#and you wonder what he could have done if he'd put aside that pride and striving for prestige

[fictionadventurer]

I'm fascinated by the ways in which the things a creator is good at making don't necessarily line up with the kind of art that they respect or even enjoy.

This has haunted me ever since I saw a Youtube video about the downfall of The Band Perry, a country band that I had liked until their music got weird and they kind of fell off the face of the earth. Well, it turns out that they tried to reinvent their image and their style of music several times before the band finally fell apart. When they started, they had this weird Southern Gothic homeschooler style that really worked for them and was reasonably popular, but then they tried to switch to a cooler type of pop music--a style they supposedly admired and enjoyed--and it just did not work at all. They failed because they chased what they wanted to make instead of sticking with the style that they were good at.

It's a tension that's present in all creative work. At one point does "going outside the box" go too far? Can one be happy making good work even if it's not the kind of stuff they like or admire? Are the techniques and styles that are most appealing to us appealing because they're things that we can't create ourselves? As in, our minds don't work that way, so seeing these things from other creators is exciting, but the fact that our minds don't work that way is exactly why we can't imitate those things. Where's the line between creative integrity--pushing yourself to make better things--and pride--wanting to make something more prestigious and impressive instead of humbly making the type of art you're best suited to make? Can one even clearly see what they're best at making, and appreciate the good that's there rather than chasing after styles and techniques that seem better? There are no solid answers, which is why I'm going to be endlessly thinking about this.

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Being the Frey girl betrothed to Robb Stark

Request: Yes or No

Did not intend for this to be long

~~~

It was supposed to be the perfect day. Many little ladies dreamt of their weddings, dreamily wondering about their future husbands and the family they'd create together. Your dreams of the perfect wedding had been brief, crushed quickly under the boot of your father, Walder Frey, and you were forced to accept that you'd be marrying out of duty rather than true love.

There'd been some hope and a spark of relief when your sisters had rushed to your bedchambers, giddy and eager to speak of your betrothed: Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell. He had visited briefly and been allowed his pick of the litter, but when he provided no response, your father chose for him. You knew of the Starks of Winterfell. They were an honorable family and close as could be. And from the accounts of your sisters, Robb was a handsome man. Young, handsome, eyes blue as sapphires, pretty brown hair, and incredibly polite. You hadn't seen him as you'd been occupied the day of his visit, but everything your sisters told you filled you with glee. An honorable, kind husband who you'd surely fall in love with.

Or so you thought.

You'd been there when one of Walder's men had requested his time and spoke of Robb. The words that followed had sent you reeling, stomach twisting and heart shattering. Robb had a lover. A healer from Volantis named Talisa Maegyr. Your father's rage had been brief, calming when the man assured him Robb still planned on wedding you. He hadn't broken his promise to House Frey, and that had been enough for your father. You shouldn't have been surprised. Walder himself had fostered many bastards throughout his countless marriages.

"A man has needs." He'd said, curling his bony fingers around his ale and bringing it to his mouth. He cared little for the tears forming in your eyes. "I cannot fault him for that."

You spent the rest of the day weeping in your room with your sisters around you, murmuring comforts and trying to brighten your day.

"You'll be Lady Stark and Queen of the North soon, dear sister." One had attempted, a brush delicately going through your hair. "His mistress will be just that. A mistress."

But it hadn't been that. No, you wept because a mistress before the wedding had even been planned meant a loveless marriage where you'd have to battle for your husband's attention, battle to ensure you had his child first. You'd seen firsthand how much a loveless marriage affected a bride. Your father had many wives after the death of your own mother, each of them young and full of light that dimmed with each passing day until they were a hollow and empty shell. You wept for what could've been a happy future far from the grim place you called home.

But the sadness turned to bitterness and anger over night. The Stark's prided themselves on being loyal and honorable, sticking to their oaths and promises even if it meant putting their own happiness aside. Why couldn't Robb done that for you? Why had he taken a lover so quickly after the announcement of your incoming wedding? He hadn't cared about how shameful it would be for you. How humiliating. You'd be known as Lady (Y/N) of Winterfell, the woman who'd been cast aside before ever meeting her husband.

The wedding date had arrived sooner than later, something you loathed. You stared at the reflection in the mirror as both maids and kin tended to you. They brushed your hair, powdered your face, and tightened the wedding dress to your body while fawning over how beautiful of a wedding it'd be. They praised you at the end, gushing over how pretty of a bride you'd be. They hadn't thought to realize that Robb would be envisioning his little healer in your place when you walked down the isle.

You ensured to keep a stoic expression throughout the ceremony, not even mustering a smile for your husband when he lifted the veil and took in your appearance. His eyes, as pretty as described, had widened considerably and flickered over to the pews where his family sat. The ends of his mouth had quirked up into a smile and he muttered a soft 'my lady' before turning to the Septon. You would've scoffed if it weren't for the stare Walder gave you.

The ceremony went by in a breeze and you kept your stoic, cool composure, even when your father had lowly whispered for you to smile after being seated. He no longer had control over you. You relished in the thought. The only good thing that had allowed for you to have an appetite as Starks, Freys, and other allies celebrated. You spent most of the celebration searching for her until you noticed Catelyn Stark speaking with a young woman who stared at Robb hopelessly. Talisa, you presumed from the frankly exasperated look on Catelyn's face. She was pretty, you'd give him that.

"Are you feeling well?" Robb asked quietly and reached for your hand, delicately placing his over it and staring at you with knitted brows. You pulled your hand away swiftly and set it on your lap, eyes moving onto your beloved sisters to keep your emotions in check.

"No." You answered after a brief pause. Robb was handsome, incredibly so, but his presence alone irritated you. You had to act quick before the bedding ceremony took place, a tradition your father insisted on keeping alive. "I feel unwell, Lord Stark. I'm afraid I'll be retreating early."

"Shall I go with-"

Rising from your seat, you shook your head, still refusing to meet his eyes. "No, My Lord. That will not be necessary." You carefully lifted your dress and breezed past your father, ignoring the glare he speared into your back as you glided down the steps and toward the exit.

Slipping out into the familiar halls, you exhaled deeply and released your gown. It dragged along the stone floor, dark gray clashing with white. You itched to get out of it as soon as possible. The thought of burning it crossed your mind but it felt too childish, too improper of a lady.

"My Queen." A voice echoed down the hall and you halted. Queen of the North and Lady Stark of Winterfell. Right. Your new titles. No longer one of Walder's many overlooked daughters. You looked over your shoulder, spotting her auburn hair first, a signature trait of the Tully family. Catelyn Stark.

"My Lady." You greeted her, turning to face the older woman. She smiled sweetly, gazing at you with the warmth of a mother. Catelyn grew closer and took your hands into hers, smile turning into a shamed smile.

"I am deeply sorry for what my son has done." Her voice sounded sincere, full of guilt and shame. She shook her head. "I taught him better than that. He knows better than that. But rest assured, that woman will not cause problems for you."

You'd nearly forgotten. Eddard Stark had returned home from the war with a bastard son called Jon Snow and raised him as a trueborn alongside the rest of his children. You remembered the murmured rumors of how Catelyn detested him and had fostered a particular dislike for bastards. Perhaps that dislike extended to mistresses.

