#and the purpose is to have you question why... not to easily glaze over it because you have put on the Ship Colored Lenses over it

[notedchampagne]

last thought before i sleep i Do fear that reading nothing but fanfiction for 4 years when i was 14-18 severely stunted my brain. this is not to say that fanfiction is bad: theres fanfics that are extremely well written, which are markers of any good authors out there- but since it relies so heavily on building off of a foundation and reforming the same work over and over they tend to follow a certain flow and pattern in plot, the way characters interact, the way dialogue and action intersect, etc etc. ive been trying to read more books now but i still find it easier to read through fanfic because instinctively, i know what to expect going forward because of my existing knowledge of the characters and the fanon. you have to wash out your brain and prepare to engage anew when youre reading a new book, which takes more effort the longer youre away from it. but thats just me and i can write a fucking paper on the ways fic marketing has its own popular checks and standards as well

[glacierclear]

Can I... can I ask for some househusband Leon hcs?

alright. okay. we're gonna work with a few assumptions for these headcanons.

this all comes from the hypothetical of leon being fully retired from his line of work. he still has the same backstory, skillset, traumas, everything, it's just...now he's your loyal house husband!

cooking? this all depends on where he's at in life. mid-30s and onward? he's a chef. i don't believe he'd be terribly gourmet about it. you aren't coming home to a roasted duck served with a reduced wine glaze and a perfectly made risotto...but god. he can make some damn fine spaghetti. he'd likely shoot for simple dishes, with perhaps an added flair or two. homemade burgers. lots of steak dinners. he'd prefer anything that can be prepared with minimal mess. recipes that are made with one pot or one pan...a big hit for him. he is not a pretentious eater, and that would reflect in his cooking.

now, if we're talking early to late-20s leon? erm. well. let's just say he's learning. his transition from zombie apocalypse policeman to military meat shield didn't do much for his cooking skills. and a diet of MREs and scrounged up viper parts did even less. if post-re4 leon is your house husband you're gonna be eating a lot of questionable meals. he's not completely oblivious. he won't try and feed you absolute slop, but his abilities don't much exceed kraft mac and scrambled eggs. still! he's a domestic man now. plenty of free time to try out all sorts of new things in the kitchen! be on standby with a fire extinguisher when he decides 3am is a great time to make fried chicken from scratch!

leon's independent food preferences likely revolve around utility. protein. nutrition. careful rations. compact energy a growing boy needs to kill bioweapons. he doesn't strike me as having a particularly strong sweet tooth, but he also won't say no to a bit of dessert! but he's adaptable, of course. one must be in his line of work. your tastes and favored dishes will influence his palate a lot. he'll naturally associate flavors with you and will, over time, come to adopt a lot of your dietary choices.

cleaning? leon will do his best. you can count on him to not accidentally mix mustard gas in your bathroom, but his knack for cleanliness would be...odd. i choose to believe leon has a strict standard for bodily hygiene. his extended exposure to all manner of glop and viscera means he strives to smell nice and stay on top of dirt the best he can when he is able to...on his body. a house is different. he's never had to see it as a home, merely an empty room where he sleeps and eats. so maintaining it as a tidy space might not come naturally, and it's not as if he had a proper upbringing to teach him proper housekeeping techniques (cough, cough, he's an orphan).

man's a fast learner though. expect a lot of trial and error. him accidentally using glass cleaner on the stove. or not understanding the exact purpose of fabric softener. why do we need make our bed if we're just gonna sleep in it and mess it up again? he likely has a lot of bad habits from living on his own, but gentle guidance and persistent advice will go a long way.

of course, leon needs his private time. space for him to isolate and be alone...but, you're at work all day. the loneliness is easily accessible, and now that he has all the time and freedom to be with you...it's grating. his favorite sound is the noise your key makes when it unlocks the front door. he's careful, not incredibly overbearing, but you don't make it more than a few steps into your home before his head is poking around the corner. "how was your day? you look tired. here, let me take your coat off-" leon is a listener. he doesn't talk about himself much, if at all, so he'd prefer to just hear you ramble on about whatever you need to or want to. neck rubs. gentle squeezes on your arm. light kisses on your brow. he doesn't smother. he doesn't drown you in the touch he's so starved of. but you can tell, he misses you a lot.

the real issues will probably stem from the quiet. the absolute lack of danger. take a person out of their traumatic environment and things start crumbling real fast before they can start to heal. he's hyper-aware. paranoid. has all this pent up energy and an instinct to fight. and he has to redirect it all somewhere, right? it'd come out in bizarre ways. diy projects. you come home from work and he built you a fucking chair. you don't even need a chair, but now you have one. lots of yard work. he renovated your patio and set up a birdhouse (also handmade). you didn't really want him to rearrange your living room but he did it anyways.

and it's hard for him to relax. for him to feel truly safe. he'd insist on installing locks on all the doors. bulletproof windows. guns hidden and stashed in corners of the house, just in case. any tech that could impede on his privacy (ie, amazon echos, doorbell cameras, etc) are out of the question. he'd run you through drills and hypothetical scenarios. make sure you know what to do in any situation. he's vigilant, and honestly, you've never felt safer, but it wears him down and you aren't sure if it's truly good for him.

[casspurrjoybell-32]

Runaway Wolf - Chapter 5c

*Warning Adult Content*

Liam Blackman

“Boyfriend?’ I watched him, cautiously searching his face hard, for a violent or negative reaction.

I bit my lip as I nodded.

“Yeah. His name is Matt, Matthew,” I was stuttering.

My wolf didn’t like it that I was telling him about Matt but I didn’t care because that was who I was with.

“So that makes you… gay?”

It didn’t really come out like a question but more like he was he was trying to test the word for the first time.

I felt my hands beginning to sweat and my heart could rival a cheetah at full speed as I watched him anxiously.

‘Please don’t do this to me again,’ I begged silently and my wolf whined desperate for acceptance from his mate.

Kyle blinked gazing back down at the jeans and reached to pick them up.

“The shirts are in here?” he asked his back to me as he walked over to the closet.

“Yeah,” I breathed.

He wasn’t showing any signs of revulsion at my confession.

He opened the sliding door to grab at a plain black shirt.

“Thanks,” he said to me his grey eyes showing no hidden emotion just gratefulness just like last night when I told him he could stay.

I nodded in a daze at this unexpected reaction.

'Wow.'

“So how long have you known Matthew or been together?” Kyle asked suddenly.

We were sitting in a quiet restaurant called Grilled It.

I loved to go here... they had the best glazed salmon.

You may not believe me but all us wolves love a good fish ever so often.

I nearly choked on my peas at the question coming from his mouth.

I looked up at him and he had a curious expression.

I swallowed the food lodged in my throat before gulping down a bit of water.

“A-a few years now.”

He nodded shifting his attention back to his medium rare steak.

His knife slides through it so easily, now that I showed him how to cut it since he forgot that too.

There was a puddle of red juices under the steak at the pressure he put on it.

I was fascinated and mesmerized at the way he slipped the red morsel into his mouth and how his eyes darkened a stormy grey every time he tasted the blood and meat on his tongue.

I ordered it like this for him on purpose to see if it would awaken his sleeping wolf or to see if it was still there.

I wanted it to be as close to a hunt and kill experience as he possibly could get.

And it worked, Kyle’s dormant wolf was enjoying his bloody prey even if Kyle didn’t notice this, he was just loving his meal.

“Is your food good?”

He nodded quickly getting another bigger bite in his beautiful mouth… ugh there I go again.

Even watching him freaking eat is turning me on.

Oh how I wish I could cut it for him and feed him a piece myself.

Sighing I turned back to my fish and shoved a bit in my own mouth to distract myself.

“Do you love this Matt of yours?” there he goes again with the crazy unexpected questions and making me choke on my yummy fish.  

“E-excuse me?” I coughed hitting my chest.

Kyle straightened in his chair watching me in concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I waved him off finally getting the fish down.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

I once again gulped down water.

Kyle frowned at me before relaxing back in his chair.

“So do you?”

I glanced at him warily.

“That’s kind of a personally question Kyle,” I told him.

He raised a dark brow.

“Is it?”

I nodded.

“Yes.”

He bit the inside of his check in thought.

“Why? It’s just a simple question isn’t it?”

I closed my eyes and tried my best to find the right answer to this.

“Not really in my case. I’ve had a hard love life, you could say and... the last person I gave my heart too, didn’t want it, so I kind of gave up on such things. So to answer your question is no... I don’t love him. I don’t think I can honestly love anyone, like I did back then, ever again but I care for Matthew deeply, if that makes sense.”

I can’t believe I just told him that.

Kyle’s perfect face was drawn in a frown, he was so closed off I couldn’t tell what he was thinking except that fact something was indeed on his mind.  

Once our meal was down I paid for the bill and stood.

I needed to get home before that pup messed up anything in my apartment. We walked out climbing in my 78’ Mustang my dad and I refurbished a while ago. I didn’t really use it, just when I had to go far from my apartment or grocery shopping but mostly everything was in walking distance.

“I talked to Alp... Liam... my friend from the house we lived at and he said he’s going to send your information tomorrow, so it should arrive this week or so,” I said to him catching my slip up just in time.

Kyle glanced at me with wide eyes.

“Really?”

I could feel the excitement radiating off him and I could help the smile from slipping on my face.

“Yeah, he was about to get you a plane ticket to fly back home to your parents,” I paused to meet his gaze squarely.

“Would you rather go back. I can call him and tell him to do that instead.”

I watched him shift uncomfortably.

“My parents?” he whispered and I nodded slowly.

“I’m pretty sure they miss and your sister.”

“Why didn’t you tell him to get the plane ticket?” he asked softly.

I shrugged glancing down at my lap where I fiddled with my car keys.

“I thought you deserved to have a chose. I told you I don’t mind you staying and I thought it would be overwhelming to be surrounded by faces you don’t recognize… though you don’t recognize mine either.” I chuckled nervously.

He let out a huff of laughter.   

“As much as I want to know who my family is I-I’m kind of scared to so I think I’ll keep you up on the offer of staying here… at least of a little while.”

He looked out towards the sidewalk of walking pedestrians with a thoughtful expression.

I sighed thinking of how hard all this must be for him and wishing I could do so much more that I am but I couldn’t these things took time and in my case the more time with Kyle Parker meant the closer to heartbreak I was getting.

Man who knew I was such a masochist.

I started up my car right when my phone buzzed with a text.

Reaching in my pocket I pulled it out to see one new message on my screen with a picture of Matthew’s face and my heart skipped.

I swiped it open to see in all caps.

WHY THE HELL IS THERE A FUCKING WOLF IN YOU HOUSE

'Oh crap.'

[wornoutmouse]

I don’t know how to ask you this bestie 😩… But if you write incest do you mind doing one where all might’s daughter has a crush on Endeavor? And they both smash her… Feel free to make it stepcest if that’s more comfortable 🥲

DON’T BESTIE ME YOU FREAK!!!!-

Anyways, congrats on being my FIRST controversial ask. That being said, it took me a while to figure out whether or not I would write this one 🤔. Of course, this will be one of the ones I won’t be able to post on Wattpad lmao, but I’ll give it a go!

If you didn’t already read the request, I will give you the necessary warnings again.

tw: incest….. never thought this day would come, dp

Author's annual moral PSA: I would hope I wouldn't have to tell yall I don't condone this irl. This is both illegal in many states, and in all ways an abuse of power and trust. Not to mention no one should look at their family members in this way and if it has happened to you don't be ashamed of it as it is not your fault but seek help because it is dangerous in the long run. This is for pure fantasy purposes

You are not underage in this fic. I never do underaged work.

There is way too much plot in this

Your cheeks were stretched wide enough to rival your fathers’ as you ran home. Your feet bounce and your pull at your braids nervously as you look out the window of the train, the excitement you felt made you restless to get home. Your neighbors watched you as you ran by, dents caused by your shoes hitting the pavement as your quirk flowed through your pumping blood. “Dad!”

You slam your front door open and scramble through the labyrinth of your rich home. Tossing open your father’s office door unaware of how your outburst startles All Might. “Y-Yes what is it?” Papers flutter all around as you carelessly glide through Toshinori’s neatly stacked papers. You slam the slightly crumpled papers onto his desk, ignoring how the sheer strength of your hand nearly causes his cold cup of coffee to fall. “Remember how 3rd years get the chance to have the first pick in finding the company they’ll sidekick for?!”

All Might watches you with fondness in his eyes as he cleans his glasses off. He was now far in his years, a healthy 82. His hair was now less of a golden yellow and more of beige as it silvered slowly. He was still his normal towering height, retained much of his muscles, and could periodically assume his big form now that he finally had the time to rest and heal properly. “You mean the program that you talked about every day because it was free.”

You roll your eyes, “Free for me, not for you. Anyways look, look, look!” You hold the paper in his face and he takes it from you, “I see you were accepted into your first choice at-” You snatch the paper from him and hop around excitedly, “-At Endevā Jimusho And that’s not even the best part!” All Might's contempt face drops, “All sidekicks get to stay in a guest house in close quarters with Endeavor himself!!"

Joy no longer existed in Toshinori's emotional library. "Absolutely not." Your face falls and your rant halts completely. "What?" Yagi puts his glasses on and shuffles through his papers stiffly, "I do not agree on Endeavors training methods." You raise an eyebrow, "Is this coming from the man that punched Pro-Hero Dynamite and Deku into buildings during an emergency villain drill? In front of everyone?"

Yagi hides his face behind a stapled packet, "I was giving them a taste of reality, a villain does not care for a hero's well-being." You sit down on his desk, legs crossed before curling your finger over his paper, your eyes miss how AllMight briefly glances down, “Yes, but isn’t it a job as a hero to protect people, even the students they train?” Yagi craned his neck until it makes a satisfying crack, a smirk adorning his lips. “I suppose you are right.”

He thinks for a moment before silently shuffling his papers before returning his gaze to your hopeful face, “Why should I assist you with your obvious little crush on my coworker?” You clearly stiffen “Well if it will make you happy-” You don’t allow him to finish before your arms around his shoulders squeezing his neck with most of your strength.

AllMight watches you leave his room slightly disheartened, reaching into his desk drawer he pulls out his phone and dials. “What do you want?” AllMight leans back in his chair pulling at his pants to loosen the tension in his groin, “A proposition.”

The next day Yagi is driving you to your new home for the next 6 months. Your eyes glaze over with futuristic thoughts on how your stay would be. “Everything is so shiny!” Yagi shrugs as he pulls into the parking lot. Enji was always minimalistic when it came to modern designs.” Your head snaps to Toshinori’s side of the car, “His name is Enji!?” Your question is laughed off as Toshinori shuts the car off.

Although your amazement is captured solely by the prospect of working with a pro-hero, the fact that your father is a pro-hero does not go unnoticed by the people around you. “Is that AllMight!” “Should I ask for his picture?!” Even with Yagi’s shadow enveloping your body your attention hones in on the automatic glass doors in front of you.

Inside there is a crowd of students experiencing orientation and getting assigned their respective dorm and possible roommate. You take your first steps in their direction before your arm is pulled and Yagi dawns a playful grin as he presses his finger to his lips. You follow him, eyebrows furrowed “You aren’t trying to change my mind are you?” You don’t get an answer as you are dragged along.

Stairs after stair you follow your father until you come to the very top, legs throbbing but interest peaked. Yagi opens two double doors as easily as breathing and your eyes go wide as the broad shoulders of a familiar hero come into view. “You’re finally here, took you long enough.” Your heart beats in your chest, auburn hair, broad shoulders, and a stoic face that you’d only seen on television, now present in front of you. Yagi shuts the door causing you to jump, “Oh um hi!” A large hand touches your shoulder making you jump” Calm down Y/n!” A cheerful exclamation rings out from above you as Yagi transforms into his larger form.

Heavy footsteps make the room shake wherever the two men walk around the room, “I heard you wanted to meet with me.” Your demeanor goes from uneasy to panicked giggling, “O-Oh really, who told you that!’ AllMight chuckles before patting your head, why don’t you ask him all the silly questions you want, I have to use the restroom.

Endeavor leans against his desk, arms crossed allowing his muscles to bulge through his white button-up shirt. “Yagi tells me a lot of good things about you.” Endeavor stands straighter, a ballpoint pen in hand before he gestures for you to take a seat. You settle in the seat glancing towards the door before looking up at Endeavor who settles on his desk. “What’s the matter, you seem nervous?” The deepness of his tone sends a shiver down your spine. Shifting your legs closer together you clear your throat, “I’m just not used to meeting my childhood hero in person.” Endeavor laughs in a way that sounds more like a bellow, “When you say it like that I feel old!”

Your face hadn’t stopped burning since you entered the room but the joke forced a chuckle through your lips allowing you to relax just a little bit. Calculating eyes narrow, making you feel even smaller than you already did in the hero’s presence. “Now, come on. I’m sure you have something you’d always wanted to do if you met your hero.” Endeavor’s happy-go-lucky attitude catches you off guard as it juxtaposes the hardened persona he had cultivated over the years. “Well, I suppose a picture would be a start if you don’t mind?”

Seconds later you somehow find yourself in Endeavor's lap as he holds the camera up for a picture. His body is unpainted hot but you assume that was simply just a side effect of his quirk. “Um, are you sure you’re okay with this?” Endeavor hums in acceptance. A heavy arm loops around your waist pulling you closer, close enough to become aware of a problem pressed gently against your ass. “Oh!” Endeavor’s fingers slipped pressing the capture button, “What’s wrong did I do it wrong?” You shake your head becoming embarrassed for the both of you, “Nothing!” Enji’s voice lowers into a mumble that reverberated against the back of your neck, “Good.”

Enji straightens his arm once more to retake the picture and you awkwardly smile into the camera, grin becoming strained when he had yet to snap the photo. You shuffle the slightest bit to get a more comfortable position and a guttural groan is released from Enji’s lips. "Are you alright, Endeavor?" Your question is ignored and your phone is put down on the table. Large hands contrasting unbridled power is your stomach delicately as though you were made of porcelain. "Are you sure there is nothing else you'd like to do with your hero?"

