or car in this situation.
You have never had any problems confiding in Taehyung but for some reason you feel embarrassed to mention that you're still in fact a 23 year old virgin, especially after he just shared details of his very thriving sex life.
The silence drags on for a good three minutes and knowing your best friend you know there is no way he will ever give in and so you cave. “I’m a virgin, okay. There, are you happy now,” you hastily say with an exasperated sigh. Choosing to save yourself from the snarky remarks you know are about to flow like a river from your best friend you hurriedly make your way out of the confines of his car. You mentally curse the universe as you see we are in fact parked outside his apartment complex and any thoughts you had of fleeing the scene are disintegrated in mere seconds. As if adding fuel to the flame the sound of the car door sounds as Taehyung makes his way out of his car and round to my side.
“Please save it, I’m really not in the mood for your bullshit right now,” you cut him off before he can even part his lips. “Hey what’s wrong with you. Did you seriously think I would judge you just because you chose to keep it locked up.” you simply avert your gaze as his words settled in your head.
“Hey look at me, your virginity is nothing to be ashamed of okay, I’m sorry if I made you feel that way, but you know me better than that. You know I would never shame you for anything so insignificant.” The tone of his voice was calm and collected and shame suddenly washed over you from the way you had jumped the gun. You never realised how your reaction could have been perceived, Taehyung was always so understanding and here you were assuming only the worst of him.
Deciding not to push the conversation any further you simply lowered your head in embarrassment before heaving a sigh. You've been doing that a lot lately. Being the attentive best friend that he is Taehyung was quick to pick up on my signals and thankfully refrained from pushing the topic any further. A silence soon settled between us before Taehyung laced his fingers around your own before leading you back to his car.
“I’m gonna take you home and you just get some rest okay,” The soft nature of his voice just made you feel worse while simultaneously lifting your mood.
~•~•~☆~•~•~☆~•~•~☆~•~•~☆~•~•~☆~•~•
Yet again a frown had found its way onto your face as you stared at the clock that ticked away on your bedside table. It was just past 2am and yet the lights in your room were still on casting shadows over the immense paperwork clustered all over your bedsheets. Yet another sleepless night with your only companion being a cup of coffee made with  three sugars and a gallon of stress.
Grabbing the cup of steaming goodness you throw your head back as you allow the bitter taste to maneuverer its way into your body with hopes of getting your systems back on high alert. You put down the coffee with a soft clang so it’s now adjacent to the ticking demon that serves as a constant reminder of how shit you have it right now.
Fighting the urge to scream you plunge face first into your numerous worksheets. This was it, you had finally reached your breaking point, the tears that stung the corners of your eyes served as confirmation.
Just as you were about to succumb to the severity of it all and just allow yourself to scream and cry to your hearts content a certain blonde haired box smiled adorning goof crossed your mind. Or more specifically a certain conversation shared between the two of you.
Sex.
You felt tingly sensations dance through your veins as the solution to all your problems was now just in front of you. However this feeling of euphoria was only short lived as not long after you realised there wasn’t a single person you could ask for help. Well there was that one guy you met during spring break, but your relationship came to a rocky end as he bumped heads with Taehyung over your relationship with him. He had accused you of slutting around with Taehyung and the man in question did not take lightly to his words. Lets just say his name is most definitely off the table, and so is my relief plan seeing as he is your only ex. Pathetic I know, no need to remind me.
You run your fingers across your laptop giving it a contemplative tap, while trying your hardest to push the most obvious solution to your problem to the back of your head. There was no way you could call him. Seriously, there was no plausible or conceivable scenario in which you went to your best friend, pleading for him to lend you his body to get off. You brought your hands to your face, a shriek of embarrassment escaping you at the mere idea.
This was the guy who had seen you at your worst, stumbling into your apartment with puke all over yourself when you were going through your hard liquor phase freshman year of college. There's no way he'd be interested in having sex with the girl he spent many nights holding her hair back as she hurled into her toilet.
No.
You couldn’t ask Taehyung to partake in such an activity with you. Absolutely not.
No way.
~¤~¤~♡~¤~¤~♡~¤~¤~♡~¤~¤~♡~¤~¤~♡
The creaking of your apartment door sent you five feet into the air as the reality of the situation sinfully settled in your brain and the nerves were finally kicking in.
“Taehyung,” you whirled around to face him as his gaze zeroed in as you  shifted your body from one foot to the other, a tendency you displayed whenever nervous. You couldn't fight down the heat that was creeping up your neck as he stepped into your apartment, eyeing you cautiously as he slipped off his shoes.
“Hey is anything wrong, you sounded really anxious on the phone.”
“What, me, I’m perfectly fine!” You responded forcibly, the enthusiasm in your voice misplaced, given the nature of the conversation.
Taehyung simply nodded back at you, not noticing the awkward timber of your words or otherwise not minding. "Well if nothings wrong why'd you call me over to your place at 2am?" He inquired, like the wonderfully kind best friend he was. You pressed your lips together.
"About that, do you remember how you said you use sex as an outlet for your stress in order to maintain a level head, well would you mind having sex with me as I’m a pathetic excuse of a human who has no one else to turn to for my sexual needs." Oh god, there was no way you could ask that. Taehyung was your best friend, and that would be too unbearably awkward. What the hell were you thinking?
“Well i wanted to watch the conjuring 3 again and I remembered that you hadn’t watched it yet so what better time than now?” You swallowed uneasily, a gesture that unfortunately didn’t go unnoticed by your best friend. Your eyes nearly fell out of your head as the man of the hour suddenly took a step towards you, his eyes unmoving on your face.