"She may share his bed, that is true. But he is my husband now, and as his wife, I have duties that I will not forget. I can assure you, Lady Stark, I will give your son an heir and do what needs to be done for House Stark to prosper, just as you have done these many years." Her eyes softened considerably, fingers lightly squeezing the palms of your hands.

"Oh, sweet child." Catelyn cooed gently and brought a hand to your cheek. You yearned for your mother's embrace, her soothing words. You pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling. "You shall make a wonderful queen and a wonderful wife. I... I will ensure Robb does his duties as husband. You need not stress over Talisa."

"I appreciate it, Lady Stark. I'm afraid I'll be heading to my- our bedchambers for the rest of the night. Please assure everyone that I am well." You pulled your hands from hers and lowered your head in respect to the monarch before turning and resuming your walk down the hall.

Another deep breath and you reached the one of the many guest bedchambers. Most of your belongings had been packed up for you, likely already sitting in Robb's tent out on the field. You dismissed the servants that offered to help you ready for bed, only agreeing to have a warm bath drawn so you could relax after the day's events.

Slipping out of your wedding dress, you watched it slump on the cool floor and stepped out of your shoes. You released your hair and ran your fingers through it as you dipped one leg into the bath and then the other. The water dug into your skin, easing away at the tension in your muscles. A soft sigh of relief escaped past your lips, shoulders dipping below the surface. You leaned your head back against the wall of the tub, eyes fluttering shut and mind forgetting about the day.

You would've stayed in the tub for the rest of the night, even slept in it, if it hadn't been for the sound of the door creaking open. Your eyes snapped open and you lifted your head, gazing down at the water as heavy boots stepped across the room. Robb passed by the tub, shedding his coat and draping it over a chair. You brought your knees up to your chest when he turned.

"I thought you would've been asleep by now." He spoke softly, undoing the buttons of his vest. "Are you feeling better?"

The consummation. You nearly grimaced. "No."

"Should I call for a maester?"

"It's likely nerves, My Lord."

"We're husband and wife now. You may call me Robb." He gave a boyish smile and you turned to look at the towel perfectly folded on the stool beside you. You reached for it and let it unravel outside of the tub, eyes jumping back to the Stark. Robb's fingers had paused on the last button, attention trained fully on you but when he noticed the icy look, he turned his back. You stood, the water sloshing around as you dried yourself and retrieved a nightgown.

"I would like to sleep in my old room tonight. It's likely the last time I'll see it."

"I'd like to believe that, (Y/N). But I am no fool. I am your husband, you may speak openly with me." Your jaw clenched at his words. He claimed to be no fool yet remained oblivious to your anger. "And I hope you'll grow comfortable enough to sleep at my side."

Picking up a candle, you lifted it to the lantern keeping the room lit and pulled away once the fire flickered onto the end of the wax. "I believe your lover would prefer otherwise, My Lord. I bid you goodnight."

He blinked. "(Y/N)-"

"I bid you goodnight."

[quietbluejay]

Ahriman Exile Reread 2

First, let's hear from Past Bluejay

thank you for your words of wisdom, past bluejay. Now, onwards with the reread Wait, I forgot to warn, spoilers up to Ahriman: Eternal, not a lot but I do reference a big twist as well as some characters' fates

part 2 time astraeos and his bros are arguing space marine style

yes truly the best way e_e ok so carmenta gave them all bionic eyes to replace the ones that got eaten carmenta continues to be the best "salvation demands loyalty"

because, as terrible as they can be you don't want to see what they will become without the oaths "oaths did not require trust, that was a truth the imperium had taught him" they all know this will end badly but the only other option is to let go of the thing they're clinging to and meanwhile ahriman is crashing after the combat/magic high and is feeling guilty okay straight up suicide ideation see what i mean, he needs to be transplanted into an entirely different universe and put in horse plinko there failing that, i still think a sun lamp and cat would help time for ahriman to spend time with tolbek's rubricae i'm sure this will help cheer him up

yeahhhh

ow that hurts

"they will never be my slaves" thats not gonna last long thidias and kadin (the other two space marines, astraeos' brothers) are still arguing choked voice im fine

;-; ok an aside but i do love the environment French sets up everything is set in an everlasting gloom, all there is is metal and wires (and human flesh) (and frost) it is an existence divorced from the light of the sun and the stars and anything natural Oh yeah so Maroth summoned a daemon into Cadars body (another one of astraeos brothers) Astraeos: I can save him…

Ahriman, having rubric flashbacks: hey that’s hell you’re walking into Time for Ahriman and Carmenta to have a chat about her mind linking with her ship and how dangerous it is Ahriman: I’m not gonna judge you tho I’m not that much of a hypocrite The whole conversation is great, I just don't have anything more to say about it than that!

and we're at trust again Carmenta wanting to trust ahriman time for ahriman to go into his mind palace the only place in this story world with light and natural things

time for ahriman to teach astraeos the deeper magical mysteries man warp juice really is a drug, it's not just ahriman astraeos has the same reaction ahriman: it's all my faullltttt

this, too, is overwhelming pride assuming you are the worst ever and responsible for everything, is just as much pride as assuming you are the best to believe that you are alone the architect of everything it's a terrible defence against the thought that maybe you couldn't have done anything at all ahriman is trapped in the "im the worst/im the best" cycle

it's a hard thing to accept because it means you didn't have the control you thought you did over the situation

gee i wonder what might be a theme like half the cast gets bad feelings abot this the entire psychic part of the cast do they stop? no lol Ahriman answer questions or draw 20 lol this book in a nutshell:

mysterious voice in ahriman's head: you don't need your sword

oh hey the oracle is an old friend used to be a comrade now is like 100 floating eyes ahriman: i have questions menkaura: everyone does ahriman, internally: phew, you know what, my life may suck but at least im not this guy

literally EVERYONE calls ahriman out

to be honest, it's why i was basically done with the series (before the third book even) because it was just the same thing over and over again the supporting cast was what kept me but like, essentially ahriman's character arc is done in book 1 this is what i mean when i say i don't think ahriman can be fixed, i think even if there was irrefutable proof that he'd been puppeted by tzeentch, he would just refuse to see it though he's not quite there yet at this point i think he could probably have been fixed in this book unfortunately this is wh40k and this is his negative character arc "ask yourself what you truly wish to know: the truth, or the lie that forgives you your choices?" man

okay, hear me out how to fix ahriman and save astraeos, carmenta, and astraeos' bros: warp storm causes them to time travel a lot further than intended i kind of want to throw them at a potential blorbo (next book i might be reading) but idk enough about him yet to see if he's actually valid, i have a few ideas for him (it's tax evasion pirate man, the meme the legend, the guy named after one of the best great lakes) okay I'm memeing here but astraeos thinks about ahriman's eyes in order to calm down because he's getting magic headaches man everyone thinks about ahriman's eyes so much

ahriman: so who is hunting me menkaura: lol the list of who isn't is shorter menkaura: so why didn't you let yourself die ahriman: i still allow myself to hope rare mental health W for ahriman unfortunately it's…. note from future bluejay: past bluejay did not finish this thought. I am consumed with curiosity

anyways time for ahriman to actually explain what's going on

so no one told you life was gonna be this wayyy lmaoo his method is to project his memories into their minds man will do literally anything to avoid explaining with his words