Endeavors face nudges away your braids allowing him to press his heated mouth against your skin. "Nothing that would help you get to know them better?" You don't get to respond, your body is hoisted around to face Endeavor. Why nervousness clearly painting itself on your features before being overcome with confused pleasure as Endeavor pressed his lips against your own.

You moan against his lips, hips grinding against each other, the thought of where you are slipped past your mind and to your pussy. Endeavors hands down your body, pinching and pulling before sighing with his calloused fingernails. You couldn't believe this was happening, you feel your pants being pulled off. Just yesterday you believed that you would only be able to meet your hero in passing. Your bra is on the floor and your pussy weeps against his slacks.

The motions are fast-paced and you feel his thumb pressing against your clit. “Yes!” Endeavor kisses your lips, his stubble scratching your cheeks slightly as his tongue explores your mouth. Confidence floods your body as you hop off of Endeavor's lap and quickly undo the buttons of his slacks, he watches you out of breath in the best way.

Thick in your hands, the veins twitch to the tune of his blood. The clear stickiness of pre-cum coats the underside and you use it to stroke his length. "Please fuck me Endeavor!" You look up at him, face contorted with desperate thoughts as you angle your body towards his cock, the tip of it rubbing against your folds. You were wet, so wet making the fuchsia tip of his cock feel more engorged.

"Don't regret this. "You’re pulled back into his lap with ease, pussy trembling from the display of strength. With Endeavor holding your weight and your hand positioning his length below you, the slide down was easy as it could be. Your legs wrap around his waist as you adjust to him. “We have to be quick.” Endeavor rolls your hips when your breathing becomes even again, “We have all the time in the world.” You smirk trailing your finger up Enji’s chest, “What, you have a thing for getting caught?”

Your cheeks are spread apart by Endeavor’s fingers as he hooks one into the small slit left remaining in your pussy. “Something like that.” From behind you the sound of the door shutting makes your neck quickly craned around to look back. Standing with his arms behind his back and an unreadable expression stood Yagi, “Am I missing the party?” Ashamed excuses leave your mouth, tearful and panicked you squeal when Endeavor raises your hips before sliding you down his cock. “No, you are just in time.”

Yagi slowly removes the suit he wore, shrugging off his suit jacket as the sound of your muffled whimpers filter through his ears. You hide your face, curling into Endeavor’s form but a hand stops you, gripping your face, “Don’t be shy, it was his idea after all.” AllMight chuckled, “Yeah, it took a lot of convincing on my part.”Long fingers wrapped around the base of your skull where your braids connect before yanking your head back.

Toshinori looked down at you, face stoic and mockingly disappointed, "I thought it would take a lot more convincing but look at you. " Yagi dragged the back of his hand around your jaw and down your chest ripping the fabric with ease. Your tits bounced on every thrust that Endeavor continued to make, wordless moans and drool leaving your moan as your pussy clenched around the cock inside you.

"Such a little whore for him aren't you?" You shake your head in protest before your eyes widen as chapped but soft lips are placed over yours. He was kissing you, your brain short circuits as his tongue forces its way past your lips. It's wrong, you know that. Hell, this whole situation is wrong. You should be downstairs with the others doing orientation, not upstairs riding the cock of a pro-hero and french kissing the other. You knew it was wrong, but why did it feel so good?

Endeavor groans at how sloppy you were becoming. The sound of your pussy squelching as cream gathered around Endeavor's cock before being pushed back inside of you. "So both of you are twisted in the head." A large thumb presses down on your clit making your pussy spasm as you cum from the heightened stimulation. Endeavor keeps thrusting, his libido unmatched and energy pent up.

Yagi reaches in between the two of you pressing his palm against your pussy as his fingertips graze Enji’s dick on every upstroke. “Are you getting wetter sweetheart? He feels so good doesn't he?" Your mouth is agape and your weak hands Endeavor's shoulder is the only thing keeping you upright when your eyes roll back. "Y-Yes daddy!" Yagi wheezes before he's fiddling with his suit pants and pulling you back by your hair.

It was a strange display of balance on your end. Endeavor’s arms hold your legs tightly in order to keep you on his lap and on his cock meanwhile you are as your father slaps his hardened cock against your cheek, splashing his precum onto your chin. "I got you this far dear, why don't you return the favor?"

Whether it was diluted senses or your subconscious coming forward, you open your mouth for him, moaning as he invades every crevice of your jaw. Your throat constricts and you retch around the warm heat. Yagi is unapologetic and downright brutal as he pulls back before bringing his hips forward again.

The two men's moans empty into the office room and your garbled cooking is ignored as they both have their fill, leaving you to wonder if this really was for you. Numbness invaded your senses as you come again on Endeavor's cock with him not that far behind as he blows his load into your pussy. "It's been a while I will admit." Endeavor slaps your pussy once, then twice just to feel you squeeze down on him every time your hips jerked.

Tears and drool running down your face the faster your father fucks your throat and you knew you'd be sore the next day. "My turn." All Might pulls out and walks away not even showing you a glance as you choke from the lack of oxygen. Enji helps you sit up and wipes your face before Toshinori is pulling you away from Endeavor showing no care that his cock was still in you. He sits down and pulls you onto his own lap ignoring your dazed look as your brain struggles with the various changes of attitude.

"You gotta thank daddy for helping you meet your hero, don't you think?” His hand cups your round cheeks before the other slams down on the other one. Overestimated tears tremble down your brown skin as you hiccup, "Yes daddy." You rock against his cock, both your saliva and his own precum staining your stomach and public hair.

He fills you, even better than Endeavor did, and begins his onslaught of thrusts. You scream, the sound no doubt traveling outside the room, "Daddy please fuck me!!!" The speed at which you were moving was one that could only be done by a hero and it was more pain than pleasure. The constant pounding of your cervix makes your teeth clench together each time his mushroom head punches it.

"Yes, give daddy this sloppy pussy, squeeze down for me-oh fuck!" Lewd words you never even believed Yagi was capable of saying leave his lips. Your shoulder is bit by the redheaded man behind you as he cups your breasts together, tugging on your nipple before rubbing the nubbed patterns on your areolas. "I can't take it any more daddy please!" Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he causes your pussy to queen and cream, balls slapping the underside of your ass, sticky with Endeavor’s cum.

"This is what you raised Yagi? A little whore?" Yagi chuckles, "I'm just as surprised as you are Enji, say why don't you join? You aren't one and done are you?" Endeavor scoffs, you wish that upon me don't you?"

Your mind, altered with lust, does not understand the hidden meaning behind the word "join" but you soon realize it when fat fingers are pushing their way in the same hole Toshinori occupied. "E-Endeavor?" You're shushed as his fingers pump inside you with Yagi’s cock, curling and prodding your walls at every turn. You feel fuller than you ever thought you could and the pressure only continued.

"Look at my pretty little girl taking her daddy's cock, so fucking tight for me. Can you do this for Endeavor too? Fit both our fat cocks in your hero guzzling hole?" You nod at the degradation and feel the warmth from Endeavor envelope your back. His tip massages the stretched opening as Yagi stops thrusting for a moment.

There is silence, and then there is pain. You hardly feel the initial penetration of Enji’s cock, but you do feel it when Yagi tries to move again. You can hardly breathe between the sandwich the 3 of you created and your comfort is practically ignored as they both begin to move at opposite tempos. “O-oh god!” With your eyes screwed shut and mouth agape the two men grunt against your ears.

Your g-spot and cervix are both pushed against as their thrusts become more impersonal. Endeavor grabs your arms from around Yagi’s neck before pulling them behind your back. Your legs tremble uselessly around Toshinori’s thighs. His breath huffing the more he exerted himself steam easily slipping from his lips the faster he went. “I’m gonna cum!” Endeavor grunts, pistoning out of you even faster than he was before. A hand rests on his shoulder and he’s shoved back making you whimper from the partial emptiness. “Not inside bastard.”

Yagi becomes his gental self again as his still hard cock slips from your entrance. He places you on the ground giving you time to prop yourself up before grabiing his dick and stroking it infront of your face. You are to fucked out to do anything but present yourself as a pretty little canvas as his cum paints your face. You lick the small drops painting your chin before flashing a coy smile, “Thank you Daddy!”

[starrconch]

READER BRAIDING S/O'S HAIR

★ Includes: Diluc, Zhongli, GN reader, fluff

★ Word Count: 1382

★ Master List

DILUC

★ It took you a while to work up the courage to ask him if you could help assist tie his hair in the mornings. He was very fond of his crimson locks and yet he never really took care of them.

★ His hair would become knotted and tangled throughout his day from the wind blowing and during his fierce battles as the Darknight Hero, only to be sorted a few days later.

★ It made you mad how he wouldn’t take care of his gorgeous hair, and so, you would just have to step up to the task instead.

Occasionally Diluc would wake up before you when he had a lot of work to do, leaving you behind after quickly snuggling into your warmth and pressing a kiss to your forehead. But not today. Your partner awoke to an empty bed with the aroma of breakfast rising from downstairs.

When you heard his footsteps approaching, you called out, “Diluc! Come and get something to eat before you head out!”

He arrived to see you focusing on not burning or bursting the Teyvat Fried Eggs you were preparing for the both of you. Softly smiling and burying his face into your neck, wrapping his hands around your waist. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m afraid I can’t join you for too long as I have matters to attend to.”

You frowned, serving the eggs onto plates. “Is it more Darknight business?” Your voice was a little more stern than intended.

Diluc raised a brow, pulling away from you. “It is. Is that a problem?” It was less of a question and more of a challenge. He’d told you before what his side hobby meant to him. He needed to protect Mondstadt where the Knights of Favonious couldn’t.

“Oh!” You realised what your words implied, a little stunned. “No, no. I don’t mind you doing that, but...” The rest of your sentence couldn’t process into words, embarrassment settling into what felt like its permanent residence. He would never agree to it. Never would he let you braid his hair and you knew it.

“But what?” You two sat down together at the dining table with your food, though neither of you started eating.

“But your hair,” you whispered. “It always gets so messy when you fight.” Why were you saying this? Archons help you now you were too far in to turn back now.

Diluc’s expression softened and he chuckled. “That can’t be helped, but it’s easily fixable.”

“Could I maybe braid it so it doesn’t get tangled in the first place? When all the strands are wrapped together neatly it won’t get knotted and in your way as much.” You played with your egg with a fork instead of meeting his gaze. He was sure to deny you, right?

“I-“ You looked up to see your partner a little shocked, pink dusting his cheeks. “If it’s for practical purposes, I don’t see why not.”

★ The smile that appeared on your lips made Diluc’s chest tighten with happiness. He’d be late for his mission that morning, but the cheerful hums he heard coming from you as you plaited were worthwhile.

★ You didn’t do anything too extravagant, just a simple braid in his ponytail that you were certain would stay in place all day.

★ Once you were done and you’d both finished your breakfast, Diluc checked his new braid in a mirror hung in the entrance of the Dawn Winery.

“It’s wonderful, my love. Thank you.” He pulled you in for a gentle kiss on the lips before he set off the complete his Darknight duties.

★ Now, every morning before he set off, Diluc would have you plait his hair so it wouldn’t get tangled.

★ It wasn’t always necessary as some days he would only tend to matters in the alcohol industry or work at Angel’s Share. But seeing your content smile every time made his day before it even began.

ZHONGLI

★ You loved to run your hands through your partner’s silky hair when he rested his head on your chest. It was incredibly well kept, never really a knot or tangle in sight. Somehow it was always perfectly smooth.

★ Zhongli let you brush it occasionally because he knew it made you happy and, in the contract you two had arranged, that was one of the conditions you had laid out for each other. But never had you thought about braiding it before.

★ His rat-tail hairstyle had always been there ever since you two had met, changing it up felt it was as if you were changing up the laws of the world. It didn’t sit right.

★ That was until you two were out walking around Liyue Harbour and noticed someone passing by with a magnificent plait, all sorts of wondrous flowers weaved in between the strand of hair. There was even a few Cecilias all the way from Mondstadt!

You tugged on the sleeve of Zhongli’s coat, pointing towards the person who had just walked by. “Look how amazing their hair is!”

“It’s very impressive. Such skill and time that has gone into creating it is very admirable.” His golden eyes watched you curiously, noting how you still had something you wanted to say. “Do you not agree, my dear?”

A soft laugh sounded from your mouth. “Of course I agree. But, do you think you’d ever like to try something similar with your hair?” You looked down to fiddle with the loose skin on the sides of your nails. “It likely wouldn’t be as extravagant as you don’t have as much hair, but I think it would suit you.”

After only silence greeting you in answer, you returned your gaze back to Zhongli. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he said no, you told yourself. He wouldn’t like it and that would be okay. Even though you had secretly been planning how you could style it for months now, it would be fine. You’d be sad, but it was hair. You could move on. However, when you looked back up, your partner was nowhere to be seen.

“Zhongli?” You called out in confusion. How had he slipped by unnoticed in a matter of mere seconds?

Eventually, you found him kneeling underneath a tree by an odd teleporting contraption, comparing Glaze Lillies to each other. “Ah! Sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have left you so suddenly,” he apologised, standing with a bunch of flowers in hand.

“That’s okay.” You smiled, thankful that he hadn’t just deserted you after you asked about braiding his hair. Zhongli wasn’t one to act that way, he’d talk the situation out with you, but there was always a first time for everything. “What are you up to?” You motioned to what he delicately held.

“The usual merchant who sells Cecilias is currently out of them, so I supposed you could also use Glaze Lillies to weave into my hair instead. I spotted some over-” He was unable to continue as you carefully wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace, being sure not to knock any of the flowers out of his palms.

“Thank you, Zhongli.” You couldn’t contain the grin that forced its way to the surface of your face.

He freed one of his hands and used it to pull you closer, rubbing your back and pressing kisses into your hairline. “Of course. I think braiding my hair would be quite a good idea. A nice occasional change.”

★ You two went back to your house in Liyue Harbour so you could begin the process of braiding his hair.

★ Zhongli would have you explain every step to him in great detail as you went, specifically wanting to know how you weaved the flowers into his hair, so he could one day return the favour. If you had enough hair, he would love for you to teach him how to give you a matching braid too.

★ For the rest of the day, he would be very mindful of how he touched his hair, not wanting to accidentally pull it apart or make any of the flowers fall out. Once it eventually does unravel, leaving his rat-tail a little curly, he would come straight back to you to ask you to restore it to its full glory.

[avissapiens]

Avis' Subject Symposium

A Crash Course in Trance Pt 1: Files.

(Art by Acro @sodalite96/https://twitter.com/sodalite96 Used with their permission. Go check them out!)

So often new subjects come to me and they don’t know the first thing about trance. None of its mechanics or methods, and so it can be very daunting for them; to step into such a wide abyss without knowing what to expect and what is expected of you. Many of them, even experienced subjects, expect that 100% of the work is and should be done by the Hypnotist. In truth both parties, the hypnotist and the subject, must be willing and able. But while it’s more readily apparent what must be done in order for a tist to be successful in their endeavors, many subjects/potential subjects can have a hard time understanding what it takes to get the most out of their trance, both from pre-recorded files, and from live sessions with a hypnotist. So, I’m here to give you what is in my opinion, the essential Crash Course to Trance, starting first with trancing to files.

Location

Find yourself somewhere nice, darkened and quiet, where you know you won’t be disturbed. This is already a hard task for a lot of subjects, living with other people always increases the chance that one might barge in on you, eyes glazed over, drooling all over yourself. Or that someone’s reckless pounding from above might shake the abyss so thoroughly that it takes you out of trance. But here is the thing I will stress. While physical quiet is a good idea as it allows you to focus on the words and suggestions streaming into your head. What matters so much more is internal peace and quiet. A location where you can feel at ease and safe and secure in yourself. A locked bedroom surrounded by mountains of pillows. Your favorite plush armchair that threatens to swallow you almost as well as the Abyss of Trance. The peaceful morning route on the train whose path you know so well that you can be lulled into trance just by the rumbling vibrations of the tracks beneath your seat. Wherever you can be comfortable.

The ideal location for trance I'm sure does exist in some government facility or therapists office somewhere, where you can be dropped into an isolation tank and be brainwashed clean. But most of us will never encounter that. So what matters then is the ideal mindset for trance, which is one of peace, safety, trust and assurance.

Equipment

This is one of the reasons so many love using files. Because its barrier to entry is so low. All you really need is something to play the file on and a place to listen. This is in contrast to working directly with a tist where you need, at the very least, A good internet connection, maybe a camera, Another person who you trust and who might be wildly inconsistent. Or working in person which probably will require a whole location and time-table to get set up. No, Files are relatively simple and they are no better or worse than live sessions for certain purposes. However, like all simple things, they can be elevated by improving its ingredients. A box cake from the store and a home-made chiffon are functionally the same, but their difference comes in the ingredients and technique.

So for trance I recommend spoiling yourself a little, at the very least buy yourself some decent quality over-ear headphones. Many file-makers (myself included) add frequencies and binaural beats underneath the main track. These serve the purpose of training your own brain’s waveforms to a certain frequency, thus more easily taking you into trance. But they can only be detected and properly registered with some good headphones. Additionally, The encapsulation of headphones provides a more immersive experience, isolating you and transporting you through the trance experience like you are in your own little world. Trust me. $600 studio headphones aren’t needed, But a good quality wired $40 headset goes a long way and is multi-purpose. A decent quality chair or mattress also will serve you well, not just in trance but in life.