"What's wrong? Did something happen?" His tone was suddenly low and severe, eyes running all over your burning face as he searched for any physical ailment. There was something off about you, he realized. He wasn't sure what it was, but he could make out how your form was trembling, your eyes wide in panic.
“Do you want to have sex with me.” You reflexively shut your eyes as you allowed the weight if your words to hang heavy between the two of you it's only competitor being the unbearable silence that lingered in the air not long after. You could hear every inhale and exhale of the tall man that stood opposite you. Every passing second of silence made you regret your words and just as you were about to play it all of as a joke and retract your prior request a pair of soft lips pressed gently against your own stopping you right in your tracks.
Just as suddenly as it happened it came to an end. You could feel something stirring in your chest , the feeling of his lips on yours lingered, radiating heat like an old burn. You turned towards him and the look in his eyes nearly knocked the breath out of you, there was a dark sheen to them, one you had never seen. It was intimidating and attractive all the same, the fire in your belly igniting like never before. Before you could even think to stop yourself, you grabbed the collars of his shirt and pulled him down to you before taking his lips with your own.
In no time at all the kiss got heated as tongue and teeth were thrown into the mix. You feel his tongue explore the darkest depths of your  mouth as you fight back the need for air. His tongue reluctantly leaves your mouth all before licking a stripe across my bottom lip before his teeth bite down on it, hard but not enough to draw blood. You let out a whimper as his teeth finally released your lip.
There was a shift in the room, Taehyung could sense it. He knew exactly what you wanted and fuck if he didn't want the same thing. His entire body was on edge, he could hear every heavy exhale you pushed past your parted lips. "You're a virgin." The whine that came from you in response was low. "I don't want this to be something you regret in the morning.  I can't promise I'll be gentle." He licked his lips.
"Please, I just… just this once," Your words were soft and pleading, the sound of your thighs pressing together in search of relief filling Taehyungs ears. "I need you." He could see your hard nipples pressing against the thin material of your white shirt. They were distracting him, and thoughts of his hands cupping your breasts over your shirts, rubbing your cloth-covered nipple between his fingers, corrupted his mind. How easy it could've been for him to cave right then and there.
Your voice was small and dripping in submission. He felt like he was suffocating in the small space you called your living room. Fuck. He felt himself stiffen in his shorts. You were breathing heavily now, hands trembling as you fought the urge to throw yourself against Taehyung and bury your face into his neck. The mere thought of his skin against yours caused your whole body to shudder in want. When did you become like this. Your thoughts and actions almost made you seem unrecognisable but with the heat of the moment you couldn’t careless. You wanted this and how you wished Taehyung would stop being the gentleman he was and just fuck you already.
Taehyung was already heading towards you as he heeded his last warning, "Do you understand? I need to hear your answer."
“Oh god Taehyung just fuck me already!”  you hurriedly said followed by a deep exhale.
Without wasting another second Taehyung plopped himself onto your mustard couch before pulling you onto him. The sudden movement caused you to straddle one of his meaty thighs which had you quivering as your pussy throbbed from the sudden stimulation.  When you finally got comfortable you pulled the shirt over your head quickly, hands coming to fondle your own breasts, desperate for any skin contact.
You let out a cry as Taehyungs palms found the skin of your hips, urging you to grind against his thigh. You whined rocking back against his thigh. “Mm please Tae, I need your cock,” your own words surprised you.
"Hmm? You seem to be doing just fine without me, though." He cocked his head at you, hand coming up to smack the side of your thigh. A sharp moan fell from you, fingers tugging at your nipple as your hips sped up. Then, to your sweet relief, Taehyungs mouth found one of your breasts, taking no hesitation in pulling the hard bud into his mouth. You threw an arm over his shoulder, fingers floundering as they attempted to find anchorage on his sweat-soaked skin. Your other hand reached out to touch his abdomen, preening as his muscles flexed beneath your fingers.
He pulled away from your breast with a loud pop sound. Smirking up at you as your eyes began to flutter shut, he watched in amusement as your orgasm caught up with you quickly, a result of your heightened sensitivity and inexperience. He would have to teach you later how to refrain from Cumming so quickly.
"Fuck, oh god Taehyung" You cried into his shoulder, body jerking as you came unravelled. Taehyung couldn't help but let out a whine of his own, palming over his crotch as he watched you ride out your orgasm. Although he would never admit it the way his name fell from your lips like honey had his cock twitching in his now too tight jeans. " Taehyung, please." You panted once you had caught your breath, bringing your face up to his. “Fuck me" you managed to pant out without breaking eye contact. Thus lead to Taehyung  unconsciously letting out a groan.
"Is that what my pretty girl wants? Want daddy to fill you up, sweetheart?" The intimate pet name escaping him before he could think otherwise. It should have been no surprise to you that Taehyung had a daddy kink. Nonetheless you could feel a new wave of wetness staining his jeans from the pet name, from daddy, right down to the way his thigh was still flexing underneath your heat. It was all too much, you could feel your senses going into over drive.
"Yes daddy, fuck. Fuck me deep and hard until I'm stuffed with your cum.” You breathed into his neck. Taehyung was going to fucking explode. Every damn word you spoke went straight to his groin, his painfully hard cock straining against his Jean’s fabric. And with that in mind, he flipped you over, pushing your legs up into your chest so that he could see your clenched cunt fully exposed for him.