oh, ouch, the last thing Magnus said to him before banishing him was "You are the best of my sons, you always were" moment of silence after the memory ends where everyone is trying to mentally process this, ahriman smiles weakly man, he'd be so great in another setting, unfortunately he's here

hope disguised as arrogance ahriman you are KILLING ME with your lack of critical thinking skills and inability to apply lessons you previously learned wails and grabs hair repeated eye motifs specifically removing eyes ….i've connected the dots

groans oh no not again i am deeply tired of human fat burning owo kadin pov

in the end ahriman just jumps from one type of pride to another with no stops in between to learn humility but also i mean it's hard when there are forces (tzeentch) that are actively (tzeentch) poking him into this shape honestly, i am starting to get a bit fed up with him, though it's idw optimus but less rage inducing (because it's better writing lol) and i get that it's part of the point of the setting but there's only so much i can take of this cycle tbh i knew i'd hit this point eventually, it's just making it frustrating at times to read his POV mainly because I know what's coming lol ahriman and kadin think the same thing about astraeos

at least astraeos does get out of the cycle eventually oh boy horror movie time in the dark meanwhile, ahriman summons a daemon with astraeos' help daemon is fun takes the form of his dead brother and then goes through how he died

sassy

rip ahriman, got outplayed ah, tzeentchians so, Amon knew he was going to summon this daemon, so he summoned it first and put a binding on it so it would kill Ahriman when he summoned it thidias dies a hero so he won't become a villain ;-; Carmenta once again saves the day and everyone* *except Thidias and also arguably Kadin who got double possessed

interesting ahriman's experience with the dark mechanicum is that they tend to lose their emotions and humanity vs carmenta who is becoming more emotional the longer she mind melds with her ship more light motifs so, astraeos wants answer about why his brothers died, or worse than died ahriman: i made a mistake astraeos: just one? owo a hint astraeos' chapter gets special darkvision powers now which primarch could be their founder….. next up ahriman: let's steal ourselves a navigator

I return to Ahriman and hey it’s Iobel my beloved This is wild

And also setup for the astraeos thing

And now cut to Astraeos going “this is a bad idea” Note he and Ahriman are now wearing blue armour, this may be relevant if I ever do time travel fic

Really getting Star Wars vibes from this The -hahahaha - the rebel ship going dark and waiting for the imperials to board and investigate so they can retrieve/kidnap someone on board Ahriman has been way out of it enough for the inquisition to pop up and him to have no clue who they are Okay we know Astraeos eyes are green Didn’t expect that

Iobel!

Ahriman once again passes out And gets badly injured Not in that order If I had a nickel for every time Ahriman has passed out in a novel, I’d have…probably at least 50c? Time for time shenanigans

Man everyone gets poetic about ahriman's eyes. I like Silvanus (kidnapped navigator) well enough but I don't have super strong feelings about him.

Who are you and what did you do with Ahriman

...

Yeah. I want to strangle you a bit lol In the end it is his untempered virtues that note from future bluejay: I left this sentence unfinished WHERE WAS I GOING WITH IT??? Meanwhile Carmenta panics

Annnd that’s when she decides to betray Ahriman

Ahriman is Tired Also he’s a bird furry Classic tzeentchian Annnd Amon decides to reward Carmenta by killing her Rip

The repeated theme of either becoming monstrous or dying

Ayyy she’s alive RIP Silvanus for finding her this has not been his day his week, his month or even his year Also I misremembered! Ahriman was not in fact chained to the ceiling naked he gets to wear a tunic So, amon's plan is to kill all the remaining thousand sons with the rubric

To be continued...

[welcome-to-maniac]

Jooheon popped his head into their shared bedroom smiling when he saw his fiancé getting ready to leave. He was happy that he caught him before he did leave, walking over and back hugging him the journal in his hand evident. He pressed a kiss to his shoulder and hummed. “It’s late but…Merry Christmas, Happy 1 Year Together and Happy New Year.” He handed the journal over. “A gift, a piece of me, a piece that shows how much I truly love and care for you.” He holds up a pair of keys handing them too. “A piece for the future too.~ You have to get to the last entry to know what they go to.~” He grinned a little, kissing his forehead knowing that Minho might have some kind of assumption to what they were for. “I love you.”

[AHHH ITS DONE FINALLY HEHE there’s like 2 mistakes but it’ll still make sense hehe 🥰]

@livealittleoc-cb

"All the same to you too, sunshine," Minho grinned, stealing a kiss of his own and setting the jumper he was going to put on aside. Getting ready could wait. "A set of keys, a mystery, and your journal? I don't know about you but I think Maniac can wait."

He sat back down on their bed, shooing Sooni off and laying the keys in his lap as he opened the same journal he'd seen Jooheon pour hours into night after night.

Though silent, Minho's thoughts were written onto his face plain as day - his walls long gone in front of the man he was going to marry. He chuckled reading through the early days, occasionally looking towards Jooheon as he pictured the older man writing away, pressing flowers and glueing down memories into each page.

"The Recon..." He mutters, more to himself than anything. He'd taken to blocking that from his memory, choosing to forget just how close he was to losing his life. To losing his family. His heart ached as he finally understood the other was coping while he was all but dead to the world: not at all.

The longer he read, the more Minho's ears burned red, until he frowned, reading over the next few entries just that little bit quicker. He could address those pages later, not when either of them were in a good mood. But relief washed over him regardless; his name, circled in hearts over and over again. Even in the midst of everything that happened that day, they were okay.

His baby picture. A version of himself so innocent and young. He sniffled, rubbed over the picture with his thumb and laughed as he read further down. He'd made Jooheon miss almost a month of writing entries - perhaps his pride was inflating just little bit. And he had wondered where that date polaroid had gotten to.

"Puppy, huh?"

He kept reading, now far too curious to see the inner workings of the man he was going to call his husband. The longevity potion had remained in his wardrobe, sealed away in a box underneath his belongings. It wasn't as though Minho didn't want it, he was still coming to terms with leaving the others at the bar behind. But he knew it wouldn't come to that.

July 10th was a date he wished he could forget, in fact he'd have preferred it if that week had never happened at all. Hospital visits sucked and nothing would erase the memory of Jooheon confined to a hospital bed. August as a whole could go in the shit Lee Minho wants to forget category too. Too many scares, too many visits to the hospital, it was exhausting.

"I'd like to see this other journal sometime~" He laughed, looking over to Joo with a crafty smile and just the faintest hint of his canines, still relatively sharp after his vampire stint. October itself was a good month, even with the chaos that came with it. Jooheon's magazine shoot was still displayed in his dresser, the magazine itself open to the page. His birthday was perfect, and little Carrots was adorable, from the distance he kept himself from her for both their sakes.

He brushed over LeeKnow as fast as he could, grateful Joo had gone to the trouble of reminding himself to never mentioning it again. He'll get therapy for it someday. He should get therapy in general regarding his youth. But Thanksgiving with his future in-laws was his own personal favourite of last year; cooking alongside Joo's mother, spending time with everyone, he couldn't have asked for more.

"You should ask the kids about how I look at you, they won't shut up."

Minho's expression morphed to something unreadable as he reached the end, blinking as he read over the same entry over and over. He wasn't seeing things, was he? He closed the journal, set it aside and turned the key in his hand, before tugging Jooheon into a hug, wordless as ever. He nodded though, a smile etched onto his face.

"I can't wait to move in together. I'll have to change the name on the lease of this apartment, but let's do it. Let's live together, properly."