Focus

Trance is a very tricky state that, like all things, requires practice and patience to master. Staying in trance is like a tightrope walk, teetering gently between the realm of consciousness and awareness, and the oblivion of total subconscious and sleep. It is the liminal space between the two, that subconscious space that makes trance and hypnosis possible. It is the state where your mind is most open to total suggestion and where magical things can happen. So how does one walk the line between these two modes of being? The answer is focus. Or rather Half-focus. Focusing without focusing. With descriptions like that it can sound like some kind of Zen riddle, but that is often what it feels like sometimes. Now this is not a laser focus like you would expect in a classroom setting, no one is being tested here. It's a more gentle and subtle focus. Like focusing on the world around you. Focusing on the wind on your face, the rise and fall of your lungs; On the way your body just goes loose and slumps over. The trick is to go in and to follow along, to listen and pay attention and try to comply with the suggestions given at first. Suspend your disbelief and engage with it unironically and without pretense. If you notice yourself drifting, don’t try to force it back to focus. Simply let it explore where it wants and to carry on organically. Nothing in trance needs to be forced. Simply focused on and allowed to happen.

Many subs oscillate in trance, their minds ebbing and flowing like a Sine wave; wavering in and out of trance, one minute aware, the next minute completely blank and asleep, and then for a brief moment in bliss. But it averages out to trance at the end of it. One must also not fear dropping out of trance. Focusing too much on that eventuality makes it a self fulfilling prophecy. Just Focus-not-focus-half-focus and enjoy yourself.

Apprehension

So many subjects look at files and their mind begins to spin with endless questions and anxieties. Worries about “losing themselves” or “changing too much” or “doing things they don’t want to do.” It’s a valid set of concerns for a new subject, uninitiated in the true mechanics of trance and only knowing of hypnosis what is shown in the media. Evil villains and monsters brainwashing our heroes to do horribly enticing and arousing things. So ingrained is this idea that it even crossed over into the allure of hypnosis files. And while I won’t say it's impossible for that to happen, I have 3 comments on it to ease your mind. First, with Files, one of the best things about it is that the subject gets to control practically every single aspect of the experience. When you do it, how many times you listen, and whether you listen at all to begin with. While all files should be clearly labelled with Content and trigger warnings and given an explicit summary of what they are and what they do, we know that is not the case. The amount of “Mystery files” I've seen on various forums irks me to no end. But it appeals to some people. However, for those who are not particularly fond of surprises you have the absolute power to review the file before you trance to it. You can give it a fully aware walk through, or just jump through segments to look for anything that doesn’t suit your taste.

Once you’ve done that however you might still be conflicted about some content. Not openly averse to it, but unsure. Dumbing down and IQ reduction are probably number one on this list. People are so terrified of somehow losing everything when they learn to stop overthinking things. For these concerns my second point suggests Introspection. Ask yourself “Why do I/Don’t I want this?” “Is it really as bad as my anxiety is making it out to be?” Because if you like something a lot, and really want it, then why should you deny yourself it out of fear? Even aside from dumbing, many desires are tinged with this air of guilt or fear. Terrified to acknowledge or grab hold of what we truly want and own up to it. In my estimation Hypnosis can be one of the best ways of dabbling with those desires because in trance there is no shame or judgement. Finally, my 3rd point says you don’t have to worry. If you really don’t like a suggestion you can always leave it behind. Your mind has built in fail-safes to reject suggestions you haven’t agreed to. A file cannot make you do something unless you want it, at least subconsciously. The old cliche goes “All Hypnosis is Self-Hypnosis” and what that fundamentally means is that as a subject you are the one who decides what happens. You consent and go along with things and allow them to happen to you. It is your desire, your focus, your arousal and your own subconscious that allows hypnosis to work. Subjects have more power than they know. I really hope it assists some people in vibing better with trance and files. I’ll be putting out another version for Live hypnotists later this month.

Thanks again to Acro for letting me use their Art, definitely go and support them on twitter. And If you want to support the creation of more hypnotic experiences that might help you practice that balance of focus then you can do so by subscribing to my Patreon, or to my Youtube channel. And if you want to interact more closely with me and my supportive community you can join my Discord server.

[rosesfox]

I’m not upset with Cassian and Amren because I do think it’s obvious that they’ve put Feyre first but there are just short MOMENTS where they contradicted that. Sjm fixed it with Amren when she had Amren call Nesta out for being childish and unfair about it. finally, they were training together in Acowar and Acofas and amren never talked to her about abusing and being jealous of her younger sister…? They just played puzzles, drank and talked shit about life together? Sjm has definitely glazed over feyres abuse from nesta with Amren. and after Cassian starts having sex with Nesta he starts disagreeing with all of Feysand and the IC’s decisions. He goes silent when they’re talking about a topic I’m like “what the hell is his deal all of a sudden?” They both annoyed me but Cassian more. Sjm got so messy while she was writing. Even the whole “Nestas been over here quite a bit” in Acofas I was like “Wtf you’re having her big sister hang out with HER friend? And not even having Amren talk to her for Feyre to fix the situation before she befriends the sister? She just put them right into a friendship. Like fuck Feyre am I right? I was like What is this? Just disappointing writing decisions that affected Feyre with her sister. Azriel, Mor and Rhys are on the loyal list while Amren and Cassian got ruined kind of. But I can get over it easily, like I said we know where their loyalties all lie at the end of the day. Sjm just had us question it for whatever reason by being too lazy to think twice about certain decisions. just like “well I want them to be friends even if she still is abusive and disrespectful when it comes to feyre (: fast forward to two edgy besties making puzzles” and Cassian just lost all sense. I feel bad for Cassian Stan’s because his behavior was a mess for our side and their side. They don’t think he even stood up for nesta enough while we think he didn’t stand up for the ICs decisions or Feyre enough. Amren made up for it by talking shit the whole book to Nesta so she may be forgiven for her past choices soon.

It was ooc for Amren to befriend Nesta but not call her out on her shit sooner when she’s always quick to call someone out, and Ooc for Cassian to act like such a brute that was whipped for nesta for a personality trait. The random dancing? Almost letting Eris die? Disagreeing with Feyre and Rhys so much when they made sense? Complaining about them giving the dagger to Eris I was like “omg shut up already I love you but stop complaining so damn much 🥹” when he was like “Feyre why can’t you go search for the trove Instead of nesta” I was like…”boy..if you don’t stop being so biased” when he slung his arm around nesta in front of rhysand on purpose….so many bad moments. I can never re read it without skipping so many parts bc they irk me. Azriel was only distant because of wanting a HEA not because of all this shit Cassian has going on. Azriels book is about to be so much better I just know it. I feel like we suffered through a chaotic contradicting YA book with 6 adult smut scenes of them banging eachothers brains out. It’s pure chaos and to the people that stan the book, you are strong. I can’t read it without being annoyed or cringing.

Azriel and Elains Povs will hopefully be more mature, and she won’t continue doing ooc bullshit within the IC. Go mess up other relationships outside of the IC and give them a rest, it’s confusing us all. I feel like Sarah not caring about criticism could be bad for her writing like where is the growth? She writes so good but has flaws that can easily be fixed if she’d pay more attention and care

Cassian in acomaf defending Feyre from Nesta and super worried about her throughout her trajectory, Amren and Feyre being good friends who count on each other and spend time together, and all that disappeared in acosf. Amren literally has one scene "defending" Feyre and it's at the end of the book. Cassian was supposed to be Feyre's best friend, but he wasn't, and idk if i expected much from Amren.

the most annoying thing was Cassian throwing Feyre into the fire to spare Nesta from going to get the weapons. like?????? I thought the intention was to make Nesta a good person who takes initiative and wants to help, why does Feyre have to literally be life-threatening for Elain to volunteer and then Nesta to volunteer to go? 

LMFAO CASSIAN DEFENDING RHYS ALL THE TIME, and then he goes and puts his little arm on Nesta as a form of whatever. this book is so embarrassing

and yes, it seems that none of Nesta's actions have any consequences. Amren who doesn't like anyone wouldn't like Nesta just because she acts like a spoiled brat.

that's what you said and what most fans agree: it's lazy and contradictory writing. I hope she learned from her mistakes, from the fucking hate that Feyre took, from the hate that Nesta continues to take, and do something better and more conclusive in Elain and Azriel's book.

i don't think i could answer everything you said, but i loved your ask and i share 100% of your thoughts! im always here to listen.

[hhjs]

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary  —   Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

 You accept it. 

 For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

 Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all. 

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour.  Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe.  While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him. 

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell. 

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

 Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose.  You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger  stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

 You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night.  See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart. 

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.”  he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

 “I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

 Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've  passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side. 

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous. 

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it. 

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say. 

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

— 

Kiss underneath a mistletoe. 

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right. 

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different.  Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

  Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

 He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

— 

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh.  Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

 Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you?  "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."  

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know.  Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

— 

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of  honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear,   "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

[madhyanas]

a strumming of nerves

“Take it,” Din whispers, hissing between his teeth. He’s pleading. “Take it, destroy it. Anything. Just don’t leave me alone with it.”

Read this on AO3!

Characters: Din Djarin & Boba Fett

Rating: T/PG-13

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Ratings: Post-S2. Boba Fett POV. Haunted Darksaber/Din’s Haunted AU. Sleepwalking. Implied possession. Not horror, but creepy vibes for sure.

Notes: this au was originally created by @keldabekush, @kyberpistol and others! i’m just messing around with it. good luck trying to parse through this one lads idk how it’ll go

masterlist

———

There’s a noise keeping Boba awake.

It’s a thrumming. Quiet enough to settle into the background, seep into the rocky palace walls, it’s almost innocent. He could almost mistake it for the whine of some desert gnat that snuck in underground.

Almost.

But in the months since he and his companions have settled here, lying awake and staring at the ceiling of his palace quarters has never invited such a sick feeling to his stomach. It’s not nausea — he’s well acquainted with that. Kamino, Geonosis, Coruscant, Tatooine. Nausea has followed him like a diseased shadow.

This is different. He calls it anticipation, for to hear a noise and feel fear is foolishness he’s long outgrown.

The noise doesn’t get louder. The snaked, coiled thing growing in the pit of his stomach gets heavier, and heavier.

Just as he feels he may be crushed into the soft sheets by whatever waking night-terror has decided to sit on his chest, Boba sits up. In fact, he gets out of bed, swings his legs over the edge to touch the chilly stone floor, and steps outside. He’s always preferred doing things, anyway.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary as Boba stares out into the empty throne room. Thin, slivered shadows and hollow caverns. There’s nothing besides that kriffing noise, he thinks sourly, tiredly, before he turns his head.

Someone is standing in the hallway.

Danger.

At first he doesn’t believe it. A simple silhouette that Boba can barely make out in the dark. Something about it doesn’t quite seem real, as if that same waking night-terror hasn’t yet been rubbed from his eyes. Boba blinks. Its outline is blurry, encircled by a slim ring of darkness and seeming to shift in and out of focus. Moonlight doesn’t touch the shape, doesn’t even creep near.

Boba doesn’t approach either. Not even when he recognises the figure. The shoulders, the stance. He can feel in his bones that in the inky blackness hides a scruffy jaw and sad, weathered eyes. “Djarin?”

Din does not respond. He continues to stand there, staring silently down at the floor, which throws the figure’s identity into question because Din is polite to a fault. Fennec had laughed about it when they’d first met the man; a bounty hunter with manners.

What’s wrong with the figure, Boba realises, is that it’s still. Too still. He squints. His eyes aren’t what they used to be, and it’s dark, but he doesn’t think ‘Din’ is… breathing.

The very wrongness of the situation has his fingers twitching for a weapon that isn’t there.

Boba is beginning to think he should have carried a blaster.

“Din,” he calls, more urgently. “What are you doing?”

Silence, again. A sudden gust of wind whistles outside the window, churning sand against rocky architecture. It scrapes.

Boba’s frown deepens. This isn’t right.

The figure then turns — though that isn’t the right word for the movement. It’s a kind of swaying, as if the body can’t quite settle its centre of gravity and settles for a light, weightless bobbing around a fixed point. Almost like dangling. There is no rustling of cloth, no scrape of foot against sandstone floor.

Against his better judgement, Boba glances down. Both of the figure’s feet are flat on the ground.

Of course, his rational mind whispers. What were you expecting?

This ‘Din’, still standing at the other end of the hallway, now faces him directly. And gripped tightly in his left hand is the source of that infernal thrumming.

The Darksaber. Ignited and ready for battle, as it always has been.

Now, technically, pointed at Boba. The figure doesn’t turn away. The light it gives off is sickly, splattering Din’s shirt with the same strange, inverse not-glow the blade itself emanates.

It reminds him of a fish, of all things. One he’d read about, so many years ago. The type that suckers in prey with a shining, blinding light.

A throb in his temple makes itself known, winding the tension in his spine even tighter. When did the thrumming get so loud? It’s everywhere; it bites up his legs and punctures the soft spots between his ribs. A clawed hand crushing a spoilt fruit in its grasp.

Boba clenches his fists to stop himself from covering his ears, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. The sound is more piercing this time, with purpose and deadly aim.

Thick, oozing cold settles in his gut. There is only one possible target in this room.

It gets louder. And louder. It ebbs and flows like the tide but so much more vicious. It doesn’t stop; the noise simmers and bubbles and rings in his ears, resounding through the hallway so strongly it shakes his teeth to the tender, aching nerves and pounds at the insides of his skull. It’s swarming out from behind his eyes and it doesn’t stop, why can’t it stop — the Darksaber swings upwards, ready to strike the final blow — why is this happening he should take it—

“Din!”

The figure flinches. Boba’s shout is as good as a bullet. His shoulders heave with staggering breaths. His heartbeat pulses jaggedly at his throat and he’s panting; a cold, thin sheen of sweat is draped over the back of his neck.

The Darksaber is held high above Boba’s head. The crest of a wave, frozen. Then the blade retreats with a quiet whoosh before the hilt clatters to the ground. That’s the only reason Boba realises the thrumming has stopped.

It still doesn’t feel fixed. Nothing does.

The figure stumbles forward and Din’s haggard face is suddenly awash in a sliver of moonlight. He’s a puppet cut down from his strings, crumpling to the ground.

Boba is there to catch him. As it will be.

“Easy. What happened?” he questions gruffly, too preoccupied with checking the other man over for injuries to hear just how hoarse his voice is.

But whatever state he’s in, Din is worse. He stares at some point on Boba’s shoulder with glazed, unfocused eyes. The man is sweating buckets. “I... I don’t know.”

Din’s voice is soft, as Boba has come to expect, though not reassuring. It crackles and bursts to suggest there’s mucus sitting in his airways, spitting and popping like rotting fat thrown out to sizzle on Tatooine street corners.

Perhaps it is reassuring, then, to be holding his friend so limp in his arms like this. Because Boba knows what blood in the lungs sounds like, and the distinct lack of it anywhere in the musty hallway finally brings his racing pulse something close to calm.

Boba makes a slow, calculated move to rise from the floor and lift the other man with him, but Din flinches when he feels Boba’s shoulders tense. A flinch that dissolves into faint tremors wracking his body, which Boba is loath to ignore, but it also clears the fog from his gaze somewhat.

“I’m—” Din clears his throat and forces out a hard, sharp breath. “I’m fine.” He looks Boba in the eye. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“No, you’re not,” Boba returns dryly, though he can’t deny the weight that slips from his chest. Breathing, talking. Even with the tremors leaching from Din’s bones into his own, they’re good signs.

Din cracks a weak smile, which comes out more as a grimace. In any case, it doesn’t matter when it’s wiped away almost immediately as Din glances to the side.

Boba looks too. Next to the wall, the discarded hilt of the Darksaber stares back.

“Fett,” Din says gravely, keeping his eyes trained on the weapon. So gravely in fact, that Boba’s hackles rise. He’s speaking as if— as if his life depends on it.

“What?”

The fingers on Boba’s shoulder dig in tightly. “Take it,” Din whispers, hissing between his teeth. He’s pleading. “Take it, destroy it. Anything. Just don’t leave me alone with it.”

Boba is not a man easily surprised. But there is something inherently sickening in the crease of Din’s brow, anxious and abandoned. So much about all this is wrong.

He’s pallid, Boba realises. Din is shivering and sickly and sweaty like he’s in the slump of a fever. He’s still staring at that damned saber.

In the dark, they’re both kneeling on the ground. They are kneeling, technically, before the Darksaber itself.

And with a stubborn set of his jaw, Boba makes a decision.

He swings Din up from the ground, maintaining a stable hold on both arms and looping one round his own neck before either of them can topple back down.

“Right,” Boba barks, and Din’s head snaps up. “You’re going to get some sleep. And you’re leaving that blasted thing here.” His voice leaves no room for discussion.

As he marches them back to Din’s quarters, taking careful stock of any acute weaknesses in the other man’s posture and satisfied to find none for now, Din’s gaze remains forward. It latches onto the door with sharp, quiet focus, and the sight could make Boba grin.

The haunted look in his eyes is new territory. But determination; that, Boba can work with.

Walls of granite and sandstone are taller at night, it seems. Boba gets the fleeting sense that they’re boxed in on either side, in such narrow walkways, then shuns the thought. The palace is his territory. He has nothing to fear, here.

Still, he makes his way around the corners a touch quicker than before.

By the time they’ve gotten to Din’s door, neither of them have looked back once. It’s illogical, he knows. But they both look straight ahead without fail. As if that would keep the thrumming at bay. As if they feel the silence is any better.

Din takes a moment to push himself upright, testing his balance. “Thank you,” he says quietly. It’s sincere, which Boba can respect. He just doesn’t know what it’s for.

Settling on a nod, Boba suggests, “I’ll keep it in my quarters.” The empty sword still lies in the other corridor. “We’ll… figure things out in the morning.”

Din’s mouth flattens into a pained line, and a muscle jumps uncomfortably at his temple. Here, with a little more light, Boba can see the bags etched under the man’s eyes. He’s struck with the impression that this… sleepwalking, for lack of a better term, is not a recent development.

“Yeah,” Din mumbles. “In the morning.”

He eyes his cot as a starving man would a feast, but lingers at the boundary.

When Din speaks, Boba almost regrets waiting to hear it.

“I don’t know what it’s doing to me.”

The words are uttered with a familiar, resigned shame that drips to the floor. It puddles around Din in viscous trails, drooping his shoulders and shutting his eyes. Weighing him down for longer than a night, clearly.