“You don't have any idea what you fucking do to me, do you? I'm so fucking hard for you, and I haven't even felt that lovely pussy of yours." He growled, his fingers coming down to circle your entrance. You didn't even have time to contemplate a response before his fingers rolled over your sensitive bud. His fingers felt so different to yours – your jaw slack as a silent sob fell out, his light but quick motions sending your back arching. Wrapping a hand against his wrist, you groaned, the feeling nearly overwhelming but still too good to pull him away.
Taehyung cursed as your hand came down to rub against the his cock still retrained by his jeans, the small action just gentle enough to have his hips jerking into you. He felt painfully hard and he feared if you didn’t stop he would bust a load right in his pants. His skilful hands were soon lost to his belt as he hurriedly worked to get rid of the only clothing left separating your bodies. "Gonna make a mess of this wet little pussy, okay? Let me know if you want me to stop." Were Taehyungs final words as he pressed himself inside you, hand reaching over to take yours into his.
A cry left you, eyebrows furrowing together as your head fell back, leaving Taehyung breathing heavily through his nose, jaw tense as he fought back a growl. The urge to sink his teeth into your sweat glistened neck was too much to resist and so he bent down and began showering hickeys over the canvas that was your neck.
The stretch stung a bit but he was able to easily slide into you thanks to your prior orgasm and the help of his fingers. You felt full and content, it was such an overwhelming feeling that when he bottomed out and his groin came in contact with your clit you came for the second time.
Eyes rolling to the back of your head you let out a loud moan that had you hiding your face in embarrassment. You could feel the hot breath of Taehyung as he chuckled from his position nestled between your breasts. After deciding you had had enough time to get accustomed to his size Taehyung pulled out almost completely before sliding back into you. You let out a whine as he bottomed out inside you, watching as his expression changed into a lewd one with your walls clamping around his fat cock. "How's that, baby?" You could only moan in response, nails digging into his back as he began to rock himself into you, entirely obsessed with the way your body was readjusting itself as he moved inside you. It was like your body knew exactly what to do, despite the sensation being otherwise strange.
Your fingers found your clit immediately, knowing that this was exactly how you wanted to cum, dripping down the couch and stretched out around  Taehyungs cock. "So big. Feels so good." You mumbled, your hair cascading around you as his pace quickened, fucking you hard and deep.
You let out an incoherent whimper, shuddering as Taehyungs thrusts into you deepened, spurred on by the way you continously moaned his name submissively. Your thighs felt wet and slick, the combined mixture of both yours and Taehyungs arousal dripping down onto them. You felt filthy and dirty and you were loving every second of it.
You could feel all your stress diminishing right before your eyes with every thrust of his hips. You felt elated, almost as though you were in another dimension, oh how you didn’t want this moment to come to an end. "My pretty little girl. You're making an absolute mess on my dick, isn't that right?"
"Yes, Daddy." You sobbed, body more than ready to succumb to your third orgasm of the night. "Such a good girl." He praised, a hand coming up to squeeze one of your supple tits. Your fingers found your abused clit once more. You circled around it liberally, the familiar euphoric feeling creeping up on you once more. "My sweet little girl. My precious girl." He cooed into your mouth, earning him an appreciative moan.
He was so close, fuck. “Cum in me daddy, I want you to come in me,” you whimpered desperately all in hopes of finally pushing him over the edge. And it seemed to have done the trick because with a final thrust he nestled himself deep within your warmth, a string of groans and curses tumbling out his mouth as he emptied his load into you. His release was the final push you needed to reach your most intense orgasm of the night. You shamelessly screamed as your back arched off the sofa and your body writhed in overstimulation.
"Fuck, fuck. I love you, holy shit, I love you." He peppered your face with kisses, breath shaky. Whether he let that slip due to the heat of the moment or whether those were his genuine feelings he had kept bottled up within him much like you, you chose to just revel in the moment stress free. "I love you more." You sighed adoringly, revelling in such an intimate gesture from him.
Thank you so much for reading 💜
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Text
Blue Moon - Part 1
A/N: See masterlist for prompts used. (And the list of amazing people who have helped me with this.)
I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.
Warnings: See Masterlist
Word count: 2,746
Xxx
“So what’s it like living with a Hale?” Stiles asked, turning away from your locker after you shut it. Both of you fell into step with Scott as you made your way to your next class. 
You must have grimaced or made some face with a slight slant of your eyebrows only a Stilinski could read, because Stiles let out a snort. “That bad?”
You shrugged, sighing. “I mean, it’s not like I expected it to be a walk in the park, it is Derek Hale after all.” Scott chuckled with a gentle shake of his head, making you smile before you continued. “But I didn’t expect it to be this…. easy….. either.”
“Easy?” Scott questioned, making the same face you must have initially as Stiles let out another snort of laughter.
“Yeah, I mean, the first few days were awkward. If we weren’t training we weren’t doing anything. The man is silent, had no TV, or any of that-”
“Wait, ‘had’?” Stiles held out his hand, effectively cutting off your sentence and your steps, your shoes screeching on the floor at the sudden stop. 
“Yes, had. He now has a TV, streaming services- yes, Stiles, services as in plural, if you keep your eyebrows that high they may stick that way, and it’s not the best look for you…”
“So at least there is something to fill the silence at least.” Scott resumed walking, you followed a few steps behind, Stiles lagging, jaw still dropped in shock. 
“Well, yeah,” you agreed with Scott, and this time you felt your eyebrows making the face.
“But….?” Scott’s prodding was gentle, but his face held a smirk.
“But somewhere along the way we went from off handed comments during a news broadcast, or some show we were watching, to actually pausing it to have some discussion, or referencing some situation later and asking if the other had had something similar happen, or just opening up about random experiences and stuff. It’s…”
“Weird?” This time Stiles prodded, earning a glare and gentle whack on the arm from Scott.