[astromaki]

part 2 of 5000 $ - shoto todoroki x fem!reader (1597 words)

part 1. (previous)

tw ; minors dni, angst, nsfw, toxic relationship, mention of cheating and breakup, shoto is a complete bastard here

you finally did it.

you broke up with him a week ago. for real this time, not like the last hundred times you'd yelled at him that he was a heartless jerk. just so he could get you into bed the second you calmed down.

no, you threw him in the trash the day after that party. by message, but it was a start.

even your social media status had gone from 'in a relationship' to 'single <3', you'd even reinstalled tinder, and accepted follow requests on instagram from those boys in the same class as you in college.

and shoto seemed to have abandoned you too. no news from him, and you hadn't even run into him on campus in the last few days.

so why did it still hurt to think about him ? why did your lips refuse to say his name ? and why the fuck did your sheets still smell like him despite the many machines ?

so you could tell that you felt a little joy when you saw this message.

he had sent you this two days ago.

and it's been two days, you've been wondering if it was a good idea to see him again right away.

never mind, you were already at his door. besides, you didn't have to talk to him, just take back what belonged to you and go home. it couldn't go wrong ? right ? it's ridiculous, you even had to convince yourself now.

you knocked, once, twice, three times. you could hear someone inside. and you knew he didn't have a roommate. this rich kid could buy the whole building if he wanted.

fuck. you just had to go in and get your stuff, and it's like you were never there. he wouldn't notice you were there.

you opened the door, and were surprised to see a second pair of shoes at the entrance next to shoto's sneakers. which is more like a pair of rather feminine shoes, pumps.

a strange feeling made you shiver. it wasn't like you to track down your exes, but you don't remember seeing a new girl with shoto on social medias.

slight, imperceptible sighs escaped from his room a little further into the apartment. bed squeaks, that male growl you knew all too well.

fuck. fucking hell.

you knew what it was, you knew what those noises were, who was causing them. why he had asked you to come and get those so-called forgotten things.

and yet you still walked to his room, your brain screaming at you to turn around and stay away from that boy and his unmitigated evil. your heart telling you the opposite, to keep going to find out if he still cared about you. no matter how small, you wanted to know, you had to know, if you ever meant anything to him.

or if you were just a joke, that he could throw a little money around.

"shoto, fuck, yes, right there oh fuc-"

you felt tears welling up in your eyes when you finally saw shoto vulgarly fucking a girl in that room, where you used to spend all your evenings.

but that wasn't the worst part. it was that he had taken your best friend to bed, ochako.

"you're so fucking good, i -" he says in a low voice.

he had already created that crack in your heart. but now ?

his blue and gray eyes finally met yours, his gaze was nothing but arrogance and contempt. the only things he ever felt for you. and even though he was fucking your best friend, busy pacing back and forth, he had the nerve to look you up and down. a smirk lit up his face.

and that asshole finally said the three words he never disdained to say to you.

"i love you ochako," he finally said, looking you straight in the eye. you're the best sex i've ever had. "

his words were spoken clearly, slowly, so that they were articulate for you to hear. a mixture of anger, and sorrow suddenly overtook you

as if you had come back to reality, you suddenly left the room. your steps were disordered, you had lost all your balance, gravity seemed to be slightly stronger. your hands dropped some objects on your way.

what was wrong with you? why?

ochako had finally noticed you after her orgasm, and weakly called out your name, as if begging you to come back would make things better. that he was cheating on you was one thing, but with her ? the one who had pushed you to leave him?

you could hear heavy footsteps following you down the hallway to the front door. and a muscular hand grabbed your wrist to turn you around in one simple motion.

obviously, who else ?

"so you just walk into people's houses without knocking now?"

wow, how did he manage to make you hate him a little more every time he opened his mouth ?

"stop it. don't mess with me. you sent me a message to come in today to get my stuff." your voice was firm.

his face was as haughty as ever, yet he already seemed a little more natural and relaxed than the other times. you would have found it attractive if it wasn't after a romp with your best friend.

"ah, that's right. and so it's okay? you got everything? "

his deceptively kind voice made you want to scream. to take anything and throw it at him. he still had this annoying habit of driving you crazy even after you'd broken up. you wanted to hurt him like he'd been hurting you for months.

but your shaky, broken voice didn't reflect your desires. you were about to cry.

"i don't understand why? why you're being so mean to me. i'm not stupid, shoto, i know that you invited me here today just to see you fuck her."

his face hadn't changed, nor had his eyes. he was glaring at you miserably. as usual.

"i was hoping we could talk if i came to your door so we could maybe work things out, get off to a good start." and it's true, that message he sent you had falsely given you false hope. and you had fallen off the deep end.

a slight sigh escaped his lips. that slight sigh that made the cup overflow.

"why do you care ? we broke up, right ?"he said it in such a carefree tone.

"fuk you shoto. fuck you. you don't even realize how fucking toxic you are! you throw money around to get what you want, you fuck with people and play with their feelings! you're a fucking asshole. and you're a lot like your father for someone who hates him deeply. "

your words of hatred and anger that you had been building up for weeks, for fucking months, poured out on him like a lava flow.

it was mean, it was sincere, and it hurt shoto. it hurt him to see that he had done too much this tim.

his emotionless gaze watched you get angry, cry, push him, hit him, dry your tears that he couldn't tell if they were of melancholy or rage. he saw you push his hand away as he tried desperately to calm you down.

you couldn't see it, too busy screaming and drying your tears, but you managed to wring a sincere expression from shoto.

he was just panicking. he was panicking because he knew he had crossed the point of no return. that not even $5,000 or $10,000 or even $50,000 would bring you back.

his love, full of flaws, who never knew a healthy role model from his parents, would not be enough to make you stay. not to leave him alone.

because we know the cliché, the rich boy who didn't know how to love. didn't even know how to make the one person who always cared about his own selfish self, stay. but that was shoto though. he was that boy who only had toxic love to give.

but please don't leave him for good, he was begging you mentally.

if he had put his pride aside to express himself or even make you understand, maybe you wouldn't have left.

"i hate you shoto todoroki. i fucking hate you. but know that you'll end up alone, you and your stupid money. and i'll be the first to laugh. "

fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck.

" i- y/n just wait- "

he didn't think you'd hate him so much. the young man knew he was just an asshole with a fat bank account. he just thought that by fucking your best friend he'd get you to come back to him, out of desperation, out of a desperate love.

he didn't think he would feel such a pressure on his chest when he saw you slam the door, leaving him alone in the apartment with your best friend and a big hole in his heart.

he didn't think he'd regret his actions. he was a rich guy who always wanted what he wanted, whether it was money or sex. so you were easy. right ?

he never imagined that he would miss your perfume, your exasperating smiles, that he would miss you.

you were barely gone, and he knew he would miss you.

a/n ; i've never written such a nasty shoto sorry 😟 kinda want to leave this story like this...

please lemme know what you thought about this second part, should i make a third one ? (+ reblogs are appreciated <3)

🔖 taglist; @deepestranchgoopdeputy @kizuatonoaiko

[magnoliabloomfield]

Possession part 6

She worked with Gally the rest of the day, but once again she went off alone to eat. Gally really didn't like that, not being able to see her in case something happened. He watched every boy that got up and left to make sure they went back to their jobs and not near her, but still there was no way to be sure.