“I don’t know anymore, Fett. Sometimes I can hear it talking to me. Talking. I think I might—” He wheezes out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as if to purge whatever he sees there.

A moment to collect himself, drag all the pieces together with string and a loose knot. Then, in a quiet, ragged voice, Din confesses, “I think I’m going insane.”

False platitudes have never come easily to Boba, and they don’t start now. His jaw is slack as he searches for the words, anything to fill that chasm, until he realises there aren’t any.

So he doesn’t say anything at all, save for a slow, sympathetic hand on Din’s shoulder. He stands with his friend.

And in the dark of the palace, Boba wonders if Din might be right.

———

[kaisa-ryo]

Attention deficit (pt. 1)

jujutsu kaisen

Characters: Itadori Yuji, Satoru Gojo, Megumi Fushiguro, Inumaki Toge, Sukuna Ryōmen, Nanami Kento, Suguru Geto

Warning: English isn't my native language!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

Itadori Yuji

Itadori in this situation acts, oddly enough, completely primitive. The less attention he sees from you, the more he tries to get him back. In other circumstances, this might even seem exaggerated, but here and now this is the most critical moment. What does he do? Yes, everything in a row: drops the book, turns its pages, rummages in the bag, humming softly to himself, and so on ... And all this continues until it comes to stroking the hips and lightly squeezing one palm, while the other rewrites the abstract ...

- I miss the old y/n. - he gives out with sadness in his eyes.

At this moment, the game of interest begins: you feel how simultaneously there is a feeling of spontaneous and purposeful manipulation, how you are gently and imperceptibly pushed towards the long-awaited goal.

In such a situation, one could easily succumb, but you, resisting this, answer:

- Yuji, I'm very busy right now.

It would seem that a strong guy fights curses, trains with the strongest shamans, but with ordinary words it is so easy to break.

It's hard for you to realize that right now he is depressed because of you. It's unusual to see a sad Yuji almost always smiling and making others do the same. Especially you.

And so you compromise, intertwining your fingers, frowning slightly and pretending to listen to something inside yourself ... After that, Yuji remains in this position for a long time, as if afraid to frighten you off, because now such closeness between you is too valuable to miss out.

Satoru Gojo

It turns out that sometimes even acting like a fool doesn't help you pay attention to Gojo. First, the way you constantly focus on the same thing, so that the words in your speech get confused, takes on a comic character, and he comes to the idea that, for no reason, for no reason, you decided that work is more important to you than himself. Then you stop paying attention to him altogether. You no longer look at him from under your brows, do not frown at the idiotic jokes with which he is trying to distract you, as it was yesterday. Satoru notices that you are much smaller. He is puzzled and even confused. Finally, it occurs to him that you just have nothing to do, and comes up with the craziest idea to entertain you.

- What are you doing? - a voice of a man sounded nearby, who had been watching you with interest for some time.

There was no answer. However, it is not surprising.

- Okay, okay, you don't have to answer... - He looked away.

This was his usual technique. After asking several meaningless questions, he suddenly fell silent, as if giving you the opportunity to think over the answer properly, and he himself imperceptibly removed, leaving you in complete confusion. But this time, due to the circumstances, the technique had to be slightly changed.

In the next moment, he was already pressing you to him and, taking advantage of this, with his other hand began to explore the curves of your body. The reaction was as if you were doused with boiling water or doused with cold water.

- What are you doing? - You asked in a trembling voice.

- Checking to see if you got fat after we lost sex. - still clinging to you, he answered. You were taken aback and began to push him away from you.

- I have not grown fat, let me go! You barked, feeling his arms tighten. - Let go! Fool! Let go!

Hands rested on your back, and he began to rock you slowly, stretching the moment when you finally stop resisting.

- It's okay, y/n. You just need to calm down. - he whispered, not hearing your words.

There is a mess in my head, the goal of your resistance has fled somewhere, and you start desperately hugging the man while he grins at the fact that he managed to do what he wanted.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi is not one of those who will behave like a child, attracting attention to herself when you do not even know the reason for her loss. He will speak to you as soon as he notices it.

- Do you want to talk about it?

You rub your eyes with fatigue, but you shouldn't ignore Fushiguro's question, because it concerns the two of you. No matter how serious his intentions are, he will always be there to remind you that you can talk to him about what worries you.

- I... will hardly give any good advice, but I will try to make it easier for you after the conversation. Megumi continues after a minute of your silence.

Even such a seemingly small detail as being able to talk to someone else significantly reduces stress and other not-so-good emotions. And the guy knows it.

- You can always count on my help. - already with a drop of confidence he says, and it's like the touch of a soft, pleasant hand on your shoulder. Of course, he does this primarily because he is worried, but this is only a secret cover for the fact that he is upset that you turned away from him, without noticing the real reason.

"Fushiguro, if I do this, I don't know... I... will feel like this..." The words elude you. It’s hard to even think about what you’ll say next.

The guy spreads his arms to give you room to hug and apologize, but you just put your head on his shoulder. You don't want to talk about anything else. The chest against which your head is pressed turns into a pillow. And then a quiet voice is heard:

- I'm not mad at you. You can stay here as long as you like.

But here you won't need anything as long as Fushiguro is around.

Inumaki Toge

Not surprisingly, the first thought that comes to him is "it's all because of the damned speech."

Does he talk to you too little? Maybe he is too quiet and invisible for you? Perhaps you are afraid that someday he will take control of you? From such questions echoing in my head, my jaws come together and a lump appears in my throat. But the worst thing is that Toge begins to doubt his right to meet with you, because he cannot even talk to you with dignity, as a person to a person. Even your sweet persistence, which sometimes breaks through the boundaries of ordinary attempts to turn the conversation back on track, does not help. As a result, when it comes to your attention deficit, he begins to think that all this time you did not notice him, as if he was one of those whom you forgot on the first day.

- Okaka? - the young man has been trying to attract your attention with his eyes for a long time, but it seems that even words cannot help.

- Sorry, Toge. I'm not in the mood today...

The guy was actually a perfectionist and would rather have your smile shine every day. I wish he could turn back time right now, scroll to the moment when something went wrong and fix it at any cost.

Inumaki tucked a lock of your hair behind his ear to see your face behind it. He knew you had flawless skin and plump, sensual lips. He would admire your face for hours.

The next second, the blond rested his head on your lap, looking into your eyes. You liked such cute things from him. They weren't vulgar or inappropriate. They were what she needed.

You smile faintly and stroke the hair on the back of his head, touching his cheek with your fingertips.

Sukuna Ryōmen

This is the case when Sukuna uses passive aggression. Slightly wrong, some small sign of ignorance - his speech turns into direct pressure on your relationship with him. He can really hurt you a lot if you don't appreciate his efforts to make you even a little happier. Most often they are small and insignificant, the kind that anyone would do, but for the King of Curses, this is really something grandiose. And since he has many ways to destroy your relationship, if you think he made a mistake, remember how it hurts him.

- Will you ignore me again? - Sukun asked with imperious anger, the last pieces of despair were dying in his soul. - And where is your mercy? If I have become disgusting to you, why do you continue to need me?

There was nothing to answer. It was not pride that tormented him at all, but an ever-deeper regret that with your equanimity you just caused another outbreak of rage in him. Most of all, the thought that you, perhaps, does not even notice it, and your eyes clouded with pain glide over something that is very dear to him, terrified him.

The dead silence continued, and my chest ached more and more. Then there was a soft groan:

- Y/n, I love you.

Tears ran down your cheeks, but did not brush them away with my hand. You knew it wasn't going to help. Bitter emotions generated by the word "love" are not able to be burned out on the face, like the sun on clay. You can't stop feeling. And all the same, looking at you was as painful as seeing your motionless glazed gaze.

He hugged you from the back as soon as he felt that you were repenting. Like the time you forgave him for calling you your own. He had strong hands - you can be sure. He was very gentle. You felt less pain. Maybe in the future it will be difficult for him to remember this, but now he tightly squeezed you in his arms and was so affectionate that you wanted him to never let you go.

Nanami Kento

He begins to suspect that something is wrong very early. First, morning kisses disappeared somewhere before leaving for work, then sincere conversations at the table, and then completely short meetings with glances. Moreover, the last remnants of intimacy are gone. Nanami began to think that something had happened to you. He always tried to protect you from any problems. And so you found yourself right in front of him, so closed and detached, he could not so easily take away the comfort and peace that he had been creating for so long and skillfully. And first of all, of course, he will lend you a helping hand to make it easier for you as quickly as possible.

A perplexed look will appear from under dark eyelashes after a man touches your forehead with his palm. It seems that the whole thing is not about health.

- You don't have a fever. He began.

- I know, thanks.

But Kento was clearly hinting at something.

- So what's up? - then you know what Nanami means. But she said nothing.

- Y/n, I do not want to impose anything on you, I just need to know what is happening to you so that our relationship with you does not suddenly go downhill.

The man took your hand and brought it to his lips. Nanami felt that if he said something now, he would commit tactlessness. And so he was silent, waiting for your answer.

- Sorry... - Tears began to burn my eyes. - I am very, very ashamed. I... it's just hard for me now, but it will pass by itself. I'm sure.

You pressed as tightly as possible to the man, hugged him and buried your face in the chest. He put his hand on your head encouragingly. I already didn't care about the problem as a whole. Now for you there was only what you felt - his soft stroking, the smell of a strong male body, warmth and care, and there was nothing but that.

Suguru Geto

He will take it calmly, without intention. But she won't ignore it. Often he will offer tea or something else, just to get at least one word out of you, in an attempt to bring you into conversation. He will not touch you without asking, because he knows about the value of personal space. And yet, for a while, it can fiddle with spontaneous statements in order to simply take away the soul and break a long silence.

- I see your day is going well... - Geto smiles with restraint. - Lots of news for me?

Guessing that he is once again trying to create a dialogue between you was almost nothing. But you are, of course, silent.

- I see. - Suguru sits down next to you, as close to your side as possible, not giving a damn if you don't like it.

- Maybe I offended you in some way? - he continues. - Or are you just not too open in your thoughts?

- Nothing. It's okay. - you throw.

- But it seems to me that no. - he takes your hand in his, as if trying to make you smile. “I think you have something to tell me, don’t you? He raises his eyebrows, expecting your reaction. Instead of answering, you grimace with a shrug. Suguru repeats the question:

- So what happened? Why don't you want to share your thoughts with me?

- What would you like? You ask. - Would you be happy to know that there is a perfect girl with great manners, beautiful and intelligent, whom you deserve?

To be honest, Suguru did not expect such an answer. You can see that he is a little dumbfounded, but quickly comes to his senses. And then he starts laughing - so sweet and sincere that you start to feel embarrassed and blush with shame.

- And I was already expecting something more terrible. He laughs. - Okay, be it your way. I'm not a particularly sentimental person. I do not know what to say.

- Tell me you feel terribly in love. - grabbing his wrist, you say.

The brunette makes a startled face again. But you do not retreat - you hold him for a few more seconds, forcing him to surrender. - Only from the bottom of my heart ...

- Y/n, I feel terribly in love with you and will never fall in love again next time. So? He asked, grinning.

Wiping away the tears of happiness, you hugged him without words, while he, hugging you with one hand, exhaled with relief.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

[midoriyas-wifey]

Round One, Fight!

Pairing: Midoriya x fem!reader

Rating: E

Words: 2.3k

Kinks: uhhh dom izuku and edging

Summary: Izuku edges reader a fuck ton i don’t really know what else to say except he’s a smug little bastard in this one. i blueballed myself writing and editing this 🥶

His warm, calloused hands ran down her sides, giving a slight tickle, while his face was deeply buried in the crook of her neck. She gave a silly giggle at the sensation.

"Something funny?" He purred, giving a firm nip to her neck, reveling in her gasp.

"No," she rasped, "I'm jus’ ticklish." He fully withdrew his head from her neck, mischief flashing in his green eyes. "Really?" He questioned, up to no good. Midoriya usually wasn’t the scheming type, but for his honey? He loved to do nothing more than tease and torment.

She eyed him with suspicion, familiar with his secret evil ways. His hands once again teasingly rubbed her tummy, earning a delicious squeak along with a squirm.

"Don't do that!" She squealed, her hands lightly on his broad, strong chest. "Have you forgotten that I'm the one in charge tonight?" He inquired with a quirk of his lips. Not giving her the chance to respond, he fully covered her swollen lips with his own, nipping and demanding entrance. He kissed the breath out of her, leaving her dizzy with pleasure. His silky tongue explored her mouth with purpose, before he drew out and surrounded her tongue with his lips; giving a sloppy suck. Both the lewd noise and sensation caused a zing of heat down low into her belly and cunt. Only she knew of his passionate affections, and he hers.

Never before had any kiss felt so good. His hands gripped onto her beautiful hair, urging her closer to him. He pulled back, soothing her raw, kiss swollen lips with gentle pecks. He gave a pleased hum at the glazed, hungry look in her eyes. She licked her lips, desire for more burning low in her belly. Whilst she was occupied by her thoughts, his hands snaked up the back of her shirt, one goal in mind: removing that that stupid bra. Her tits were set free after messing with the clasps for a moment. Her shirt was still in the way.‘How annoying’, Midoriya grunted; his famous patience near nonexistent. He furrowed his brows lightly before intentionally setting his face into a smug look.

Taking a step back from the breathless girl, he sat down and reclined onto his strong forearms on the bed. His jade eyes were rife with predatory intent. "Strip for me," he commanded. Just his voice was enough to give her jitters as she slightly squirmed in her spot. Heat rose across her face at the brazen order.

"Now." He growled out, impatient. Startled out of thought once more, she glanced up at him, looked down, and slowly took the hem of her shirt into her hand.

"Faster." He barked, taking pride in his unusually dominant demeanor. She quickly shed her shirt, the article of clothing flying overhead. Her nipples hardened at the sudden temperature change.

"All of it comes off." He purred, distracted by her beautiful tits. She once again felt heat in her face from his blatant stare. She shimmied out of her pants, leaving her in an admittedly comfy pair of panties..

"Good girl, just like I asked," he crooned. "But you're not finished yet."

“Come here,” he ordered. She nervously shuffled over to him, every bit the part she was playing. His hands gripped her hips, dragging her closer. Thumbs circling gently over her plush hips, he tucked his fingers into her panties, pulling them down over her legs. She stepped out of the garment that pooled at her feet. If she thought she couldn't have more heat in her face, she was wrong. She was sure that she looked like she was in a sauna as her lover's face drew near her thatch of curls. His hands shifted to the round, soft globes of her ass. Giving them a firm squeeze, he buried his face into her tummy, breathing in the heady scent of her arousal.

"I've barely touched you, and you're already so wet for me." His eyes shone with satisfaction and amusement. "So sensitive," he breathed. His hot tongue made an appearance on her belly, almost causing her knees to give out, and they would've, if not for his strong grip. At a snail like pace, he trailed his tongue down, further and further. His hot breath flushed over her pussy, shooting tingles up and down her body. He grabbed one of her plush thighs. pulling it up and propping it on the bed beside him to allow full access to his cute little cunny.

"Please," she begged.

He pulled his head away to look at her, feeling smug at her disappointed groan. Her hands tangled into his curly green hair, trying to push him back.

He knew very well what she wanted, but he was going to take his time.

"What?" He purred, kissing her belly. She groaned again. "Please" she gasped again, "I need..."

"What do you need?" He adored the frustrated look on her cute face.

"You..." She croaked.

“....To do...what?” Now he was just being an ass.

“Eat my pussy! Jesus fucking Christ, Izuku!”

"Was that really so hard?" He teased. She gave him a sharp look, which he replied to with a nip on her belly, and a light smack on her backside. She lurched forward in shock, giving him full access to his sweet prize. He finally used his thumbs to part her hot, slick folds. Her moan at the exposure to the cool air only served to boost his ego as he found her little nub. He nuzzled his face into her curls as his tongue slithered out for a taste of her cunt. "So sweet" he murmured, wanting more. His tongue delved further into her, aching for that delicious taste that only she had.

He had grown tired of his shallow position, so he quickly bound her hands behind her back with his long-discarded tie and flipped her over onto the bed. He now was hovering over her helpless form, ready for more. He easily spread her quivering thighs. His lips buried themselves into her, giving a firm, wet kiss. Her hips arched up, searching for more.

"None of that now," he mumbled against her lower lips. He firmly pushed her back onto the bed, leaving her squirming as his tongue came out to play. Plunging his tongue in as far as it could go, he hummed a meaningless tune as he traced a random pattern with his thumb, now placed on her clit. The woman let out a squeal at the new stimulation, writhing helplessly underneath him.

He was definitely getting a high from all the control. He gave a peek up to see her chest rising and falling rapidly, providing an enticing show.

'Only I’m allowed to see this side of her, no one else. Only me,' he thought with a possessive squeeze of his hands. She was close, he could tell, but he would feel her cream wrapped around his dick first.

He pulled back abruptly, leaving her with an aching pit at her core.

"Wha...?" She gasped.

"You can't leave me hanging like this!" She rasped.

He gave her one last teasing lick inside her folds and gave a sudden, firm suck right on her clit before pulling away with an all too-pleased smirk.

Completely withdrawing from the bed, he took a second to admire his handy work. He had left her a total mess, squirming and panting pathetically. Her eyes burned with fire, pleading for more.

He quickly stripped out of his remaining clothes, wanting nothing more than to stuff her cute little cunny.

Kneeling over her, he elevated her hips, teasingly brushing his dick over her clit, just enough to cause sparks, but not enough to satisfy.

"Tell me what you want." He purred. His self control was almost at its limit, but she was breaking.

"Just fuck me already!" She shrieked, tired of the games. She couldn't bear to see his smug smirk of triumph, so she threw her head back in to the pillow, waiting impatiently.

Her total submission was pleasing beyond words, so he decided to oblige her request. He gave a shallow stroke in, popping the fat head of his dick into her, before pulling out again. Her angry moan only served to amuse him as he gave a soft chuckle. He continued this slow, light pattern for a almost a minute, enjoying all too much tormenting her.