“Well, maybe it’s because you’re…. new.” Scott opted for a more discrete word for ‘werewolf’ in the crowded hallways. “He may feel like opening up more because of the pack mentality and all.”
“No, it’s not because she’s…. new.” Stiles raised one eyebrow on the word as he addressed Scott, earning a sigh and eye roll from the young Beta. “The man is a brooding wall of leather and growls.” You chuckled at the description, making Stiles grin. “I think we finally found our miracle cure for our Sourwolf!”
“Woah, woah, woah, hold up.” You held up your hands as if to physically stop their words. “What?”
“Oh, come on, Y/N. We know you two like each other. It’s so obvious.” Stiles immediately closed his mouth, his lips a tight line, eyes wide and eyebrows in his hairline in his signature “I was not supposed to say that” face.
“What?” you deadpanned to your friend. 
The bell rang, and Scott, wide eyed and smiling too broadly, gave Stiles a shove on the shoulder in the opposite direction of your next class as Stiles muttered, “Oh, look. The bell.” They both began to walk quickly the opposite way. 
“Guys!” you yelled. “This is not over! But I am not responsible for you guys missing another class, what does that make, like fifteen already this semester?”
Your two friends stilled and turned on their heels, ushering past you quickly, avoiding your glare, Stiles looking at Scott and muttering, “See, Scott? I told you our class with Miss Blake was this way.”
“Ugh,” you mumbled under your breath. The sour expression stayed on your face even after you sat at your desk in the back of the class.
Chuckling, Stiles chanced a glance your way from beside you, hoping to change the subject from his ultimate fail in the hallway. “You still don’t like her?”
“I still don’t like her.” You overlapped his last few words, matching his gentle nod with one of your own as you stared straight ahead at the teacher’s still vacant desk. 
“What is it about her you don’t like?”
“I just have a really bad feeling whenever I see her. Something just isn’t right.”
Scott chuckled, opening his book to the proper page. “You’re just mad that she gives you a little bit of a harder time.”
“You mean she gives me ‘more attention’?” you asked, your words rising to a ridiculous octave as they repeated Jennifer’s words she had used when she assigned you some extra credit to help raise your grade so you could stay on the lacrosse team. Your friends chuckled at your words. “I’m sorry, not everyone can be amazing at everything, being a wer-” you stopped yourself, clearing your throat before continuing- “new-” you looked at Scott pointedly, earning you a glare and Stiles’ laughter on your other side- “doesn’t allow for a whole lot of extra studying time.”
“Oh, come on, Y/N. I know you feel that way now, but it will pass,” Scott said with a smile as Miss Blake walked in, setting things on her desk, and he chuckled as you glared at her. “This is all ephemeral.”
You looked at Stiles, your face blank, voice a deadpan. “You ever buy him a word of the day subscription thing again, and I will rip your throat out.” You flickered your yellow eyes at him discreetly. “With my teeth.”
“With your teeth,” Stiles mumbled, overlapping your words, both of you nodding in agreement again. “I asked what it’s like living with a Hale, and now I got my answer.” He looked at you, shaking his head mockingly. “You’re becoming one of them. It’s contagious. We’ll call it ‘Sourwolf Syndrome’.”
Xxx
Due to your parents’ professions taking them all over the place constantly, like Allison, you were actually a year older than your friends, having to repeat a year a few grades back. But you wouldn’t change it for anything, because that’s how you met your best friends. 
It helped that your parents were away on business most of the time, so no one questioned your staying at Derek’s loft for so long. You stopped by every few days to get the mail and check on the plants around the house, packing some new clothes if needed, Derek sitting outside in his car the first few times, but lately he had taken to coming in and helping you do the few things you had to do.
You told yourself it was just because of the increased threat that he wanted to be closer to his newest Beta. He didn’t have too many of those these days, you thought bitterly, smirking to yourself. You stared blankly as you rinsed out your coffee cup in the sink, and a wave of sadness washed over you as you thought of Erica, her absence still fresh and raw. The two of you had never really been close; just acquaintances at school, then pack members briefly, before she was gone. 
Boyd had really withdrawn himself after that, and you didn’t blame him. You knew he probably felt how you did times ten. When Cora had been here briefly she mentioned losing a pack member was like losing a limb, and she hadn’t been wrong. 
Then Derek had kicked both Cora and Isaac out of the loft, claiming it wasn’t safe with the Alpha Pack around. Isaac was staying with Scott, but you didn’t know where Cora had disappeared to. Peter was a wild card, so you didn’t even try to factor him in, and Scott outright refused to be a member of Derek’s pack. He was an Alpha with Beta eyes, and an enigma for another time.
The point was, Derek was running low in the Beta department lately.
The only reason Derek had you staying at the loft and followed you around the house when you had to go was because you were the newest, or so he said. Deep down you knew he just didn’t want to be responsible if something happened to you. He wanted to control the situation as much as possible which, you guessed, you were kind of glad, being new to this whole werewolf thing, and admittedly not wanting to stay home alone again, human or werewolf.
At least at the loft, even in the times before Derek brought home the TV and stuff, the silence had been comfortable. You’d never admit it to anyone, but just being in the presence of another living, breathing being, even one as brooding and somewhat annoying as Derek Hale, was nice. 
And you sure as hell weren’t going to think about how he had helped you with your homework sometimes, especially with that English extra credit. He had a side he didn’t share often, and you were glad you got to see it. It was like a rare spotting of a mythological creature. 