At sundown her house was finished. They stood shoulder to shoulder again as they looked up at it, maybe this time she was a little closer than three feet away, he wasn't paying attention to things like that.

"Well, I guess that's done," Gally sighed mostly to himself. He wasn't even talking about the house, she 'd be off to try one of the other keeper's tasks tomorrow.

He should have felt relieved. He was. He had done his job, he built a perfect tower to house a princess as far from the rabble of the glade as possible. She'd be safe there, and he was responsible for that. He'd done his part so now it was time to pass the responsibility off to someone else. It would be great to get back to normal.

"It's great," she nodded, thinking he was talking about the house. She turned to him and waited until he looked at her as well. "I really appreciate the hard work you put into this, trying to keep me safe and everything," she put her hand out to him. "Thank you, Gally."

He swallowed. There was too much going on with that, it was praise, it was gratitude, she was saying his name, and she was reaching out and actually inviting his touch. And suddenly it felt like pride was trying to fill his chest but it was tethered down with bashfulness. Part of him was realizing he had done so much more than give her a watch, he had built her a home- oh god he'd built her a home, why did that feel so odd? So intimate? But he had, because she had needed it and he could do it. And she was showing him more gratitude than she had Minho with the watch.

He couldn't stand there forever in silence staring at her out stretched hand, so he grasped it carefully since it was impossibly small and delicate, and gave her a hand shake. He felt each little finger tip slip across his palm as she let go of his hand.

"You're welcome," he said quietly.

He glanced up and caught her looking at him with a contemplative gaze that almost made his breath hitch in his throat. What had he done to be the one who didn't get her monotonous cardboard persona? Was it the house? Because he certainly was not the one to play house with her if that's what she was thinking, but why would she be thinking that in the first place? He was just going nuts from the trauma of a female presence was all, just like the makers wanted him and everyone else to do.

But he held her inquisitive gaze for a moment, still feeling the warmth of her on his palm, and wondered if he recognized her. He wished he did, but he could never have forgotten eyes like those no matter how much they messed with his mind.

"So, I guess we'll figure out the shower thing tomorrow?" she asked him, breaking his thoughts like a pane of glass. He'd totally forgotten.

"Yeah, that'll be tomorrow," he nodded like he hadn't forgotten for a second.

"Ok, good," she nodded along, almost smiling. "Or else my smell will be enough to keep me safe around here."

"Well, there's a, uh," he rubbed the back of his neck. "There is one place that would make due for now if you'd really like to get cleaned up."

She actually looked relieved, she let that much show on her face. "That would be great if it's not too inconvenient."

"No, it's fine," he shook his head despite the work he knew would be involved. "It won't be running water, though."

"That's fine, anything is better than nothing."

"Ok, just give me a few minutes, I'll come get you when it's ready," he told her before heading off to execute his plan.

He wasn't going to get anyone to help him, he wasn't going to tell a soul. He really was the right man for this job because no one would question him, no one but another keeper would have the guts to do that. First he collected the laundry tub and some soap and towels and took that down to the basement of the old homestead. Next he filled two large containers with water and carried them down there as well. He was debating getting more for her when Newt's voice called down the stairs.

"Gally? Is that you down there?"

Gally bit his lips, wondering how to explain this. He decided he wouldn't.

"Yup," he said nonchalantly as he came around to the stairs and started ascending them. Newt didn't much care for stairs with his limp.

"What are you doing?" Newt pressed when Gally didn't offer any more than that.

Gally couldn't come up with something quick enough.

"Are you doing something for the greenie?" Newt asked with a subtle lilt in his voice as he crossed his arms and leaned on the creaky doorframe.

Gally sighed, giving up any pretense. He could never pull the wool over Newt's eyes. "Yes, it's for Nikola, she-"

"Nikola?" Newt's brows shot up. "She has a name now does she? And you just kept that to yourself," a ghost of a teasing grin was tugging at his mouth.

"It wasn't my name to tell," Gally shrugged. "She really didn't tell anyone else? None of the other keepers or Alby?"

"No," Newt shook his head with his tongue in his cheek.

Gally tried not to smile and just look perplexed as well. "Huh. Well, I have to go," He said and tried to get past Newt but the skinny boy blocked his path with his arm across the doorway.

"Hold on a moment, what is it exactly you're doing?"

"She... wanted to get cleaned up," Gally admitted. "We haven't rigged up a shower situation yet so I was setting something up for her just for tonight."

"Ok," Newt said with a grin that was close to devilish. "Well, two should stand watch for her, shouldn't they? So one can keep an eye on the other?"

"Yeah, absolutely," Gally agreed. He'd absolutely call for it to be like that if it was anyone else watching out for her. He knew she had nothing to worry about from him, but she probably didn't know that, not yet at least.

Gally went back for her, leaving Newt at the homestead to wait for them. It was odd for him to stand there and call up to her, to call her name out loud when apparently he was the only one who knew it. Aside from Newt now, but he tried not to care about that.

She came down with her bag, the one that came up with her in the box that had more clothes for her. They hadn't figured that out till later when Alby held up a shirt that wouldn't fit anyone there. Gally was just glad it hadn't been any undergarments.

"This way," Gally nodded when she stepped off the ladder. "Newt is there waiting so we can stand guard for you. You remember Newt?"

"Uh, yes. The blond with the dark eyes, right?"

She noticed all that? "Yeah, that's him."

They got to the homestead and she apologized to Newt for the inconvenience and thanked him as well, but she was a little cardboard about it. Gally liked that. She went down stairs and they closed the door behind her. Newt was trying to hold something in, Gally could tell, but he wasn't about to open up a dialogue if he could avoid it. After a few moments they heard the gentle splashes of water and a warmth crossed Gally's face when part of his brain reminded him where her clothes were, or rather, where they were not.

"She's got you wrapped around her finger, doesn't she?" Newt finally chuckled.

Gally shushed him. "If we can hear- she could hear us too," Gally warned him quietly.

"Ok, but she does, right?" Newt whispered back.

"No," Gally denied as he crossed his arms. Newt just laughed.

Masterlist

@gladerscake @poulterjonas @crazysheeplyca @quackquackbi @neilox @thesuitkovian @anniemylennox @carp3d1em @cottoncandy-dreamxd

[mallowstep]

(Reed anon again)

Just--wtf did Riverclan do with Reedpaw when everyone was rescued? Even in Canon? Like, poor fucking Mistyfoot--two of her kits are with her, but her third and final kit is still in enemy territory, still underneath Tigerstar's paw, Blackfoot is still his mentor. If even a *hint* of Reedpaw's true parentage got out, he'd be fucked. He and Leopardstar would both probably be dead, Leopard carrying Tiger's legacy or not. Tbh I wouldn't doubt Tigerstar'd be petty enough just to kill all of Riverclan itself. Like...Greystripe, you fucking LIVED in Riverclan for a few fucking MOONS. How do you forget or at least NOT recognize/remember the queen that nursed your kits' own kits? You told Firestar you visited them every chance you had. Like...Grey, I get you were worried for you daughter, but dude...you left a child who you saw as a baby to a toddler (thereabouts) under a war criminal. Someone you KNOW had a subordinate who was not against poisoning kits with deathberries. Someone who tried to kill his OWN apprentice. Then, in the Leopard AU, this kid is stuck in the apprentices den during the rescue. Leopardstar and Mudfur cannot get him out without alerting Shadowclan Apprentices. They chose Mistyfoot and Featherpaw's heath and safety (which, at this point it's better than nothing.) And Misty has to choose Feather when Mudfur leads them out of their prison. He then gets to see the absolute horror of his LEADER, murdered, loose a life, to this Monster, see her go through what his mother did, only that IT'S far, far, worse than anything that'd been done at this point. He sees his clan's medicine cat turn against their leader, verbally agreeing and harassing her...just... this poor boy.. In Canon, Misty Au, Leopard AU it all sucks. Dark AU, not so much--still horrific, but Blackfoot is Reed's father in that one, so as his mentor Reed's safety is somewhat assured had Tigerstar not realized Reedpaw was Misty's kit, and that Misty's kits had not all died.