She felt like her insides were on fire, and a scream of frustration was crawling up her throat. Her hips squirmed uselessly against his, begging for more.

He increased his pace, giving a hard, deep slam that knocked the breath out of her. She let out a choked scream, needing more. His hips continually dipped at different paces and angles, driving her into a frenzy. He analyzed every expression and noise that escaped her beautiful lips, storing that information for later.

Her arms were falling asleep, but she didn't give a fuck, all she wanted was for him to let loose.

His libido was having a hard time being contained, but her expressions and little noises were worth the strain. Rarely has he seen her so unraveled, and he wasn't going to let this go to waste.

The loud, wet slaps of his hips against her were making her go crazy! Why wouldn't he go faster?! The sounds of his heavy balls smacking into her ass would have been embarrassing if not for her desperation. She chanced a look up into his eyes. He was enjoying her anger, that-

"Oh god, please, I need more!" Fuck it, this was torture!

"More?" He hummed, pausing inside her as if to consider granting her wish.

"No!" She shrieked at the loss of stimulation, not believing that he was stopping again.

"No?" He questioned, smirk widening and stretching his normally cute freckled face into something devious.

He pulled out with a quiet groan, his dick twitching at the loss of her silky cunt. His breathing still seemed impossibly controlled.

"You're the devil!" She groaned loudly. He pressed a huge finger to her lips, shushing her.

"You don't want the neighbors to hear, do you?" He crooned. He positioned the head to brush against her clit once more, thrusting and brushing feather-light against it over and over and over and-

She hated him, and she let him know it.

"I hate you," she whispered, giving him the evil eye. He leaned down and gave her a nip on her neck, suckling a hickey there.

"I'm sure you do." Amusement was evident in his voice as he murmured in her ear.

She swore she could hear the smug grin. She saw red, and started struggling against her bindings, to no avail.

"Give up, honey, you can’t win against me", he whispered.

"Never!" She growled

"Hmm, you'll be singing a different tune for me later." He promised, full of arrogance.

He easily flipped her over, pressing the side of her face into to mattress. Pulling her hips up so she was on her knees, he wasted no time plunging his dick in to her, fully sheathed. Her shrieks were slightly muffled by the pillow beneath her. Her shoulders and arms ached and tingled from her restraints.

"Shh... You're awfully loud." He scolded.

She was panting, it was useless to try to reason with him any more.

He roughly ground his hips into her plush ass, not thrusting. His hands were going to leave bruises on her hips, his inner (now outer) beast was purring in delight at this notion. He wanted to mark her, show the world that she was his.

Slowly pulling out, he gave a quick, upwardly angled thrust back in. A strangled gasp was heard from his honey. He quickly set to plowing her, constantly shifting his angle. There was nothing slow or shallow about him now, he was in it to finish her.

She let loose her first true scream of the night, throwing it back on him, trying to keep up with his furious pace.

He was an absolute beast, his nails digging into her hips, and leaving her round bottom hot and stinging from his quick smacks and the slapping of his hips. One of his strong hands ventured down between her thighs, rolling her sensitive little pearl in his fingers.

She loved every second of it. It was no question that she would be beyond sore after this though, he wasn’t number one without reason.

He was snarling and growling, holding nothing back, she would take all he could give, and if she couldn't, well...

He leaned forward, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back.

"Who do you belong to?" He whispered darkly. At her lack of response, he gave a sharp tug and swat to her ass, pulling a gasping whine from her.

"You..." She rasped.

He pulled on her hair again and gave another heavy stinging smack to her ass that’d surely bruise.

"Who!?" He shouted, he needed to hear her say it.

"You!" She screamed, almost crying from the mix of pain and pleasure.

"Say my name!" He roared, thrusting even harder.

"It’s you, Izuku! You! You!" She squealed, giving in to him, arching her back and letting the blinding orgasm take hold. She furiously wriggled and writhed under him, genuinely feeling like she might die from all the pleasure.

At the feeling of her pulsing, tightening walls and her desperate screaming, he could take no more. With a loud roar, he came inside her tight cunt, releasing ropes of thick seed into her waiting walls. She twitched again at the hot liquid stinging her insides.

Never before had he lost control so thoroughly, and he was wiped out, her even more so.

He finally released her bindings before collapsing on top of her, his body engulfing and squishing her own. Her arms flopped, tingling wildly from the blood rushing back.

"’Zuku, you're heavy." She grunted, weakly squirming to get free.

He chuckled and rolled off, his strong arms pulling her back in to his chest. He dwarfed her, and wrapped her in his arms.

She almost was asleep when she felt something prodding her. Groaning in disbelief at his stamina, she felt his face draw close as he stroked and squeezed her rear.

"Ready for another round?”

[gureishi]

Wow...the prompts? They're all good. Can you write something angst for Jumin and a female MC, with number 11? I don't mind NSFW. Congrats on 100. You deserve them all and more! 💜😌

TruUUEE. You are too good to me as always. Thank you for saying so ♡

And thank you for this wonderful prompt, and giving me an excuse to write about vulnerable Jumin—my favorite Jumin!

This “ficlet” sprawled into an absolute monstrosity because I got carried away with tearful Jumin and then it got sexy and...oh dear.

eleven: i could only be myself with you around

JuminXReader, E (oral sex, fingering), words: 3887

Warning: NSFW (eventually, I swear)~ Don’t proceed if you don’t wanna read smut <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

When he comes home, his eyes are dark.

You look up from your book; you’re incredibly comfortable on the couch, a blanket tucked around your legs, a cup of tea beside you. There’s a fire in the fireplace and the room is finally just the temperature you like it. You were feeling sleepy.

You’re not feeling so sleepy anymore.

He shuts the door, too hard, and his posture is stiff as crosses the living room with a few purposeful strides. 

“Hi, honey,” you say, and your voice comes out reedy and thin, because you know something is wrong.

He looms over you, and you don’t feel scared—never scared, not of him—but you can’t help but look down, fidgeting with the fringe on the blanket. He kisses your forehead and it feels cursory; you feel a little pang of annoyance. He still hasn’t said anything to you.

Briefly, his hand lingers on the top of your head, and momentarily, you’re comforted—this is a habit. But then he moves away, walking with that same fast, stilted pace. He’s still wearing his shoes.

“Jumin,” you say to his back. He hesitates, and you suppose you’ve taken him by surprise—he’s honey or darling more than he’s Jumin, and you know your voice sounds strange. But he is strange tonight; you’ve waited up for him, and on an ordinary day his eyes would light up, his face splitting into the warm, soft smile he reserves just for you. You feel its absence like a tug behind your ribcage.

“I need a moment,” he says at last, and his voice is oddly high-pitched, like he hasn’t caught his breath.

You kick the blanket off your knees, upsetting your book as you stand.

“What’s…”

He disappears into the bedroom, shuts the door.

“…wrong,” you finish, lamely.

What?

Suddenly, the room doesn’t feel so cozy; the off-white (“winter wood,” Jumin says it’s called) walls feel bare and too far apart and the ceiling feels too high and the perfectly-arranged furniture seems cold and uninviting. You trace his footsteps, silent in your stockinged feet.

You’ve only lived in this new house together a few months, and the excitement hasn’t quite worn off. Most days when you’re home before he is, he arrives in a hurry and sweeps you into his arms, dipping you low and kissing you earnestly. There have been days he’s come home tired, of course, or worried—and on those days, you’ve put on a record and shared a bottle of wine, hands intertwined under one of your many soft white throw blankets.

Today, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Honey…?” You linger at the door, press your ear against it. Nothing. “You’re worrying me,” you say. You hear shuffling, the familiar sound of him removing his jacket, laying it on the pile for the dry cleaner. “I’m coming in,” you tell him, louder—because it is your bedroom, too, and your heart is in your throat. 

Silence. You push open the door.

He hasn’t turned on any lights, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. Your husband is sitting on the edge of the bed, his jacket off, his head bent, his face in his hands. He’s still wearing his stupid shoes.

You want to bend over him and kiss the very top of his head, tickle his sensitive sides till he smiles. But everything about him says stay away: the angle of his head and the rigidness of his shoulders. The way his sleeves are still buttoned as if he isn’t in his own home.

You take a hesitant step toward him and at least he doesn’t stop you.

“Darling, will you please talk to me?” you say. He looks so small to you then: vulnerable and afraid.

For a moment, he’s quiet, and you think that he may continue to ignore you. Then you notice that his broad, muscular shoulders are shaking. It’s barely perceptible, but you see it.

“I cannot be with you right now,” he says at last, his voice muffled by his hands. “If I am with you I will cry.”

That does it. Throwing caution to the wind, you leap onto the bed, jarring him a little. He peers up at you out of the corner of his eye and you’re shocked to see that it is, in fact, slightly red-rimmed.

“Then you should cry,” you say. “It’s what I’m here for.”

He hesitates, and you watch him do battle with himself for a moment, torn between instinct and impulse, old habits and new routines. You wait, letting him decide.

At last, the side of him that has been gradually unfurling since the day you met him wins. He raises his head from his hands and reaches for you, holding his arms out like the lonely child you know he once was.

And you are relived, because this is the man you married.

With perhaps slightly too much enthusiasm, you crawl into his lap, draping your legs to one side and wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s taken time for him to adjust to this kind of full-body contact—it’s as alien to him as it natural to you. Still, he rests his head against the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his lips brush your skin, making you squirm. “I would never want to make you worry.”

You play with the back of his collar with your fingertips. “Sometimes I will worry, because I love you,” you say. “Just please don’t hide from me.”

He tilts his head so he can—finally—look at you properly. His steely gray eyes are glazed over and you know this look, though you haven’t seen it in a long time.

“Tell me what you’ve been holding back all day,” you say, as he reaches up with a long finger to brush the hair off your forehead—another familiar gesture, which soothes you.

He adjusts a little so he’s cradling you, one arm over your shoulders, the other under your legs. He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. He’s stalling for time, but you don’t mind—his chest is warm and solid through his perfectly-pressed shirt and you take the opportunity to bathe yourself in his warm woody scent. He’s working so much lately, more than usual, and sometimes when you’re home alone in the evening you spritz his cologne in the air so you feel less lonely. You don’t tell him this.

“May I ask you a question, my love?” he says. He still has that closed-off look in his eyes but he sounds more like himself, deep and warm and wonderful.

“Of course.”

“When you met me, was I…” He clears his throat, awkwardly fiddles with his cufflinks. You gently separate his hands, remove the cufflinks. Unbutton the sleeves. “Was I…not a good person?”

You drop the cufflink. It falls to the floor with a jarring clink. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but that wasn’t it. You bend over, reaching for the little piece of metal; he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Please tell me what you think.”

No, you almost respond automatically. No, I thought you were wonderful. But the look in his eyes begs a more thoughtful answer than that. With practiced fingers, you roll up one of his shirt sleeves. You run one finger up his forearm, from his wrist to his elbow, tracing the tense muscles there.

“When I met you, I thought you were frighteningly smart and stunningly beautiful,” you say. You roll up his other sleeve, carefully folding the silky smooth fabric. “I’d never met anyone like you before. I was impressed by you, and I also thought you looked like you needed a gentle slap on the face and then a really good, tight hug. Does that…make sense?”

You tug his perfectly-tucked shirt out of his pants. You can’t stand him looking too put-together at home. He can do that everywhere else; home is for comfort.

“It…does,” he says slowly. “But I think perhaps you were the only one with that opinion of me.”

You look into his face and are startled to see tears at the corners of his eyes. You’re not sure you’ve seen him cry since your wedding day.

“Will you tell me what happened today?” you ask, wiping away the tears with your fingertips. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath—he is breathing in your scent just as you did his, you think.

“In truth, it was nothing of note.” He goes for his sleeves again, realizes you’ve rolled them up. Instead, he settles his hands at your waist, threading his fingers through your belt loops. “I had lunch with a…former colleague. He is the president of a Chinese company, and I haven’t spoken to him in several years.”

Ah. “And you felt like the version of you he was expecting to see and the person you are now aren’t the same?”

Jumin actually laughs at that, his eyes growing wide. There’s a little of his usual ardor behind them now.

“You, my dear, know me far better than I know myself.”

“I know I do.”

You kiss his eyebrow and he covers both your hips with his big hands. You trail kisses down the side of his face, kiss away the last of the tears that have formed at the inner corners of his eyes.

“I felt as though he was speaking to a man who no longer exists,” Jumin says, closing his eyes; you kiss his eyelashes. “I felt the urge to tell him so. I felt angry. And then I felt…” He trails off.

“Grief?” you offer. You continue your trajectory, feathering kisses down the bridge of his nose. You kiss his cupid’s bow and he groans, low in his throat, barely audible.

“How strange,” he says. “Why should I feel grief for myself?”

“It’s normal to grieve the ways in which parts of you disappear over time,” you say. You lift a hand to his neck, undo his tie. It slips easily through your fingers; you’ve done this so many times before.

He exhales heavily, and it’s sad and relieved and needy all at once.

“And then I felt afraid,” he says. “Because I knew I would come home to you and feel the things I had been trying not to feel all day. Because that, my darling, is what you do to me.”

“Sounds like your feelings scared us both a little bit today,” you say. His tie is off; you toss it aside. It joins the stray cufflink on the floor.

“Feelings can be very frightening,” he says. He’s been still this whole time; suddenly, he springs to action as if he’s been waiting for his moment to pounce. His hands skim over your sides, grasp your shoulders, turning you firmly so you’re twisted in his lap—nose-to-nose with him.

“I would like to take a warm shower,” he says. His gaze is unwavering and you melt a little. “I would like you to join me,” he adds.

He doesn’t phrase it like a question, but you know it is. It always is, with him—his eyes ask for your acquiesce and his hands on your shoulders are tentative, waiting for your answer.

“Take me there,” you say. He lifts you easily, carries you in his arms as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. His knitted eyebrows say otherwise—he’s holding himself back, his hand clenching at your shirt as if it’s taking all his patience not to tear it off.

He sets you down gently on your feet on the cool, clear tiles of the master bathroom. He’s gone in an instant: dimming the light, turning on the shower. It’s such a huge shower—you were shocked the first time you saw the designs. It has three faucets and a marble bench for sitting, or shaving your legs, or…other activities.

“Do you want to undress me or do you want to watch?” you ask him, playfully striking a pose—knowing he loves the choice, loves to feel he has you in the palm of his hand.

He looks you up and down, pupils huge, hair delightfully disheveled—for Jumin, anyway—one stray lock hanging over his eyes.

“I want to watch,” he says, and there’s none of the coldness in his voice now, only chocolatey depth and unbidden desire.

So you undress for him, to the rainforest rushing sound of the shower’s many faucets, turning as you lift your shirt over your head, wriggling out of your pants slowly, revealing just a strip of skin at a time. You give him a cheeky glance of the lacy strap of your underwear, of your hips, of your ass, which (you know because you check in the massive mirror hanging over the door) is framed adorably by your gauzy thong.

“I am running out of patience,” he says—growls—and you feel a hot, wonderful flush creeping up the back of your neck.

“Then come get me,” you say.

So he does, crossing the large bathroom and unhooking your bra in one smooth motion. He tears it from you and throws it to the ground. He spins you to face him and his dark eyes are simmering, his grip on your shoulders tight—but still restrained, not painful. Never painful.

“Do you want to know what image I couldn’t get out of my mind on the drive to work this morning?” he whispers, and you shiver.

“I do.”

He slides your thong down your legs, planting searing kisses over your hips, your thighs, your calves, your ankles. He’s kneeling at your feet now and the sight of him there, his beautiful head bent, almost drives you mad.

“I’ll show you,” he says. Then he’s on his feet again and he’s unbuttoning his shirt—with much more patience than he claims to have—slowly, scrupulously, as if to torture you both.

“Now I’m impatient,” you say, and you go for his belt. He laughs as you struggle to unhook it and the laugh turns to a low moan as your hands graze his erection, straining against his fitted vicuña pants. You deal with the buckle and make quick work of the pants, draping them over the sink—you don’t care what Jumin says, these pants are much too expensive to throw in a heap on the bathroom floor.

Now you’re the one kneeling before him, and he does a double-take as he sees the position you’re in. Even now, after all this time, after getting married, after moving into your custom-built home, he blushes. It’s this—his unexpected innocence, his charming traditionalism—that never fails to bewitch you.

“I will if you want me to,” you say, slipping his Swiss cotton underwear over his hipbones with adoring hands. He stands absolutely still, but you feel his hips trembling.

“I want you to,” he whispers. So you take him in your mouth—just the tip at first, moving your tongue in a circle, running a hand down his length. He moans again, low, breathy. You feel his muscles stretch as he reaches up, grabs onto the top of the glass shower door.

You slide his cock further into your mouth, one hand still at the base, and he mutters something you don’t understand. You breathe in and out slowly, creating suction as you pull away and then take him deeper. It stirs something in you—the cold tiles on your bare knees, the power you feel in having him at your mercy. He exhales, low and slow, and you feel stimulated and little and somehow totally in control.

With one hand, you cup his balls, gently massaging. Your eyelids flutter shut and you feel your hips and pelvis moving along with your lips as you slide him in and out—your own body already feeling hot and tingly, craving friction.

He mutters again and you can’t quite hear him. You run your tongue along his length, and his body shudders. He tries again. “I-if you continue like this, I won’t be able to…”

You let him slip from your lips.

“Do you want to come right now?” you ask and he groans.

“Yes, but I—” You slide your tongue all the way around his tip and he stumbles over his words. “Of course, but you…I want—”

You take him all the way into your mouth again and he stops speaking, letting out a low growl, tensing as he grips the door. He’s close, and you want to make him come, want to do it like this, him a twitching, shaking mess looming above you—you at his feet with the power to break him.

You round your lips, suction harder, pull him deeper, and his hips give a telltale jerk. Ah-ha. Your own body feels floaty and loose—you can barely feel the floor under your knees now. He tries to warn you in a throaty voice and you ignore him, raking your fingernails over his ass. He comes, rocking into your mouth, and you open your eyes to take him in—he looks ravished, all restraint dissolved, all presence of patience demolished as he shuts his eyes and unabashedly shakes against you. You swallow everything, so hopelessly turned on by his unbridled pleasure.