You smiled to yourself, watching the water in the cup filling clear now, the mug long clean, and you let your feelings wash away down the drain with the water as you turned it off. 
Setting the mug in the sink, you took a deep breath, letting the feelings whirling around you fully roll off your back, rolling your shoulders back as they did.
Stepping into the doorway to the living room you saw him delicately watering some houseplant your mom babied. The first few times he had just poured water at its base, and you had to stop him, showing him how it had to be done, otherwise he’d over water it. And since then, though he had said initially that it was stupid under his breath, he took meticulous care to check if it even needed watering, and then watered it properly, like you showed him, even bringing books home to the loft about how to care for the various types of plants your mom had around the house. You found it endearing. 
Smiling softly, you gently shook your head. One second you were bitter towards him, the next finding little things that made him amazing. “I’m going to go grab some clothes, my stuff got torn to hell last week when we dealt with what’s his face,” you said offhandedly, starting up the stairs. So many baddies came through this town, you got them all confused. 
Derek chuckled. “Okay. You know you can always borrow some of my clothes if you need to.”
You stopped midstep on the staircase, each foot on a different step, and your grip on the bannister tightened, your knuckles turning white. 
This. 
This is why you had such conflicting emotions about this man. Wolf. Wolfman.
“Are you sure?” You kept your voice even, smiling softly. 
He shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, makes more sense then driving all the way over here.” His voice tried to be neutral, but it was evident he was trying to cover up something he had let slip before really thinking about it.
“Thanks. I’ll remember that next time.” You nodded once to each other before you took two steps calmly and then practically ran up the rest of them to your room. 
Holding a hand to your chest, taking deep breaths to try and stabilize your heartbeat, you slumped against the door after you closed it, sighing. 
You tried not to over analyze what he said, but failed. 
You knew he probably was making some underhanded comment about your abilities, “coming all the way over here”, really he wanted to say, “you suck at being a werewolf, you’re always getting hurt and your clothes destroyed in the process”. 
“You too, wolfman. You too,” you mumbled under your breath as you angrily rifled through one of your drawers, grabbing a few things. 
You chuckled a dark laugh. “But I’m an Alpha, Y/N. I’ll heal faster.” You mocked his deep tone, your search in your drawer turning into an aimless activity, the contents totally mixed up now.
He had never been around whenever you had gotten in a hit or takedown on the baddies you guys had encountered so far in your short time in this world. For some reasons you ended up on opposite sides of the battle fields, and he never said it directly, but you knew he probably thought you sucked. How else does one end up with torn shirts from claw marks and blood being covered by your jacket?
Everyone else had called you a badass, but Derek had yet to compliment or even comment on your fighting ability. But maybe, since he trained you, that spoke more to his ability and not yours, you thought with a smirk. Satisfied with the thought, you grabbed a few clothes out of the drawer before snapping it shut.
After a few steps toward the door, you slowed to a stop, absently staring at the clothes in your hand as your thoughts cleared a little from your earlier anger. 
If it was a reflection on how he thought he was, that was kind of sad. Did he really think so lowly of himself and his abilities? 
You had only been in this world a short time now, but even you had to admit he was a good Alpha. A good wolfm- werewolf. A good man. He was a great person to have at your back in a fight and in mundane things like math, which was also a fight, but that was a thought for another day. He was a good friend to have, period. 
Shaking your head and chuckling gently at yourself, you wondered why your thoughts were everywhere. Glancing at your calendar on the wall, you saw the full moon was coming up soon and rolled your eyes. Of course. 
This would pass. This was ephemeral. You groaned softly as you made your way back down the stairs. Stiles was going to pay.
Derek met your eyes when you made it to the last step, hopping the last few inches to the first floor. He set down the watering can softly.
“Do I really sound like that?” His lips twitched upward slightly.
Screwing up your face in confusion it took you a second to realize he had heard your mutterings as you disorganized the contents of your drawer upstairs. Realization crossed your face before your palm slapped to your forehead, the groan passing your lips before you could stop it. 
Derek laughed, and you looked at him apologetically, to which he motioned with his hand as if waving it away and smiled at the floor where his gaze was focused. “Don’t worry about it. I just always thought my voice was deeper than that.”
He chuckled even more as you swatted his arm, laughing gently yourself. He grabbed your wrist playfully before you could withdraw your hand, and you found yourself pulled closer to him, almost toe to toe and having to crane your neck to look up and meet his eyes that looked down at you with some emotion you couldn’t decipher. 
That comfortable silence hung around you two like a blanket… Until his phone rang. 
As he fished it out of his pocket, you softly cleared your throat and took a small step back, feeling Derek’s gaze on you the whole time. 
“Hello?” His voice was gruff and annoyed, and he was still staring at you. It almost seemed like he was upset at whoever was on the other end for interrupting his moment with you.
But that thought quickly evaporated. 
“Jennifer!” He said it with a broad smile on his face, his voice a total about face from his greeting, and his eyes moving from you to the wall behind you. 
It couldn’t be who you thought. There was no way. That would be too much of a coincidence.
“No, I’m not busy,” he said, turning to the door. 
Grabbing his arm to stop him, he turned to look at you, eyebrows raised in question and, if you weren’t mistaken, slight annoyance.
“What?” he mouthed. 
“Who is that?” you whispered. 
“A friend,” he hissed. 
“Who is it?” you hissed back at him. 
“Your English teacher, Jennifer Blake.” He shrugged out of your grip and out your front door, motioning you to the car.
You seethed as you turned off the lights, grabbing your bag of clothes, and locking the door after you. 