oh my god anon why r u so Damn Good at making me feel things

okay okay okay hm. i'm just gonna -- yeah i'm just gonna put the whole thing under a cut bc i'm a lil too tired to do the thing where i start with the pg-13 and below stuff and then do a cut.

cw: sexual assault, parent being involved in sexual assault of child

heck if i know. i'm like. 100% sure mistyfoot's kits were forgotten about. they were nameless characters for a Long time. reedpaw isn't in any of the allegiances for riverclan in tpb. i...like. i've read tpb how many times? and i honestly didn't know mistyfoot had kits until i checked out the warriors wiki and was like. oh. she had kits? with blackclaw? what the fuck?

i wouldn't put money on it, but i have a feeling the scene involving mistyfoot and her kits could be read as riverclan kits in general. again, wouldn't put money on that, it's just a hunch.

anyway, i kind of just. mistyfoot could have had another litter in the year between tpb and tnp, or during po3, or literally any other time and then we wouldn't have the reedpaw problem (tm).

WAIT

WAIT WAIT WAIT I WAS LOOKING AT THE WARRIORS WIKI AND

HE'S AN APPRENTICE IN TNP

what the FUCK

he's fucking like. several YEARS old. he's 2 and a half years old and he's a fucking apprentice oh my god just give mistyfoot a second litter it is not that hard.

actually. since mistyfoot's litter isn't named...new hc that reedwhisker is a different litter? hm. anyway.

my tangent on the reedpaw problem aside;

oh yeah, he's so fucking dead. imo prob not him and leopardstar -- riverclan would Riot if their leader was killed, and tbh, so would part of shadowclan -- but him and blackclaw. damn.

and yeah? idk? god. i don't know. tbf he's not in prison i don't even know. altho. actually, to give greystripe some credit -- the fact that mistyfoot doesn't ask to go back for him and how risky the riverclan rescue is, i think "not going back" is actually a reasonable choice.

honestly do we have an erin statement that reedwhisker is part of the same litter as prim and co. it's not on the wiki. i want to know. because i think everyone just assumed he was and -- maybe there is a statement but i want to see it.

because mistyfoot is not the type to abandon her kit. like. what? no. mistyfoot? mistyfoot? my brother just died but i am fucking fine get me the hell out of here mistyfoot? no i know i'm starving but like hell you can apprentice featherpaw to someone else mistyfoot? you're telling me SHE would leave a kit behind without so much as a word about him? fat fucking chance.

in conclusion, unless someone can provide evidence an erin said reedwhisker was part of mistyfoot's first litter, i'm going to assume the intention was that he was a second litter.

and back to the actual topic, now that i'm done for real hopefully.

yeeep. he can't be rescued. and -- mistyfoot has very few choices here. featherpaw is dying, reedpaw is safe for the moment, she won't get another chance. she's not happy about it -- she misses him so terribly much -- but she doesn't. yeah. god. that angst. i hope like. someone somehow just Tries to let reedpaw know it wasn't voluntary.

(i'm not Much One for "you left me you didn't love me" angst if you Can't tell. a pinch of it for flavour, but not as a main plot line, y'know? nothing wrong with it it's very good i just don't like writing it.)

god -- god. in my mind tigerstar takes the life from leopardstar privately bc riverclan would fucking riot but just. reedpaw realizes what's happening. so he follows bc of course he does. he's not the reason tigerstar knows what's going on, but he thinks he is.

and he's there hiding and he sees tigerstar kill leopardstar and hears him tell mudfur what's going to happen and he's sitting there in a bush or something just trying not to so much as twitch because he's so dead if tigerstar finds him. he's so fucking dead.

so he just sits there until long after tigerstar and leopardstar and mudfur have left and when he gets back to camp everyone wonders where he went and he can't explain.

and it feels terrible but he realizes tigerstar is still gloating over everything because as pissed as he is that he lost mistyfoot -- now he's truly taken out every thread of riverclan's leadership.

(frankly no i still think tigerstar's most effective control method for riverclan would be to tell stonefur that if he messes up, he'll kill the apprentices and/or mistyfoot and/or rape mistyfoot, and do leopard au on leopardstar, therefore getting all 3 riverclan leaders in blind obedience to him. he'd have to be much more discrete about leopardstar, maybe convince the clans it's a political thing, i'm not sure. the point is, nothing would Visibly be wrong, all three leaders are just going for this, and so of course riverclan would go along with it. but tigerstar's too much of a prideful asshole to appreciate another culture in enough depth to manipulate them effectively.)

anyway. so reedpaw realizes like -- ah yes. i'm escaping punishment because tigerstar is distracted. and -- god. yeah. oh my god.

and at first like -- he doesn't like. witness anything. tigerstar has some sense of subtly. not a ton -- but enough. direct evidence would be a problem. so no, reedpaw is just sitting with this knowledge in his head. mistyfoot escaped and she was carrying tigerstar's kits (was she? he hadn't seen her he misses her so much he hopes prays she's safe), so now leopardstar is going to.

and the thing about letting things sit like that is that the brain is very, very powerful.

(He called my mother a whore, Reedpaw thinks, and he wants to throw up when he remembers it.

Tigerstar and Leopardstar and Mudfur are having a conversation again and Reedpaw thinks of how Tigerstar would wrap his tail around Mistyfoot, like they were mates, and he wonders what Tigerstar would say if he didn't have to pretend.)

so. you know. yeah. good angst oh my god.

and now mudclaw has flipped from -- one of his best protectors to a great enemy. see, here's the thing. tigerstar only tells mudfur he's going to make him watch. leopardstar ain't dead that long. so reedpaw doesn't know what shadepelt knows and shadepelt would tell him but if shadepelt tries to talk to reedpaw...bad for the both of them.

and reedpaw is around blackfoot and blackfoot is a good guard and how long until -- reedpaw is asked to tell blackfoot something while blackfoot is on guard and he hears mudfur say, "You're a slut like your mother" and he -- can't. maybe he freezes, can't remember what he was supposed to tell blackfoot.

("Spit it out," Blackfoot says, but Reedpaw can't remember why he's even here.

"Even your own father thinks you're just a useless whore," Tigerstar says. He's not speaking loud -- Reedpaw would have to strain to hear the words if his entire world hadn't narrowed down to them.

"Reedpaw," Blackfoot growls. "Spit it out.")

hm. yes. god. bad. good. damn.