He pulls himself out of your mouth with a groan and reaches for you, tousling your hair with a shaky hand.

“You look so beautiful right now,” you tell him, and he does—perfect hair unkempt, muscular shoulders glimmering with sweat.

“I still haven’t shown you my fantasy,” he pants, and then his arm is around your waist and he’s scooped you up again. You squeal as he slings you over his shoulder, and you feel warm water hit your back as he lifts you into the shower. He sets you down tenderly on the marble bench, and it’s slick and just the perfect temperature, already warmed by the water and steam.

“Open your legs,” he murmurs, and you do, feeling a clenching inside, your swollen clit demanding attention.

Jumin turns away from you and you whine in dissatisfaction. He laughs, low and wonderful; the water runs in rivulets over his toned back. He’s back in an instant, the detachable shower head in his hand, and you cannot help the little whimper that tears from your throat.

“I wonder what will happen if I use this to stimulate you…” he says, his deep voice trailing off seductively. Your thighs twitch in anticipation.

“I–I would also—” He runs a finger over your already-sensitive clit and you hiss. “—l-like to know that,” you manage to choke out.

He twists the knob on the shower head so the water flows gently, tapering toward the middle. He runs it over you from a distance and it’s warm and lovely; he moves it closer and closer until you yelp, feeling the water pressure at your core. It shakes you.

“Good?” he murmurs and you nod, shutting your eyes against the glaze of heat you feel building from within. “More?” You nod again and the water changes; it’s more tapered, stronger. You squirm, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth bench beneath you. He sees what you need and suddenly his warm, slick fingers meet yours, entwining with them. He moves the faucet in a dainty circle and you feel like your eyes are going to roll back in your head. “More?”

You gasp a “yes” and the pressure ramps up again and you writhe, feeling like you will explode. You feel another, new sensation and your eyes shoot open—it’s his finger, slipping over your clit and then inside you. You cry out.

“Too much?”

“N-no, I…no…please…” You’re babbling, but he knows what to do. He moves the faucet closer, the pressure on your clit intensifying and the heat you feel nearly blinding you. Then his finger moves inside you and your back arches and you’re slipping, slipping, and you feel him move closer and you throw out your other arm and brace yourself on his chest.

“How does that feel?” he whispers, and you know he’s doing this on purpose, know he’s trying to make you talk to hear the sweet sounds you’ll make, know he’s aware how the multitasking makes your head spin.

“I—I…it…ummm…Jumin!” you manage, gasping as he curls his finger inside of you, flicking the thin, hard stream from the faucet over you again and again and…

“Tell me how it makes you feel,” he commands, and you stammer, gasping for air, and he curls his finger again, hitting your g-spot as the stream of water stills, focused directly on your tender, throbbing clit.

“Ah—!” is all you manage before you fall apart, your back hitting the shower wall as you come hard and fast, the ice cold heat at your core tearing you to pieces. Through the haze, you think you cry out again, and his finger moves incessantly within you and the water makes you see bright shards of white through your closed eyelids.

You gasp, coming down slowly, trembling all over. You squint your eyes open and his face is so close to yours, his eyes full of awe and lust and adoration. He slips his finger out and diverts the faucet away from you. You catch your breath, head swimming.

“So,” you say finally, when you have enough breath to speak. “You fantasied about making me come with the shower faucet?”

“Yes, of course,” he responds, tilting his head quizzically, the water from the main faucet cascading over his shoulders as he stands up straight. “Is that so strange?”

You laugh. “It’s not,” you say. He offers you a hand and you stand too, slipping and sliding until you find purchase on the grippy strips lining the bottom of the tub.

“Now,” he says in a businesslike tone. “Would you like to wash off, get dry, and then have sex in the bed?”

Your face breaks into a grin because that’s so very Jumin and god, you love him for it.

“Yes,” you say, and you reach for the soap, pouring a fragrant stream of it onto your hand. “But can I ask you a question first?”

“Anything, my love.” He adjusts the second faucet so it’s more accessible for you.

“Earlier, when you said you couldn’t be around me…”

“Ah,” he says—and his serious expression is somewhat offset by the way the water glues his hair to the sides of his head, somehow silly and sexy at the same time. “I meant that I’m able to keep up a façade as long as I’m not around you. As soon as you’re by my side, I feel.” 

You press up against his back, letting the soap spill through your fingers. You kiss the smooth, warm skin there and he sighs contentedly.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and you almost can’t hear him over the rushing water. “Thank you for allowing me to feel.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Tiny baby first attempt at a taglist~ Please let me know if you’d like to be added! DM me and I’ll add you so you’ll be tagged in any mysme writings. ♡

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere  @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06

[thewheezingwyvern]

For Arcane April, maybe Shinso w/let’s say number 12? I’ve really been loving any Siren!Shinso stuff I can find. Thank you for your writing! It’s a pleasure to read 💕

This took longer than I thought but then again this ended up longer than I thought. I wanted to try and take like an urban fantasy spin on this but go a bit...grittier? idk. This was just where my brain took me so I hope you like it! <3

Gossamer Web

Siren!Shinsou x Thief!Reader (a bit of sexual tension)

Warnings: Brainwashing, Dubcon (kissing) and blackmail

It was just another party, a gathering for some fundraiser or another that he honestly couldn’t even remember anymore. When you held a position like Hitoshi, seated among the rich and influential, a certain degree of public relations was necessary. And doing events for charity in the eyes of the public was just another part of maintaining his image.  While Shinsou couldn’t remember what party he was even throwing anymore, his assistant would inform him later, he did like to think he knew the face of every important figure in the city. And plenty abroad too.

So his surprise was quite palpable when he saw you.

His lifestyle constantly had him around pretty people, coiffed and waxed to perfection, top of the line brands to smooth over any flaws that could possibly be present. Pretty faces to hide pretty fangs and pretty paint to coat their pretty claws before sinking them into someone. However, yours was a very different sort of attractive. Naturally at an event like this your makeup was applied and done so artfully, but it was in such a way that it enhanced what you had rather than attempted to bury whatever perceived flaw could be seen.

Most women attended these events hoping to look like the most beautiful one in the room, while the men sought to look the most powerful. But you moved and spoke and looked with a different purpose. You were searching for something. Indigo eyes slipped down to eye the gossamer threads of your dress, a stunning thing of spun shadow that fit your body like a glove. But it was only more exquisite whenever you moved, showcasing the elaborate enchantment that was woven into the very threads. Stars would wink and burst from your body, along with tufts of purple black clouds. But strung on a simple silver chain was the bespelled glow of a crescent moon. 

HItoshi found himself breaking away from whatever boring conversation he was caught in to approach you, eyes glinting with interest. You were even more stunning up close, showing that you held a natural glow all on your own. With every step closer, the wink of starlight woven into your hair like constellations would catch his eye, beckoning him further to you. Whatever witch had magicked your clothes and hair was very talented and knew what they were doing.

“You look a bit lost.” he said to you after drawing very close to your back, close enough that it pulled a startled squeak past your lips, “Can I help you find something?”

Hitoshi deliberately laid the smooth demeanor on thick, a crooked smirk quirking on his lips. If he wasn’t so good at reading expressions, he might have missed the string of emotions that flitted across your face and in your eyes but he caught them. First surprise followed closely by recognition which melted to a look of worry or fear. And then it was gone beneath the smouldering curve of a coy smile.

“Hmmm and what if I just found it?”

A line he’d heard before but there was something lacking behind the delivery. Shinsou couldn’t quite put his finger on it but there wasn’t enough spice between the lines that gave the tell tale sign of someone looking for a quick fuck. Curious. A charming smirk wormed its way onto his lips, hiding the way his mouth had already began watering at the prospect of finding out more of what you were looking for. Anyone who came here with a purpose usually intended to use something against him. 

“Well I guess that depends,” Hitoshi purred lowly to you, “what was it you were planning to do after you found me?”

This would have been the perfect opportunity for you to make another pass at him. To hint at how you wanted to be pressed against him in the throes of passion or whatever other way that it could be worded. But you completely skipped over that chance. One of your hands drifted up to toy with the luminous crescent moon that hung around your neck, deep and thoughtful eyes assessing him carefully.

“I guess I just wanted to see the man behind the name in person.”

A predatory glint sparked in his eyes, indigos boring into you as he drew impossibly close. Even through the well made fabric of his Armani suit, Hitoshi could feel the warmth of your body. He tilted his dark lavender head, drinking in the sight of you and how you seemed to fidget with him drawing nearer. The CEO decided he was going to make use of a power that he had at his disposal that very few people knew about. 

He tipped your head up to look into his face before purring out, “Tell me your name.”

The magic woven into his very vocal cords twisted around you, bewitching you, until a glaze had fallen over your eyes, pupils swelling beneath the grip of his enthrallment. It was almost unfair how easily he could twist people to his whim with the power of his voice, have them spill their deepest secrets and desires to him. So to hear your mouth and tongue curl delightfully around your real name, it sent a surge of satisfaction.

“A beautiful name, Kitten.” a thumb traced along the curve of your jaw, “What were you really looking for tonight?”

“You keep the Wayfarer’s Orb here, third floor behind a wall of several enchantments and and a summon from the Infernal district,” you recited to him almost dreamily, “I’m going to steal it.”

Hitoshi tilted his head, dark smirk on his lips, “And what else? I know you didn’t risk pissing me off just for that.” he pressed a taunting kiss to your temple before leaning back, “Tell me the story while you walk with me, I want to hear all about it.”

He pulled your body close to his, your side pressed up against his as he led you away with an arm wrapped around your waist possessively. To anyone else, it would just appear as if he had found a new play thing that he was taking off to have some fun with. And in a way that was true. Indigo eyes swept over your delightful body and he couldn’t help but think how satisfying and how it would be to see you a broken little mess under him. A wet tongue snaked out to lick at his lips, arousal spiking in him. You’d look so pretty arching your back, column of your tender throat bared for him to bite as he speared inside of you.

“The orb was just a bonus and a way to cover my true intentions. I’ve already begun uploading valuable intel from your security databases and placed trackers so I can find more information about you and sell it.”

“What a clever little thing…” Hitoshi hummed down at you, fingertip tracing small circles on your hip, “And I’ve no shortage of enemies so you could charge whatever you wanted and they would pay it.” He led you deeper into his mansion, guiding the way up to the wing where he kept the stone you had planned to take, “You looked scared when you saw me...did you know that I’m a Siren?”

“Suspected but wasn’t sure.” 

The dry drone of your voice was so satisfying. It was a song in and of itself, tongue curling around your forced submission to him anything he wanted you to. Hitoshi only stopped guiding you when the both of you reached the room which held the Wayfarer Orb on a pedestal. It was a smooth, polished stone of milky white with flashes of crimson red flecked throughout its surface.  He had acquired it at least a year ago, an ancient stone said to help bring protection to the owner. It seemed necessary given how rapidly he had grown his empire.

“Look at me Kitten.” he yanked you to him, the sweet swell of your breasts pressed against his front, “Would you like it if I kissed you?”

He would be lying if he said that he asked this question with completely innocent intent. The thought of claiming your mouth was tempting but he wanted to know if you had at all been tempted by him in the brief time he spoke with you. Or while you did your research. Hitoshi swept a thumb along your lower lip, parting your mouth for him as you stared blankly at him.

“Yes.”

Shinsou dipped his head and brushed his mouth faintly against yours, murmuring, “When did you start feeling attracted to me?”

“We’ve met before. Enji’s holiday gala. We danced together.”

Now that was interesting. He pulled back, brows shooting up as he looked down at you. Despite how closely he studied your face, the sweep of your cheek bones, the hue of your eyes, he couldn’t remember you at all. Indigo eyes lidded lazily, a stray fingertip dragging along the arch of a brow.

“Why don’t I remember you then?”

“I spiked your drink with a memory potion.”

Shock zinged through him then. It had been proper years since the last time anyone had gotten the jump on him and yet there you were, speaking only honesty for his ears as his voice compels you. Had this encounter never happened, he never would have known. If you could pull a stunt like that then the skills you have were unspeakably valuable and he had every plan to use them. Shinsou chuckled softly before dropping the enthrallment of his voice around you. 

The world came spinning back then, awareness creeping into the edges of your thought as you tried to grasp just where you were. By the time your pupils had refocused, he was crushing his mouth down onto yours. A muffled squeal was his answer along with you pushing at his chest. But the sensuous way his mouth moved against yours had you melting in his arms, soft moans humming in your throat as he kissed you.

When he finally broke the kiss, both of you were panting while you glared daggers up at him.

“What the fuck?!” you ripped yourself free of his grasp, staggering backwards with a hand clutched to your mouth, “What’re you doing?!”

The look of frustration blended heavenly with your flustered expression. Mirth spilled over in his open mouthed smirk. Casually he slipped his hands into his coat pockets, cocking a brow and half lidding his eyes at you. Tilting his head to the side, a soft laugh rumbled in his chest, drinking in your more outraged expression.

“Nothing you don’t want me to do, Kitten.”

“And how do you work that out?”

“You told me yourself.” Hitoshi gestured out towards the vault, hand showing you the glint of the Orb you came to steal, “Along with your goals. Your suspicions proved right.”

“Shit…”

“Now here’s how things are going to go,” he slowly advanced on you, “you’re going to put those skills of yours to work for me.”

You glared at him, “And if I refuse?”

“Well, I use my abilities and have you out yourself to every powerful figure here tonight.” that smirk widened, “You’re that one thief that’s been targeting all the high rollers, aren’t you? I imagine that they would all love to meet you.”

Fear flooded your eyes then, “You...you wou-”

“Wouldn’t I? If you’ve done your homework about me then you know how much of a dangerous man I can be.”

You had done your homework and that was truer than you would like to admit. Hitoshi’s public image was great but if you dug a little deeper, strange disappearances that surrounded him. Brainwashing you and having you out your secret to some of the most influential people of the city who would love to see you punished for your work. It would be the end of you and he knew you would have no choice but to work for him. 

And that was how you, The Firefly, thief of rich assholes extraordinaire, came to work for Shinsou Hitoshi. Through blackmail and the threat of one of the most powerful men in the city ruining you.

[waitimcomingtoo]

So Quiet Here

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter Parker has fallen out of love

A/n: this is like a mix of Already Gone, Missing You, Stone Cold, and So Cold and those are all great songs you should listen too

Masterlist

He didn’t know when it happened, but it did.

You didn’t excite Peter the way you used too. He stopped looking for more ways to see you and started making excuses to get out of seeing you. He was a college graduate now and wanted to see more of the world than just Queens. And even though he didn’t want to admit it, he wanted to see other people. He started dating you senior year of high school. After five years, the magic was gone. What he uses to find endearing about you, he now found irritating. He sat outside your apartment for ten minutes, dragging out the time until he had to see you. He hadn’t seen you in nearly two months after an emergency mission with the Avengers. You’d think he’d be jumping at the chance to see you again. Instead, he was dreading having to go into your apartment and play the part of a happy boyfriend. But he knew he had to, so he did.

~

“You changed your lock screen.” You commented when Peters phone lit up with a text. Where a photo of you and Peter used to be was now a picture you’d never seen before of Peter, Ned, and Flash with their arms around each other.

“Oh, yeah.” Peter looked at the screen as if for the first time. “It’s just me and the boys from last month.”

“Where was this?” You asked upon hearing the time frame.

“Some club a few minutes from here.” Peter shrugged as he began to text someone.

“From here?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah.” Peter said, growing annoyed with you.

“You were here?” You finally asked and Peter froze. He had told you he was on a mission last month with the rest of the Avengers. It was partly true. He had been in a mission, for the first week at least. The mission ended earlier than he thought so he stayed at the Avengers tower for the remainder of the time.

“I-“ Peter tried to think of a way out of his lie.

“And you didn’t tell me?” You asked, the hurt evident in your tone.

“It must’ve slipped my mind.” Peter said lamely. He looked at you to gage your reaction, and you were already looking at him. You had a funny look on your face that Peter had never seen before, and it sent a chill down his spine.

“I’m not really sure how that fact that you have a girlfriend can slip your mind.” You said quietly. You weren’t reproachful, just speaking honestly.

“I forget things easily. I got a lot on my mind.” Peter defended himself.

“But not me.” You shrugged sadly with a half amused laugh. “I’m not on your mind.”

Peter stopped texting but continued to stare at his phone. An awkward silence filled the room and Peter found himself feeling uncomfortable.

“Do you love me?” You asked after a beat of silence.

“What?” Peter laughed nervously.

“Do you love me?” You repeated as you toyed with the strings of your hoodie.

“Yes.” Peter said with brief hesitation.

“Are you in love with me?” You looked up at him. Your expression told him you were not to be played with.

“Y/n-“ He began to formulate an excuse.

“Just tell me.” You sighed in defeat.

“I don’t know.” Peter said honestly.

“If you don’t know, then I would say you aren’t.” You pointed out.

“I’m sorry.” Peter offered weakly.

“That apology would’ve been a lot more effective two months ago when you first fell out of love with me.” You said passively as you looked away.

“That’s not true.” Peter was annoyed again.

“Peter. Don’t lie to me. Not now.” You looked at him with a stone cold expression that made him shrink into his seat.

“How did you even know that?” He asked curiously.

“How could I not?” You asked him right back. “You stopped coming home, stopped holding me at night, stopped kissing me. I’m not dumb, Peter. I was dumb enough to let it go on as long as I did, but not dumb enough to not realize what was happening.”

“Even I didn’t know what was happening.” He bartered.

“You fell out of love.” You told him simply. “It happens, even when you think it can’t. Even when you think it could never. It still happens.”

“I guess we’re proof of that, huh?” He looked down at his fingers, feeling ashamed all of the sudden.

“You used to lie so close to me.” You whispered as you stared off into the distance with tear filled eyes. “And one day you just…stopped.”