Reason number five hundred and sixty two to hate Miss Jennifer Blake.
Xxx
Tags: @mayahart02, @palaiasaurus64, @shydinosaurcandy, @lucyqueenofthestars, @c-breanne1999, @l4life, @ethereallysimple, @teenwolffan-with-nolife, @bellabadacadabra What’s This?
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bloody-bee-tea · 4 years ago
Text
Wreck
By now Jiang Cheng isn‘t sure anymore if his hands are shaking because of lack of sleep or because of the amount of coffee he consumed and it doesn’t really matter anyway.
Jiang Cheng rubs his eyes again, hating how sandpaper-y they feel, but that’s also not going to change any time soon.
Ever since that last dinner with his parents he slept less than four or five hours a night and he fears it’s going to stay that way until finals come around and he inevitably fails. He’s not going to sleep much after that either, seeing as he will be homeless then, but at least the stress will finally go away.
Or at least Jiang Cheng hopes so.
He gets up to make another pot of coffee when he reads the same passage in his text book for the third time and he retains nothing of it, and he grits his teeth against the intrusive thoughts that sparks.
Jiang Cheng damn well knows he’s shit compared to Wei Wuxian; everyone keeps telling him that anyway. There’s really no need for his own brain to turn against him like that, but that doesn’t stop it from happening anyway.
There’s really no reason to study like this, Jiang Cheng’s very traitorous part thinks. It’s not like you’ll ever do better than Wei Wuxian on the finals.
The thought makes his eyes burn—not with fatigue for once—because deep down he knows that voice is right.
It doesn’t matter what he does, Wei Wuxian will always be better than him. Jiang Cheng secretly suspects that even if he tells Wei Wuxian about the ultimatum his parents have set, and Wei Wuxian promises him to fail his own finals he would still do better than Jiang Cheng, simply because he is better.
It’s not even something Jiang Cheng can get mad about because Wei Wuxian is brilliant and Jiang Cheng loves him for it. Or he would, if he didn’t have to measure up to his intuitive brilliance. It’s something Jiang Cheng thoroughly lacks, and simply studying will never make up for that.
It is something Jiang Cheng realized a few years back when they were still in school, and he was fine with it, right until that last dinner with his parents.
Finals are coming up, so of course they are suddenly taking more of an interest in Jiang Cheng’s studies.
He just didn’t think they would—give him an ultimatum like that.
Jiang Cheng feels like crying just thinking about it again, but of course the thoughts are unavoidable now. He’s usually doing pretty well at pushing the conversation away—at least trying to keep himself focused on his studies—but every now and then the memory of the talk simply overwhelms him and Jiang Cheng is seriously considering just sitting down to have a good cry.
It should help, right? It can’t get worse than this, after all.
But every time Jiang Cheng tries, something stops him from fulling breaking down and it’s more tiring than he could ever have expected.
And the pressure is certainly not helping him to stay focused or even retaining any of the things he’s studying but of course his parent’s wouldn’t care about that.
They don’t care about anything but his final results and Jiang Cheng already knows that there won’t be anything but disappointment in his future.
Disappointment and homelessness.
His father basically just told him that he would make Wei Wuxian the heir of Yunmeng Jiang Corps if his grades are better than Jiang Cheng’s but that wasn’t a surprise at all.
Everyone at the table knew that that was just a very convenient excuse, because he has been training Wei Wuxian up as the heir for the last year now.
Jiang Cheng is under absolutely no illusions that he would ever get a higher position than he has at the moment, and he’s basically just working as a temp at his own family’s company.
But his mother—that one came as a surprise to Jiang Cheng. Usually she turns on his father when he says things like that, but this time Madam Yu fixed Jiang Cheng with her iciest glare and told him in no uncertain terms that if he should get a lower grade than Wei Wuxian on these finals then she will cut him off completely, as if he doesn’t belong to the family anymore.
That means no more housing, no more money and as it seems, no more family for Jiang Cheng in just a little more than two weeks.
Jiang Cheng didn’t tell his siblings about it, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell Nie Mingjue about it either but now he’s not only suffering, but doing it all on his own.
But this is what he decided to do, since it’s not like anyone can really do anything about it. Jiang Yanli would be all sympathetic and tell him that if he studies enough he will make it, Wei Wuxian will promise to hand in the worst final anyone has ever written, only to still ace it and it’s not like Nie Mingjue really cando anything about this, besides tell him how sorry he is about all of this.
And Jiang Cheng couldn’t do that to him, seeing as they haven’t been together that long yet. Nie Mingjue shouldn’t have to shoulder this. It’s enough that Jiang Cheng is suffering right now, there’s no need to drag anyone else down as well.
And besides. All of them will learn about this as soon as Jiang Cheng gets thrown out of the family.
Jiang Cheng will take these two weeks of reprieve even as he keeps all of them at arms lengths away at the moment.
Nie Mingjue has asked to see him a few times over the last week but Jiang Cheng always said he’s too busy with studying to see him. Jiang Cheng is not sure Nie Mingjue likes his excuse, but he hasn’t shown up unannounced and that’s all Jiang Cheng cares about at the moment.
Even though he’s dying at the moment to see him and to get a hug from him.
Though that will probably make Jiang Cheng break down then and there, so it’s better not to see him at all.
“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath because he hates the situation he is in, and he wishes more than anything that he could change it, but as always, he’s powerless and too stupid.
Story of his life, really.
When Jiang Cheng’s coffee is done brewing, he slaps himself just once, just to snap himself back into studying mode before he sits down at his desk again.