and yes the dark au seems like. once again "the angst is very different so i don't know how to rank its magnitude because emotions don't work like that" but. on one hand -- his dad. protection. safety. good. on the other -- his dad really did let two of his siblings die and his mom get raped, huh.

hm. good stuff.

[msmkcreates]

A Second Chance at a First Impression Ch. 9: The One With the Croissant

Boss may be taking care of Stretch, but he still has therapy of his own to attend, and therapy always digs up the root of the problem.

-------------

I know it's been a while, but I've had so much going on these last few weeks, some very good (like a promotion) and some very bad,, including dealing with a death of a family member recently so all of my works have been inching along slowly in my documents.

I hope everyone is having a Happy New Year

Warnings: therapy, imposter syndrome, anxiety, working out Boss' issues, discussion of consent and power imbalances

Read on Ao3 with the above link

-or-

Read here on Tumblr

----------------

The clinic was always empty this time of day, the sun sinking down beneath the surrounding buildings, but Boss quite prefers it when there's less people cluttering the lobby and the waiting room.

His therapist was an aging man named John, with kind eyes and a weathered wedding ring polished by worrying fingers over the years. His office was decorated simply with a handful of pictures of his wife and nephews. No children, he had told Boss once, though the why had never quite come to him. In Boss' opinion it was really none of his business, but he did wonder what could stop someone with so much kindness from passing it on.

"How are things with your new job?" John asked, looking over his glasses at him. "I know you've been struggling with your inability to join the workforce, has this helped the negative thoughts go away?"

"It helps to have another income," Boss agreed, his hands folded neatly in his lap. "And it helps that it's family, and so close to home. It isn't what I expected, though."

John hummed, leaning back in his own chair. "How so?"

"Well, to be frank, I expected it to be a nightmare," he chuckled. "Stretch and I get along like baking soda and vinegar on the best of days. Or at least, we used to...it seems like we get along better than he and his own brother now. He's kind, and thoughtful, a little naive but also startlingly wise at times."

"A good change, then?"

Boss hummed, looking down at his hands. "...I'm not sure. It's nice that he usually does what I ask, and it's nice that we don't fight all the time. But I worry that maybe...he still feels the same, deep down."

"As if maybe, he is keeping it to himself out of a sense of duty and gratitude?" John asked. "You worry that he is only this way because you're caring for him."

"...right on the money, as always," he chuckled.

It was something they'd discussed before, the fear that any kindness shown to him was out of a sense of duty, fear, or propriety. When he'd begun his sessions with John, he'd resisted the idea that he treated Red badly, only to find that was exactly what he had done and Red had only gone along with every horrid word because Boss provided protection, safety, and home. With Red's HP he had always just taken it on the chin for the sake of surviving, something they have been parsing out in small quantities and group sessions over the years, limited by Red's stubborn insistence that Boss has nothing to apologize for.

The fear was there, that Stretch was only pretending to like him because of the inherent power Boss holds being his caregiver. He worries that fear rules their relationship, that Stretch is only being kind because Boss is helping him.

"Is it wrong of me to assume that you might hold feelings for Stretch?"

Boss felt his face flush as he looked up swiftly, bristling slightly in embarrassment. "I, well, that is...I don't know what you mean."

"Correct me if I'm wrong,but every time we talk about Stretch recently, it's all very positive. Your posture changes, and you smile more. Before the accident, any time we spoke of him it was as if you'd eaten something sour, but now it's like I've just offered you your favorite candy." John leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling knowingly. "Is it fear of your power in the relationship that keeps you from recognizing these feelings?"

Boss hummed, looking out the minnow over the nearby park. Stretch sat there, on a bench where he had left him to wait, and he got up to walk over to the window and pulled the sheer curtain aside to look at him more properly.

He'd bought him a croissant, in the hopes he'd eat it, but looked like the soft-hearted man had felt bad for the birds with little food, as he was tearing pieces off it to feed to the growing number of cardinals and winter wrens surrounding him. They pecked at the snowy ground and hopped around his feet, and Boss could almost hear him talking to them, telling them to wait their turn as if they understood English, and he chuckled.

"Feelings are irrelevant. I only want him to get better. I want to see him smile more, to see him happy." Boss let the curtain fall back into place. "I'm his friend now, but I'm also his caregiver. If I made a move on him, wouldn't that put pressure on him to say yes, even if he didn't want to? Would he feel as if he owed me? As much as I may want him, I don't want that."

"Consent is very important, and being on unequal footing can compromise it," John agreed. "Have you spoken with him about these thoughts? Being clear in your motives and your wish for consent?"

"Heavens no," Boss chuckled, grasping his hands together as he turned back to the couch. "I think I'd much rather eat a cactus than talk about my feelings. As you know."

"Do you think that's very fair?"

"To him?" Boss asked.

"To yourself."

Boss paused, squeezing his hands together as he thought on that. "...I'm not sure. I'm not even sure what I feel for him is romantic or platonic. I can't tell if it's happiness at finding a true friend or...something more. Or if it's just the amount of time together, or just guilt. I think it'd be a disservice to tell him how I feel if it turns out I'm wrong."

"That seems sound," John said, leaning back in his chair. "Perhaps you should explore your feelings deeper?"

Boss shook his head. "I'm not so sure I want to."

"And why is that?"

"I...I'm not good for him. I'm dangerous, my LV is... so high, and only one hit from me, even with higher HP that he has now, would destroy him. What if I lose myself one day?"

"Do you think knowing you cared for him would increase the chance of that happening?" John asked. "Currently you are spending about as much time together as any married couple. Do you still thinks he is in danger from your presence?"

"Well...I guess you have a point." Boss fidgeted with his fingertips. "Maybe I was the wrong person to look after him."

"That isn't what I meant," John chuckled, standing from his chair. "I think all feelings are worth exploring, Papyrus. If you understand yourself, you can begin to make the changes you want to see. It's worked thus far with your brother, hasn't it?"

Boss smiled wryly. It was true, his relationship with Red was leagues better now than it had ever been, just from understanding and changing his behavior.

"...I will think on it." He reached out to shake John's outstretched hand. "Thank you again, John. Have a lovely weekend and say hello to the missus."

"I gave you that croissant to feed yourself, not the birds."

"I always do," John promised.

--------

Stretch looked up at Boss with bright eyelights, smiling wide from beneath the many birds perched on his outstretched arms. And legs. And head. And any semi-flat surface they could sit on.

"but it's so cold! where are they gonna get their food?"

Boss chuckled, the puffy jacket he was wearing rising and falling with his shoulders in a shrug. "They're winter birds. They eat nuts and berries and whatever else. They know how to get what they need, unless people keep feeding them so they never learn how to do it themselves."

Stretch smiled sheepishly. "...oops?"

Boss stepped closer, and in a flurry of wings, all his new bird friends took off into the chilly winter air. He watched them flutter off, scattering into the sparse park trees.

"I suppose I'm too scary for your birds," he sighed, sitting beside him on the bench. "And you? Am I too scary?"

"too scary? no, you're the best!" Stretch answered, and Boss noted the lack of hesitation with faint pride before he even registered the compliment. "who else is gonna buy me croissants to feed the birds with? blue just says i can't live off bread and gives me something lame, like a salad or green beans."