“I loved you so much.” Peter promised you, the guilt flooding his body out of nowhere.

“And now?” You wondered.

“I still love you.” He confirmed.

“Just not the way I love you.” You said it as a statement, not a question.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry, angel.” Peter began to get emotional. He wanted to relationship to end for a while, but now that it was, it was hurting him.

“You can’t call me that anymore, Peter.” You set something ground rules. “And I don’t want your apologies. We can’t help what we don’t feel.”

“I wish I still felt it.” He told you.

“I wish I cared.” You replied without looking his way.

“Don’t be cold.” He said when he heard your response.

“You’re asking me not to be cold when you’ve been freezing?” You let out a short laugh that turned into a deep frown.

“I didn’t do this on purpose, okay? I never see you. It’s hard to be in love with someone you never see.” Peter put his defense back up.

“It can’t be that hard because I’m still plenty in love with you.” You shot back. Peter knew you were right and swallowed thickly.

“What do you want me to say? Tell me, and I’ll say it.” He pleaded.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you what to say! You should know!” You raised your voice at him.

“Well I don’t! I wish I had answers for you but I don’t. I don’t love you. I just don’t.” He said as a tear rolled down his cheek. “I used to feel a fire inside me when I looked at you and it’s burned out. I keep trying to remember everything I love about you and ignite it but I can’t. It won’t light up. It’s just logs now.“

“So that’s why you’ve been so cold to me? Your fire is out?” You sassed him and he calmed down.

“Our fire.” He corrected.

“I see.” You nodded curtly.

“Can we still be friends?” Peter asked after a moment.

“Not for a while.” You said honestly. “Maybe not ever.”

“Why?” Peter furrowed his brows. He didn’t want to be your boyfriend, but he still wanted to be in your life.

“Peter, as much as I know this isn’t your fault,” you sighed, “I will always hate you for it.”

“Hate me?” He sat up a little out of fear. He never wanted you to hate him.

“If the roles were reversed, you’d hate me too. Trust me.” You said in such a sad way that Peters heart broke all over again.

“I guess I’ll take your word for it, then.” Peter said, but knowing what else to say.

“Was it me? Is this my fault?” You asked abruptly.

“No, darling- ah, Y/n.” He sighed as he corrected himself. “It’s not your fault. You were perfect. You couldn’t have loved me better.”

“Then is there someone else?” You looked for a reason, any reason you could get.

“There were times when I wished for someone else, but I never cheated. I’d never do that.” Peter told you.

“You’d just break my heart.” You reminded him.

“Y/n.” He said sternly when you stopped being civil.

“Peter.” You said in the same tone to mock him. “I’m allowed to be dramatic, cause I’m not the one hurting you, am I?” You said sarcastically and wiped your nose. “You’re acting like you’re just telling me now that you’re leaving. You’re not. You left a long time ago. This is just the first time you’re admitting it to yourself.”

“That’s not true.” He tried to defend.

“Sure it is.” You snapped.

“Y/n-“ He tried again.

“I think you should go.” You cut him off, already having made up your mind.

“I don’t want to leave you like this.” He suddenly wanted to stay.

“Yeah, and I wanted to marry you.” You looked him dead in the eyes and let it sink in. “We don’t always get what we want.”

Peter got up and went to the door before you could see his tears falling. He looked at you one last time before he left.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out.

“Just shut up.” You whispered and he walked out your door.

~

A year later, you caught Peters eye at a party at Flash’s house. Your hair was shorter, a little lighter. You were practically glowing as you talked to some girls Peter didn’t recognize. It was a sharp contrast from the night he last saw you, broken and glazed over with tears. The girl he was looking at now wasn’t broken. She looked even better than she did when he was dating her. The sight of you made Peters heart pound a little harder than normal. He felt a certain sadness at how fine you seemed. Peter walked up to you without thinking it through and you noticed him. You waved goodbye to the other girls and took a sip of your drink, swallowing before giving him a small smile.

“Hey.” Peter said brightly.

“Hi.” You took another sip.

“You look amazing.” Peter looked at your outfit, a dress he’d never seen before that for you nicely.

“Thanks.” You nodded and looked to the side. Peter pursed his lips as he realized he’d have to carry the conversation.

“I didn’t know you and Flash were still friends.” He tried to make small talk. The thought of making small talk with the girl he used to wake up next to blew his mind, but he did it anyway.

“Yeah, we kept in touch. He’s in New York a lot so…” You shrugged and took another sip of your drink.

“Right.” Peter said awkwardly. “Um, how you been?”

“Really good, actually.” You finally smiled. “And you?”

“Hanging in there.” He answered honestly. The year without you hadn’t been easy. He never knew how integrated you were in his life until you stopped being a part of it. There were times he’d look over at you to see if you were feeling what he was, and you just weren’t there.

“Cool, cool.” You nodded.

“Your hair is different.” Peter looked for anything he could talk about to lengthen the conversation.

“I cut it.” You told him as you brushed a strand behind your ear.

“It looks nice.” He complimented. “Really nice.”

“Thanks.” You went back to one word answers.

“So uh-“ Peter tacked his brain for something to say.

“There you are.” A sandy haired boy came up behind you and put his arm around your waist. Peter clocked the action, also clocking your change in body language as you smiled at the boy and leaned into his touch.

“Hi, Eds.” You rested your arm on his back as he beamed at you.

“Hi, beautiful.” He said to you before looking at Peter. “Who’s this?”

“This is Peter.” You told the boy and his face fell as he reassessed Peter. Peter stood their awkwardly as the boy looked at him.

“Peter?” The boy asked, as if to confirm.

“Mm hm.” You said through tight lips.

“Nice to meet you.” Peter held out his hand and was met with a firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Eddie, Y/n’s boyfriend.” Eddie grinned and Peter felt his heart stop.

“Oh?” He squeaked.

“Yeah. She didn’t tell you?” Eddie tilted his head.

“Peter and I don’t talk anymore.” You told Eddie. Every word of the interaction was a blow to Peter.

“Yeah, I’m really busy with work.” Peter tried to make up an excuse for why you didn’t talk.

“That, and I don’t message you.” You laughed shortly, and Eddie laughed back. Peter let out an awkward chuckle.

“Haha, yeah.” He agreed, suddenly feeling like he wanted to cry.

“Well Harry said something about boofing and I’m a little too scared to google what it means, so I’m gonna stop him before I find out.” Eddie said before kissing your cheek, to which Peter quickly looked away from. “Nice talking to you, Peter.”

“You too.” Peter nodded.

“See you soon, babe.” You said as Eddie walked away. As soon as he left, the awkward silence returned.

“Can we talk?” Peter asked as he scratched his ear.

“We are talking.” You said and Peter was beginning to see how much you wished you weren’t.

“Somewhere private, I mean.” He requested. You blew out a breath and reluctantly nodded.

“Fine.” You agreed with a tight smile and followed him into the hallway.

“I see you found your other half.” Peter tried to make a joke but it came out as more of a sad realization.

“Eddie isn’t my other half. I don’t need anyone to complete me. I was born whole.” You told Peter and he smiled a little. Maybe he didn’t get to love you, but at least you were loving you.

“You used to tell me I completed you.” He remembered with a sad smile.

“I thought you did, but you didn’t. You just added to me. I was always complete, I just didn’t know it.” You said proudly, something Peter admired.

“That’s…amazing.” Peter told you honestly. “You complete me, though. I wasn’t born whole. I was meant to be with someone.”

“You mean completed. I completed you.” You corrected him when he didn’t use past tense.

“You know, it’s funny.” Peter shook his head to disagree with you. “I broke up with you because I thought I wanted to see other people. I thought I could find someone else that ignited that fire inside me. But in reality, I have not been with a single girl since the day I left you because no one in this world compares to you. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and it’s made me realize something.”

“Realize what?” You leaned against the wall and gazed at him.

“You weren’t the fire inside me. You were the whole campground.” He professed. You smiled a little before looking down at your shoes.

“It’s a little late to realize that.” You told him. You appreciated his words, but you needed to hear them a long time ago.

“I know. But better late than never, right?” He tried to laugh.

“I don’t know.” You sighed.

“Y/n, I only came to this party because I knew you’d be here. I needed to see you. This whole year has been one miserable day after the other. I can’t miss you anymore. I don’t want too.” Peter stepped closer to you and your breath hitched.

“You should’ve thought of that before.” You stayed strong, no matter how much you missed him back.

“You’re absolutely right. I was stupid and I didn’t realize how good I had it, but now I do. I love you, Y/n. You and I not being together does not make sense to me.” He put a finger under your chin and made you look at him. “I promise, I can do better than before. I can be better. I’ll put you first. I’ll make you my wife, even.” He said desperately. “Anything you want. Just please, take me back. I will be the boyfriend you deserve if you just give me a second chance.”

“What am I supposed to tell Eddie? ‘Sorry, I know you’ve been nothing but good to me for the past 6 months, but my ex who broke my heart said he wanted me back. Oh, don’t worry. He’s not gonna break my heart again. How do I know? Because he said so.’ Is that good, Peter? Does that sound reasonable?” You asked, moving your face out if his touch.

“How into this guy could you possibly be?” Peter said, dripping with jealousy.

“Into him enough to walk away from this conversation.” You pushed past Peter and walked back towards the party.

“Y/n. Wait.” He called after you.

“What Peter?” You said in exhaustion.

“That’s it? We’re over for good?” He feared.

“Are you surprised? You’re the one who ended it.” You reminded him.

“But I made a mistake.” He pleaded.

“Yeah, you did.” You agreed. “Now learn from it and do better for the next girl.”

“I don’t want a “next” girl. I just want you.” He cried.

“You had me. And then you lost me. If you regret that, that’s on you.” You shot back.

“I didn’t know how much I needed you.” Peter said.

“Did you expect me to wait around until you figured it out?” You laughed sharply.

“No, I just always thought you’d be there.” Peter frowned.

“And that’s exactly how you lost me.” You told him.

“Please don’t walk away.” He called again.

“I have to find my boyfriend.” You disappeared behind a wall.

“I-“ Peter tried to say something more, but you were already gone. He turned around and began to walk down the hall, rushing to get to a bathroom before anyone saw him cry.

“Hey, Parker.” Your voice came from behind him and he turned around in a flash.

“You really want me back?” You asked him and a fire started in his heart.

“With all my heart.” He said confidently.

“Then you gotta fight for me.” You sized him up and he smiled a little. You smirked and walked away again.

“There’s something you should know.” He called after you before you were fully out of view.

“What’s that?” You cocked your hip.

“I fight a lot of bad guys.” Peter quipped.

“Uh huh.” You waited for him to get to the point. “And?”

“I always win.” He winked.

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona​ @foreverxholland​ @writing-for-hours-on-end​ @lavender-writer​ @captainmandeestudent17​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @theolwebshooter​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @guksmyfav​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​ @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @justcallmehitgirl​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @jackiehollanderr​ @tiny-friggin-human​ @celestial-skylines​ @loveat2am​ @mara-twins​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @delicately-important-trash​ @spideygirl2003​ @the-crazy-fanfictionist​ @maryjanee23​ @spacebitch2​ @queenhollander​ @geeksareunique​ @emmamarshmellow​ @jillanaholland​ @unbelievableholland​ @rebekkah4766​ @flixndchill​ @sovereignparker​ @wendaiii​ @thisisthebiplace​ @spideydobrik​ @every-marveler-ever​

[hurricanery]

handmade - pt. 2

A/N: I’ve been getting messages about this one and wanted to write a (fluffier than the previous part) sequel. And I think I might have actually managed some fluff without accidentally making it too dark and twisty?? But anyway, this is based on this prompt requesting Maggmelia be thrown in a bit. And it’s also partly inspired by this post by @amelia-ladychief-shepherd.

You can read part 1 here.

_______

legions upon legions of craftsmen

handmade my feelings

_______

It takes about a week for Scout’s true sleeping pattern to reveal itself. Amelia thinks back to the first night home, probably the last night she actually got a full night of sleep, and her whole being aches for the way Scout had slept soundly. Uninterrupted. He’d barely stirred. Amelia thinks back to that first night, and can’t hold back the delirious laughter that escapes her mouth. Her eyes glaze over as she rests her head back against the headboard of their bed. And she listens to the slight creak of the floorboards from the hallway, where Link currently walks back and forth, rocking their newborn gently in his arms.

Link crosses the threshold back into the bedroom, and Amelia raises her eyebrows at him in question.

Was this it?

Had he finally fallen back to sleep?

The relieved look on Link’s face is all the answer she needs. And there’s momentary bliss.

Until Link’s expression dwindles, his eyes widen in panic as he trips over a sneaker on the floor. He staggers forward slightly, but catches himself, straightening up right away. Amelia gasps, and holds eye contact with Link, until Link’s gaze shifts downwards to Scout in his arms. To survey the potential harsh awakening. The aftermath of the almost disruption.

But relief floods his face once again. And Amelia exhales, keeping her eyes on Link as he crosses the room towards the bassinet and carefully puts Scout back down.

He collapses onto his side of the bed a moment later, and turns over to face Amelia. He has to strain his neck to look up at her, as she’s still sitting upright.

“Why didn’t you sleep during my shift?”

My shift.

Amelia chuckles under her breath. They’ve really been taking shifts each time Scout wakes up. It’s their new routine. Because Scout requires constant movement in order to fall asleep. Continuous bouncing. And rocking. And especially walking.

“I couldn’t,” she mumbles. “Too much movement going on in the hall.”

Link pouts apologetically at this information.

“I don’t know what happened to me,” she continues in a whispered tone, shifting down to get fully under the covers again. “I used to be such a heavy sleeper. But now? Even the slightest creak of the floorboards and I’m on high alert.”

“Hm,” Link grumbles. And Amelia watches how quickly his eyes slip shut. She listens to how quickly sleep takes over his voice, too. “We should….sleep now….before….”

She thinks she witnesses the exact moment he falls asleep. And she tries not to feel jealous of his ability to slip into unconsciousness so easily.

She snuggles closer to him. Because she needs to. And she tries to brush off the idea that along with the slight change in Scout’s sleeping habits, her own hormones were changing, too. Her previous impatience, and even resentment towards Link, had slowly been shifting throughout the week. And suddenly, all she was craving was human touch. The same way Scout craved constant movement.

And Link puts up with it all, even in sleep. He subconsciously adjusts himself as he senses Amelia’s closeness, allowing her to nuzzle into his chest. And Amelia smiles to herself, finally willing sleep to take her.

It takes all of five minutes for it to start. For the tiny whimpers to fill the room. The soft whines from Scout that will undoubtedly turn into full blown wailing if someone doesn’t get to him fast enough.

Amelia’s eyes shoot open, and she regrettably pulls herself from Link’s warmth. Link barely stirs. And Amelia gets up to cross the room. “My turn,” she mutters.

_______

The following day, Amelia practically jolts awake. It almost feels like all she’s managed is a blink, and suddenly it’s morning again. It’s disorienting, and at the same time it’s frustrating. The complete lack of sleep.

What’s more confusing to her though, besides the rapid shift from night to day, is the fact that she’s woken up in an empty room. She quickly sits up in bed, eyes shifting around the room as she takes in the vacant spot next to her. When she swings her feet over the bed and stands up, she observes that Scout’s bassinet is equally empty.

She frowns to herself as she pulls a sweatshirt on, and slides her bare feet into her slippers. Scout’s basically been her alarm clock all week. She hasn’t woken up on her own accord in days. Scout’s cries in the early morning have completely grown to serve that purpose. Amelia realizes that that’s what’s most disorienting about this particular morning. The fact that she’s woken up naturally.

When she exits the bedroom and enters out into the hallway, her confusion grows. She hears voices from the first floor and she follows the sound. She stifles a huge yawn as she reaches the bottom of the stairs and rounds the corner into the living room.

“Well, good morning,” Link enters the living room from the opposite entrance, the one attached to the kitchen, at the same time that she enters from the hallway. He sets a steaming mug down onto the coffee table and looks at Amelia expectantly.

“Where’s Scout?!” She questions, an alarmed edge to her voice.

And then she hears Maggie’s laugh from the kitchen, along with another voice, and comprehension begins to dawn on her.

Amelia continues towards the kitchen, and when she reaches the doorway, she pauses, a huge smile taking over her expression. Winston stands at the stove, doing his best to flip the pancakes in the skillet. Maggie stands slightly off to the side, rocking Scout back and forth in her arms. She’s laughing at the same time as she’s chastising Winston for his lack of skill in the pancake-flipping department.

She leans against the doorframe and watches the interaction in amusement, until Maggie finally notices her presence.

“Oh, hey!” Maggie exclaims in a hushed tone, conscious of the newborn in her arms. She steps towards Amelia, and Amelia crosses the threshold to meet her.

“I didn’t know you were up,” she continues, as Amelia walks forward and smiles down at Scout’s wide-eyed and curious expression. Maggie begins shifting Scout a bit in her arms. “Here, you probably….did you want to take him?”

Amelia’s overcome with another huge yawn and Maggie quirks and eyebrow at her, subconsciously pulling Scout closer into her own chest.

“You were supposed to sleep in this morning, Amelia,” she turns around to glance at the clock on the stove. “Link practically had to sneak down here to make sure of that.”

“It’s okay,” Amelia shakes her head. “I can take him.”

She steps forward at the same time that Maggie steps back.

“Wait,” Maggie chuckles. “We’re making breakfast. Let me hold onto him while you at least eat. And maybe have some coffee?”

Amelia squints, thinking about it, but eventually nods gratefully at the offer. Link enters the kitchen then, placing his hands gently on Amelia’s shoulders.

“I’ll make you a plate,” he squeezes her shoulders, just before he moves past her.

Amelia’s hands drop to her sides, and she’s dumbfounded for a moment. Taken aback by this level of support. She bites her lip, empty handed. And her eyes shift around the kitchen. Winston stacks pancakes onto each of the plates in Link’s hands. And Maggie bounces gently back and forth next to her, rubbing a finger against Scout’s pudgy cheek.