It’s going slightly better than before, but deep down he knows that it will never be enough. It’s not in his nature to give up though, so he powers through it.
When he finally goes to bed, his eyes are burning and at this point he’s not even sure if it’s out of tiredness or because he’s about to start crying.
Maybe a good cry will help him, Jiang Cheng thinks and turns over to curl up. Maybe if he just gives in for tonight he can go on for longer after that. Maybe he just needs to get it out of his system one night and then he can concentrate better than before.
Jiang Cheng figures it’s worth a shot, especially since he basically doesn’t sleep anymore and even when he does he has nightmares about sleeping on the streets and losing everything he ever held dear and if he could just get that to go away he would be happy.
So Jiang Cheng tries; he tries to give in to the hopelessness and the fear and the feeling of never being enough for his parents but he just can’t.
It’s not working at all. His eyes are still burning and it feels like he’s going to have a panic attack any time soon, but it’s just not happening.
Jiang Cheng lets out a bitter chuckle; he can’t believe that he actually wants to break down but it seems like this is where he’s at now.
Jiang Cheng lays awake for most of the night, staring into the dark, imagining how his life will be after the finals, but all he can see is himself on the street with nothing but the clothes on his back.
He wonders if he should just start packing his things now, to make it easier for whoever has to come and clean his apartment out, and that’s the thought he finally falls asleep over.
~*~*~
In hindsight Jiang Cheng should have figured that going for a run is the worst idea possible. But he didn’t think too much besides wanting to get out of his apartment for at least half an hour and since he can’t justify simply going for a walk or anything that would be considered taking time off but going for a run is exercise.
He can justify exercise.
So Jiang Cheng gets himself ready and starts to run with the intention of just getting it out of his system; to forget about his shit future for at least half an hour, but he has barely been running for five minutes when he starts to cry.
It’s probably due to the exercise and Jiang Cheng really should have expected that but it still catches him completely off guard.
And it’s not like he can stop the tears now that they started once and so Jiang Cheng turns around on his heel and runs back to his apartment.
Jiang Cheng manages to at least keep his sobs in until he closes his door behind him, but then he’s absolutely helpless against them.
And besides the all consuming panic there’s only one other thought in his mind.
He wants to see Nie Mingjue.
Jiang Cheng scrambles for his phone and he tries not to notice just how many messages he has missed over the last few days, which is relatively easy with how his whole vision is blurry from the tears.
He clicks into his chat with Nie Mingjue and simply types Please come over before he sends it off and then Jiang Cheng sinks to the floor right where he stands and curls into a ball, sobbing his heart out. He doesn’t even know if Nie Mingjue will come or if Jiang Cheng inadvertently pushed him away already, but there’s nothing Jiang Cheng can do about it now.
He simply has to trust that Nie Mingjue will come over.
Jiang Cheng isn’t sure how much time he spends like this and he startles badly when arms come up around him.
“My heart, what’s wrong?” Nie Mingjue asks him and he sounds scared, which Jiang Cheng figures is fair.
He would be scared as hell, too, should he ever find Nie Mingjue sobbing on the floor, but he can’t say anything to appease Nie Mingjue. Instead he just sobs harder and clings to Nie Mingjue when he pulls him into his lap.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Jiang Cheng sobs out and he thinks that maybe he should be all cried out now, but it doesn’t seem like his tears are stopping any time soon.
“I’s okay, it’s okay,” Nie Mingjue tries to tell him, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, because nothing at all will ever be okay again but he can’t find his voice to tell Nie Mingjue yet.
“I’ve got you,” Nie Mingjue promises as he continues to hold Jiang Cheng through his break down.
Jiang Cheng isn’t quite sure how they eventually end up in his bed, or when he fell asleep, but when he wakes up he is in Nie Mingjue’s arms and he does feel a little bit better. His breakdown changes nothing about his situation, but he feels a little bit lighter now.
“Morning,” Nie Mingjue mutters and presses a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head.
“Hi,” Jiang Cheng gives back, but his voice is rough and scratchy and it triggers a coughing fit.
“Wait here,” Nie Mingjue tells him as he gets up but before Jiang Cheng can really feel bereft he’s back already, with a glass of water in his hand.
“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng croaks out as he takes it and downs it in one go.
“Better?” Nie Mingjue wants to know as he slides back into bed with Jiang Cheng.
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng whispers but then it hits him that he just had a break-down in front of Nie Mingjue and he has no idea how to explain that one away. “I’m fine now.”
“Wanyin, you’re anything but,” Nie Mingjue says, though he does sound sympathetic about it. “You haven’t been for a while now, right?”
“It’s—nothing,” Jiang Cheng tries but he can tell by Nie Mingjue’s look that it’s useless.
“Won’t you tell me what’s going on?” Nie Mingjue prods and Jiang Cheng manages to stay stubborn for a full ten seconds before he starts to cry again.
“Oh no, my heart, come here,” Nie Mingjue says and he sounds close to tears himself, which is not something Jiang Cheng ever wanted.
“I’m so sorry, I’ll get a grip,” he says between his sobs, but it sounds like a lie even to himself and Nie Mingjue doesn’t even say anything to it.
He just keeps rubbing his hand up and down Jiang Cheng’s back and he keeps him close and allows him to cry into his chest and Jiang Cheng wishes he could stay here forever, safe and protected in Nie Mingjue’s arms where his parents can’t kick him out of the family for being too stupid and not enough like Wei Wuxian.
Nie Mingjue patiently waits until Jiang Cheng is all cried out again, before he slightly pushes him away.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t press until you’re ready to talk, but Wanyin, you’re worrying me. Please tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s not—you can’t help,” Jiang Cheng whispers, but he knows that he can’t get out of this one.
“But maybe it will make you feel better if you just told someone,” Nie Mingjue whispers and kisses Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “You just have to talk to someone, Wanyin, please. Do you want me to call Wei Wuxian, or your sister?”
“No!” Jiang Cheng almost shouts and it only makes the frowns on Nie Mingjue’s face deepen.
“Did they do something?” he asks next but Jiang Cheng shakes his head before he even finishes his question.
“They don’t know, either, and they didn’t do anything,” Jiang Cheng mutters, looking down at his lap. “It’s just—me. I’m not enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“For everything, it seems,” Jiang Cheng bitterly spits out and he feels so ashamed when he starts to cry again. “I will never be enough and after finals everyone will know. I don’t know what I’m going to do, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Jiang Cheng chants as he hides his face in his hands.
“Do about what?”
Jiang Cheng figures that at this point it’s pointless to lie to Nie Mingjue about this anymore and it’s probably easier to simply tell him now, but it’s still so damn hard to admit out loud that he will never be better than Wei Wuxian.
“My parents gave me an ultimatum,” Jiang Cheng finally admits. “During the last dinner. My father told me that he will only officially appoint me as the heir of the company if I get better grades on the finals than Wei Wuxian.”
“What the fuck,” Nie Mingjue breathes out and it almost startles a laugh out of Jiang Cheng because the really bad thing is yet to come.
“My mother—she topped that,” Jiang Cheng tells him. “If I don’t do better than Wei Wuxian on the finals she’ll cut me off. She basically threatened to throw me out of the family. If Wei Wuxian does better than me I’ll be kicked out of this apartment.”
“She’ll kick you out of the family? For bad grades?” Nie Mingjue asks and he sounds absolutely shocked.
“For worse grades than Wei Wuxian gets,” Jiang Cheng corrects, because it’s not like he really does get bad grades.
They are just not as good as Wei Wuxian’s.
“That is so fucked up,” Nie Mingjue says and pulls Jiang Cheng into another hug. “And I’m not going to let it happen.”
“Yeah, right,” Jiang Cheng snorts out. “As if you can do anything about that.”
“My heart, I most definitely can,” Nie Mingjue says and squeezes him. “I might not be able to do anything about your parents, but they have lost the privilege of being your family. You’re going to move in with me, and I’ll have a chat with Xichen, I bet he and Lan Qiren would love to offer you a job at their company if you want that.”
“You—what?” Jiang Cheng breathes out, because this is not even close to anything he expected.
“I mean only if you want to,” Nie Mingjue backtracks immediately, and Jiang Cheng moves away from him, to be able to look him into the eyes.
“You would still—I’ll have nothing after the finals,” Jiang Cheng says and he forces the words out, but he can’t stop his hands from shaking. “You don’t have to stay with me.”
“Oh, my heart,” Nie Mingjue breathes out and it’s hard to watch how Nie Mingjue’s face softens. “I will always stay with you, for as long as you want. It doesn’t matter if you haveanything. You’re still you, and that’s really all I want.”
“But I can’t—I won’t—I can’t even pay you back. I can’t even pay rent!”
“I don’t expect you to. I mean if you get a job with the Lans you can pay rent if you really insist on it, but it’s really not necessary.”
“But I have to give you something!” Jiang Cheng argues because relying on Nie Mingjue’s pity sits wrong with him.
“You can pay me back by relaxing. By being yourself. You’ve been so different lately, and it makes sense with how much pressure your parents put on you, but honestly, if you can smile at me again like you used to do, that’s all I really need. I just want you to be happy again.”
He sounds sincere enough to make Jiang Cheng cry again, but this time it feels cathartic. Jiang Cheng feels relieved for the first time since the last dinner with his parents and it is as if the whole stress of the past two weeks falls off him.
He still feels like a wreck and he knows it’s only a small reprieve, because finals are still right around the corner but if he doesn’t have to worry about being homeless afterwards, maybe he can even concentrate on them enough to get a decently high grade.
“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng gets out between his tears and goes in for another hug, which Nie Mingjue readily gives him.
“Not for that, my heart,” Nie Mingjue gives back.
“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Jiang Cheng eventually whisper.
“That’s alright,” Nie Mingjue immediately tells him. “To be honest, I’m just glad you finally told me what’s going on with you.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t—I tried to deal with it on my own,” Jiang Cheng admits, because that is how he learned to do things.
Never rely on other people and always power through without inconveniencing anyone else.
“That didn’t work out so well, huh?” Nie Mingjue asks, but it’s not mean and so Jiang Cheng simply shakes his head.
“I’m glad I have you,” he admits, because he honestly can’t imagine his life without Nie Mingjue and not even just because he offered to house him after finals.
Nie Mingjue just makes his life so much better and Jiang Cheng promises to never block him off like in the past two weeks again.
“And you always will,” Nie Mingjue promises him, kissing the new tears right off Jiang Cheng’s face
Jiang Cheng simply nods because he fears he’s going to burst into tears if he tries to say something, but he figures even that wouldn’t be too bad if Nie Mingjue holds him through it.
Jiang Cheng snuggles closer to Nie Mingjue, exhausted enough to fall asleep right here in Nie Mingjue’s arms and he vows to himself that he’ll study twice as hard after he wakes up, when he doesn’t have to fret about his future quite as much.
“Sleep, my heart,” Nie Mingjue lowly tells him and slides down on the bed, with Jiang Cheng safe and secure in his arms.
And Jiang Cheng has never felt better.
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