She smiles as she takes it in. The entirety of the moment. And she decides to go ahead and make herself some coffee.

_______

“How are your pancakes?” Link turns to her, to where she’s resting against the opposite end of the couch. He reaches forward to set his empty plate onto the coffee table. When he settles back against the couch cushions, his hands come to rest against her shins, giving them a squeeze. He starts to massage his way down to her feet as they rest in his lap.

“Good,” she mutters around a mouthful, and Link smiles at her, before focusing solely on his massage technique.

Amelia groans, shifting her back further down the couch and setting her own plate down onto the table next to them.

“You should finish your food,” Link remarks, continuing with the foot rub.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to fall asleep,” she mutters in response, dismissing his comment about the food. She completely relaxes into the cushions and into the massage.

“Well then, I’m not stopping.”

She stares up at him, a blank expression on her face.

“You were supposed to sleep in, anyway.”

Amelia shifts her eyes to the kitchen, and she watches for a moment, the way that Maggie and Winston move around the room. Scout is still wide awake. She can tell by the way Maggie bounces around with him, talking to him in a gentle voice. Winston finishes drying the dishes, and he turns to Maggie, gazing at her. While Amelia gazes at them. And then it almost becomes too much for Amelia. The adoring look that passes over Winston’s face, and the way that Maggie is completely oblivious to it.

“Amelia,” Link mutters her name and she quickly snaps out of her stare. She can feel the sudden glassiness in her eyes as she looks back to Link. “Amelia….are you….crying?”

“No,” she mutters defensively. “I don’t know.”

Link stifles a laugh. And Amelia has to refrain from lifting her heel from his lap and kicking it back down harshly against his thigh. She suppresses the urge though, and tries to make sense of her feelings.

“I think you definitely need some uninterrupted sleep,” Link chuckles under his breath.

Amelia rolls her eyes. But nods in agreement. Link halts his hands, letting them come to a rest at her ankles, and Amelia stares tiredly at him. Before she decides. Before she gives in.

Then she’s moving. She’s shifting her body around so that her head rests in his lap instead. She curls up on her side, which allows for her line of sight to still be to the kitchen. Amelia breathes an exhale through her nose as a smile creeps onto her face. She observes as Maggie instructs Winston to sit on one of the kitchen chairs, and Winston opens his arms hesitantly. Maggie transfers Scout over into his arms gracefully, and then she stands up straight. She places a hand on his shoulder, as if she’s trying to get him to relax into the position a bit.

“They’re cute together,” Link mumbles. Amelia can feel his fingers start to run through her hair and she sighs.

“Mhm.”

She lets her eyes rest momentarily. And she focuses on the pattern of Link’s fingers as he gently untangles some of the knots in her hair.

She’s so relaxed, she can’t tell how much time has passed when she feels Link’s phone buzz in his pocket. The proximity of the sudden vibration to her eardrum almost threatens her blissful moment. Almost.

She manages to keep her eyes closed despite Link’s movement. He shifts slightly to reach into his pocket for his phone, and Amelia grasps desperately to hold onto her restful state.

But then the feeling of his fingers in her hair stops. And that’s her first inclination.

She blinks her eyes open and stares ahead. Because she knows what’s coming. They’ve been talking around it all week. Avoiding it.

Link sighs.

And she knows.

“You still have to go, don’t you?”

It probably wasn’t worth it. All of the talking around it. And avoiding. Because it’s no longer avoidable. The fact that Link is scheduled to go out of town for the weekend. The surgery he’s supposed to travel to San Diego for, it’s been planned for weeks. And Scout was born a little bit early. Which wasn’t a part of the plan. But they’ve been avoiding the discussion. The reality of the situation. Because every time she thinks about it, she panics. And she gets all spinny-outy, at the thought of being on her own with Scout for the first time.

But avoidance is never a good coping mechanism for Amelia. So, they’ve been trying new tactics. New ways to deal with the hard stuff. Most of the time, it’s letting Amelia talk everything out until she accepts what she’s feeling. And most of the time, it also ends in a ‘gravity blanket’ situation, or some other form of physical closeness.

In this particular instance though, they’ve not gotten so far. They’ve yet to reach the healthy discussion part.

“I, uh….it looks like I managed to make it a one-night thing, instead of the whole weekend,” Link finally answers her.

It takes a minute for Amelia to process this.

She can feel him start to play with her hair again, this time just flimsily toying with her ends. She shifts, her hair falling from his grasp, and she rolls over so that she’s laying on her back. She looks up at him.

“You’re better at getting him to sleep than I am.”

“That’s not true, Amelia.” His face falls completely at the tone of her voice.

“It is. You’re….you’re very good at encouraging sleep.” She smiles a bit at this. “I swear, you have a very comforting presence. Puts people right to sleep....” She tries to sound sarcastic at her own words, but she’s not even fooling herself.

“It’s just one night,” he whispers. And she nods. And then they’re both interrupted by the sound of their son’s cries.

Amelia immediately sits up, springing into action.

“That’s his hungry cry,” she mutters, using a hand on Link’s knee to push herself up from the couch.

She meets Maggie halfway to the kitchen and Maggie passes off the crying newborn.

She then turns towards the stairs, glancing briefly in Link’s direction. “I’m going to go feed him upstairs. He’ll probably go right down after.”

_______

By the time the weekend comes, they both start to get less stressed about the trip. Partly because when necessary, they talk openly about their anxieties. But in all honesty, it’s mostly because of their gravity blanket routine.

Every night, after they get Scout to sleep, like clockwork. They settle themselves on the floor. And to much of Amelia’s delight, since her pregnancy is no longer an obstacle, she’s now able to be on the receiving end of this scenario.

The night before Link leaves, it’s a quieter routine. It’s safe, but it’s hushed. Conversation is slight. Which is fine. There’s not much left to talk about, since it’s already been talked all the way through.

“We should….”

“Sleep now while we can?” She finishes his sentence.

“Mhm,” he hums.

“5 more minutes?”

“Okay,” he agrees.

And then 5 minutes turns into 10. Eventually they go to bed, and eventually it’s morning again. By the time Link leaves the house, Amelia feels prepared, for the most part.

_______

Multitasking is one of her strong suits. It has to be. For her career and life in general. Multitasking is something she’s always strived at. She’s a fast thinker. And she often feels dragged down by those who need a minute to catch up.

So it makes no sense to her. That the level of multitasking thrown at her by motherhood, feels any different. Feels any less possible.

She’s climbing the stairs. And shifting Scout’s weight onto one side of her body. And cursing under her breath at the distinct ringtone of a FaceTime call that chimes from her back pocket.

She reaches for her phone at the same time that she crosses the doorway into the bedroom. And she sounds breathless as she greets the incoming video call.

“Hey!” Link’s cheerful disposition immediately softens when he sees Amelia’s impatient one. “Bad timing?”

“No, no, I, uh,” she props her phone up against the stack of books on her bedside table and sits on the edge of the bed, adjusting Scout in her arms so that she can gently rub his back. “He just usually sleeps right away when he’s fed. Like, sometimes even during, so-”

“He’s wide awake?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, and then tries to make her next words sound more lively. “How’s San Diego? How’d the surgery go?”

“Good, good. I’m hopping on my flight in like….2 hours, so. I’ll see you guys first thing in the morning.”

“I’m sorry,” Amelia mutters. “Red-eyes are the worst. I hope you at least sleep on the plane-”

Scout starts whimpering in her arms.

And Link assures her.

“Oh, I’ll be fine, I can sleep anywhere.”

Amelia starts to stand up, stepping slightly out of frame for the FaceTime call. Scout’s cries start to get louder, and Amelia starts to pace.

It’s like she instantly forgets about the call, as she makes her way towards the hallway. Exposing the fact that multitasking doesn’t transfer over to all areas of her life.

And Link chuckles to himself. But Amelia can’t hear it over the sound of Scout’s cries, or from where she currently walks the length of the hallway.

“Amelia, I’m going to call you back,” he tries, but he’s speaking to an empty room. He stifles another chuckle as he adjusts his own phone, hanging up the call.

_______

“Amelia,” Maggie’s whisper rings through the hallway and Amelia jumps despite the hushed tone. “Sorry. Is everything okay?”

Amelia nods, but struggles with the fussy baby in her arms. “I thought you were at the hospital?”

“I finished early. Link texted me.”

“Link texted you?”

The defensive edge to Amelia’s voice causes Maggie to choose her next words carefully.

“He said….you guys do this in shifts?” Maggie nods towards a whimpering Scout.

And Amelia huffs out a breath as she turns on her heels, keeping with her pattern through the hallway.

“Well,” Maggie adds. “I’m here to help, if you want it.”

“I’m really okay, Maggie. I just….have to keep moving.”

Maggie watches her turn again in her route.

“Do you want tea or anything? I was going to make some for myself.”

Amelia ignores Maggie’s offer, suddenly preoccupied with the volume of Scout’s distress.

“I’m going to make some,” Maggie breathes, turning back towards the stairs.

_______

When Maggie climbs the stairs again about 10 minutes later, Amelia gives her a warning stare. There’s a genuine quietness to the hallway. Scout doesn’t make a sound. And Amelia is now more stationary in her movements.

Maggie has a mug of steaming tea in each hand, and she raises both mugs slightly, as if gesturing that she’s going to go and set them down in the room.

Amelia follows after her a few moments later, when she decides it’s safe to do so. Safe to assume that Scout is finally out for the night.

When she enters the bedroom, a bewildered look crosses her face, and she has to hold herself back from voicing the loud questions that pop into the forefront of her mind. Her brows furrow as she takes in Maggie’s current positioning. Where she’s on her hands and knees on the floor, rummaging underneath the bed.

Amelia holds it together for the time that it takes to put Scout down. But then she turns around, and her tone is laced with confusion when she whispers into the room.

“What are you doing?”

Maggie straightens up instantly, startled by Amelia’s presence. She racks her brain for a minute, for an explanation, before she finally settles on just the truth.

“I, um,” Maggie swallows. And Amelia crosses the room to her bedside table. She reaches for the tea that Maggie had placed there, and offers an incredulous stare as she takes her first sip. “Link texted me.”

“I know.”

“No, yeah. So,” She pulls a package out from under the bed. “He asked me to make sure you had this.”

It’s just an unmarked box. Nothing special. And Amelia’s confusion grows.

“He was saving it for your birthday, I think? But then, I guess, he thought you should have it now.”

Amelia watches as Maggie stands, pulling the actual item out of the nondescript box. And then the actual packaging reveals itself. And Amelia can’t help the grin that spreads across her face, or the warmth that fills her chest.

It’s a weighted blanket.

She breathes out a sigh, and feels a stinging sensation in her eyes.

“It’s a weighted blanket?” Maggie adds, trying to gauge Amelia’s reaction.

“I can see that,” Amelia steps forward, taking the blanket from Maggie. She rips off the packaging and begins to unfold it. She lifts it around herself, and smiles hugely as she takes in the full weight of it.

“Are you…” Maggie trails off as Amelia circles past her, climbing into the bed. “Oh.”

Maggie chuckles under her breath, bemused, as Amelia relaxes into a comfortable position, adjusting the blanket to cover her completely.

“Do you want me to sit in here? While I finish my tea?” Maggie asks, as she steps around to the other side of the bed.

“Mhm,” comes Amelia’s muffled reply.

Maggie crawls on top of the covers, seating herself against the headboard.

“I don’t get it,” Maggie laughs quietly, as she observes Amelia’s current positioning. “A weighted blanket? Does it not feel suffocating?”

“Hmph, no,” Amelia turns over a bit, her face peeking out more than before. “It’s comforting.”

“You and I are not the same.”

Amelia smiles at this. Completely relieved. Relieved at Scout’s cooperation right now. And relieved with the feeling that the blanket provides. She lets her eyes rest, and keeps them closed as Maggie voices her next question.

“How long til Scout wakes up again?”

“I give it an hour at most,” Amelia groans.

“Let me take a shift, Amelia.”

Amelia shakes her head, eyes still shut. “I need the practice….Link is like….he’s like this calm giant. Scout falls asleep so fast for him. Takes twice as long for me. It’s kind of infuriating.”

Maggie frowns at this.

“I’m sure that’s not-”

“No it is,” Amelia mumbles, sleep evident in her voice. “And that’s okay. He’s asleep now….that’s all that matters….”

Maggie takes her last sip of tea, and decides it’s time to slip out of the room, as discreetly as possible.

But, Amelia listens for every movement. She feels the bed shift with Maggie’s absence, and she hears her cross the room, to her side of the bed. The distinct sound of ceramic against wood fills her ears as Maggie collects her abandoned tea.

She hears the door click shut as Maggie exits the room and her eyes blink open. She turns over in bed, reaching for her phone on the bedside table to check the time. Link still has about an hour until he boards his flight.

She fights off the exhaustion that threatens every part of her being, as she unlocks her phone and opens up FaceTime. And she quickly adjusts the volume to the quietest setting, in time for the outgoing tone to ring out.

“Amelia?” Link's voice whispers out, full of uncertainty. “I can’t see anything, it’s dark.”

“That’s because I’m under my new blanket,” she whispers back. “And also it’s dark in here,” there’s a smile evident in her voice. Link can hear some shuffling around, and then the lamp gets turned on and some light filters through.

“There you are,” he smiles.

“Are you at the airport?”

“Just got here.”

Amelia nods, blinking against her exhaustion.

“Scout’s down?”

“Mhm,” Amelia mumbles. “I just wanted to call you back….and say thank you….for this….”

Her sentence trails off, but the sentiment is there. And Link’s smile widens.

Amelia’s blinks start to last longer, and her eyes remain shut with the last one.

“Amelia?”

He knows she’s fallen asleep. He would recognize the breathing pattern anywhere.

But, he has a hard time hanging up the phone this time around.

It takes all of his power to refrain from just staying on the call and watching her sleep. His thumb hovers over the end button hesitantly. But then his flight number gets called over the speaker system.

His thumb hesitates a moment longer. Wanting to prolong the moment, but also battling the realization that this flight is what stands between them now.

He stares for one more second, and decides it’s okay to whisper out, even if she can’t hear him. It feels like he whispers it to himself, or maybe to the people surrounding him in the airport. But he says it anyway, before he hangs up.

“See you in the morning.”

//

[blissfulsun]

Can it be angst AND soft? I'm already sad haha "Why me? Of all people, why me?" an "How could you lead me along like that?"

I hope u feel better my darling!!🥺

It was an accident. You didn’t mean to upset him, at least not like this, intent on letting the man down easily but everything happened so fast. 

One moment you were staring at the dream of perfect hair and a pretty smile that’s Jeff talking with your mutual friends across the party and in the next, your mindless nodding and inconsistent noises of agreement sounding in ‘mhmms’ and ‘aha’s’ meant to appease Todd’s rambling in your ear somehow resulting in a date you could hardly look forward to with the best friend of your crush. 

It’s how you find yourself here now, sitting in the passenger seat of Todd’s car after a painfully awkward dinner and even less comfortable conversation expressing your lack of interest.

He still insisted on driving you home, the radio your only salvation in the prevalent silence of the car. ‘I - if you -’ you look to Todd, offering him a soft smile while his mind scrambles to find the right words to express his confusion. 

‘If you didn’t like me like - why did you agree to this date y/n? I just - how, why would you lead me along like that?’ his questions laced with confusion, the frustration dissolving into the background at the way your eyes seem to glaze over. 

You shrug your shoulders, bottom lip trapped between your teeth before you take a stuttered breath. 

‘You’re a great guy T, you really are. I just - Jeff is, I like him, a lot’ it feels good to say. 

Even to the best friend of the man that’s been clouding your every waking thought. 

You hug the understanding brunet when he parks outside your apartment building, declining his sweet offer to see you to the door. 

‘You’ve done enough for me already’ you say, leaning down to thank him again through the window before heading inside. 

You’re still reeling in the elevator, heart less heavy with the ‘date’ all behind you now. 

It’s the first time you’ve ever admitted your feeling out loud, torn between accepting their extent and wallowing in the reality they weren’t expressed to the person you had in mind, too busy to notice the figure leaning against your door until you look up and pause the search for your keys. 

Jeff smiles tentatively, a soft but unsure ‘hey’ leaving his mouth. 

You clear your throat after taking far too long to grasp onto the realisation that he’s actually standing there before you, ‘Hi, I - uh, wanna come inside?’ you finally concede. 

He nods, following in your footsteps. Jeff watches your every move it feels like, mimicking how you take your shoes off in the hallway and step into the kitchen to put the kettle on before turning on your feet to lean against the countertop separating the two of you from each other. 

He’s been at your place before, surrounded by the rest of your friends for videos or movie nights alike. 

Never like this, alone and mere meters apart with this unspoken pull forcing your eyes to fleet around the decor in a futile attempt to keep your composure and questions inside. 

Jeff seems less so inclined, ‘I keep thinking’ he begins, tone carrying a self deprecating tone of humour as you watch him unravel before you. 

‘Why me? Of all people, why? I - y/n I thought I could be selfless, let you be happy because Toddy’s my best friend. He’s honestly a great guy. But I can’t let you date him without knowing how I feel. I like you, a whole fucking lot. Can’t seem to stop fucking thinking about you and I know that makes me the worst perso-’ 

The water comes to a boil, your feelings simultaneously surface like a tsunami, body closing the distance between you two to grab a hold of his face in your hands and pull down. 

‘I don’t like Todd.’ you say each word with purpose, interrupting his speech in a hurry to finally get what you’ve been craving since the first time he smiled at you across the room. 

‘It’s you, only you’ you promise, emphasising to get the message across. 

Jeff clings onto every word, like music to his ears after drowning in the doubts that have clouded his mind the entire night of your date: 

it should’ve been him, picking you up in your pretty dress and hanging onto your every word from across the dining table. 

It spurs him on to finally lean down and kiss you for the first time, content in the knowledge that despite all of the confusion and miscommunication it's him that’s kissing you at the end of the night, warm in his grasp as you sway under the dim kitchen light.