"Hmm, so I shouldn't make shepherd's pie for dinner tonight?" Boss asked, smirking over at him as he gave a look of disbelief. "Well, since you've decided to live off croissants…"

"noooo! i want the pie!" Stretch whined, leaning on him and tugging on his sleeve. "please! you cook so much better than blue!"

"Don't let him hear you say that," Boss laughed, gently removing his hands from his arm. "If we want shepherd's pie, we need to go to the grocery store. Are you up for it?"

"...can we also get some more honey?" Stretch asked, standing with him and trying his best to look cute. Looking cute seemed to get him what he wanted with Boss, and to his delight he got an amused smirk.

Boss turned, jerking his head so he would follow. "If you're good, we can get whatever you want. Come on, then."

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Softly, Barely a Whisper -- Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (part one)

Softly, Barely a Whisper — Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (pre apocalypse) (part one)

Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three

Description: (Name) moved in with her uncle, the Sheriff of a little town in Northern Georgia, to escape an abusive household. While living with her uncle, she meets Daryl, a redneck with a heart of gold and a life very similar hers. Fluff and angst and awkward shy Daryl Dixon ensue.

⚠Warning⚠: great amounts of bad language, past mentions of abuse, past mentions of rape, there's probably more, this'n's kinda a mess. Don't read if you get triggered easily.

Genre: angsty fluff?? Hurt/comfort?? I've no idea. Is awkward Daryl a genre?

Pairing: teen!Daryl Dixon x teen!fem!abused!reader

A/N: hey, sorry I've been gone for forever, I suck at commitment. I also suck at naming things, hence the title. I wrote another long motherfucker of a "oneshot" and therefore am breaking it into chapters like I did with Impromptu Cuddles, so look out for the other chapters soon enough. Enjoy.

Words without A/N: 3242

<—————————————>

"Sure thing, Daryl. You can use whatever ya'd like, just make sure you put it back afterwards. The doors unlocked and yer more than welcome to go in for a drink or anythin' if ya need it." Bill Coleman, or Sheriff Coleman, as most knew him by, called out as he moved to open the door to his cruiser.

The Sheriff was an interesting character to the youngest Dixon. He had hardened features and a voice like a gravel truck that immediately implied a harsh disposition, his eyes were constantly squinted into a look that resembled judgment, and the vibe he gave off was just generally unpleasant; but, in all reality, Bill Coleman was probably the gentlest man Daryl had ever met. He understood the workings of the Dixon household without ever having to be told, and did what he could to make life any bit easier for the teenager. Whether that be arresting the senior Dixon whenever he found possible, or offering Daryl a place to stay in his home over the weekend. Bill was, all in all, a genuinely kind human being. Something, Daryl found, was rather rare in his life.

But, even though the Sheriff had his trust, and he knew the Sheriff trusted him the same, it still came as a bit of a shock to him to see the officer willingly let him, a Dixon, have open access to his house while no one else was home.

Everyone knew not to trust a Dixon. Nobody in the town was willing to make eye contact with him, let alone trust him to their house and belongings while they were away. Will, his father, had done a fine job of destroying the family name in his drunken escapades, and his brothers addictions did nothing to help. This, combined with the confusion and disbelief that coursed through his system, explained the gawk the boy's eyes held as he stared in awe at Mr. Coleman's retreating figure.

This had to be some kind of trick, right?

"Oh," the Sheriff called. There it was, the part where he'd laugh it off and say "just kidding. Like I'd let a freak like you into my home without supervision."

Once again surprising the young man, his expectation was the farthest thing from what the greying man actually said.

"I fergot ta mention my niece, my sisters kid. She'll be here soon enough, gets off work in a half hour or so. She's been stayin' with me since, ah–" he trailed off a bit, one leg up in the cruiser, the other still planted firmly on the ground as he looked at Daryl over the door's window, looking mildly uncomfortable "–well, she's jus' stayin' with me. She's real sweet, you'll prolly get along with 'er. Jus', eh, just be soft, ya hear? She's a bit skittish, and real shy, too, so don't be too offended if she avoids ya, she don't mean it rude like."

And what on earth could he mean by that? The avoiding that he'd done when describing why she was here, what had happened that he didn't want to talk about? Daryl had a few theories already.

"'Till later, Daryl. Take care, and remember what I told ya, boy." With a wave and a caring (or warning, he could never quite tell with the old man) smile, the grizzled man pulled out of the small driveway and onto the road leading out of the trailer park to go do his civic duty, leaving a still heavily confused, and now slightly concerned, Daryl Dixon standing outside of his garage.

This man, knowing his family's history with bad habits, was not only willing to let the teenager into his home without a watchful eye, but was also perfectly okay knowing he'd be there, alone, with his (skittish and shy) niece?

Maybe the old man is finally losing it, he thought.

Still in shock, the young man turned on his heel, and began the short trek back to the shedd to continue working on the pickup that he had been working on fixing up. Though it was really nothing but a shell sitting on bricks right now, he knew that someday it'd be his pride and joy.

Some uncounted amount of time later, Daryl was finally pulling himself out from under the hood. His throat itched with dryness, and he was covered in sweat from the never-ending harshness of the Georgian sun, but, nonetheless, he couldn't help the little spike of pride that ran through him as he looked down at the beginnings of the new-made guts of his pickup. Allowing himself the luxury of a small smile, he decided he'd finally take the old Sheriff up on his offer, and moved to head into the house to grab something to wet his throat, and maybe even a rag to wipe off his face, if he was feeling risky.

He found, upon entry, that the house was relatively clean. Cleaner than it had been the last time he'd been in there, at least, and only as clean as an old trailer house could really get.

Still, where before there had been newspapers scattered, now there were none, and in place of the cluttered kitchen was a clean countertop and a basket of fresh apples. He didn't dwell on it a whole lot as he moved to the sink to fill up a plastic solo cup, though he did wonder if Bill would mind if he stole an apple. The young Dixon couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten.

Filling his cup, he was quick to chug it down, the cold a dramatic (but welcome) shock against the harsh dryness of his throat. He let the water run into the sinks basin as he filled the cup up again, again, and then one more time, and only on his fifth return to the water did he realize the difference in sound. A few inches of water was backed up in the bottom of the sink, refusing to go down the drain like it should, and completely changing the sound the water pouring from the faucet made as it headed downwards.

Quickly setting the cup aside and turning off the faucet, he watched the water make its incredibly slow decent into the drain, and decided he needed to pay back Sheriff Coleman's hospitality. It was the least he could do, after all.

Opening the doors that lead to the plumbing beneath the sink, Daryl set himself to work.

~~~~~~~~~~×~~~~~~~~~~

"Good night, (name)!" Mr. Sennet's overly cheery voice called to the young woman as she moved her way through the front doors of the diner.

Calling out a quick goodbye to him as well, she hurriedly climbed into her rig. A shitty little Honda though she was, she still got the young (name) from a to b, and (name) would be forever grateful to her uncle for gifting it to her.

Dusk was just beginning to settle as she took off towards her new residence, and she worried slightly if her uncle would be angry that she was out later than usual. The diner had been busier tonight than normal, and instead of getting off at seven, as per usual, it was now closer to nine.

Taking a calming breath, she reminded herself aloud:

"He's not like they were, he won't be mad at you. He's not like them, he won't be mad."

Though she really did believe it, she still repeated it aloud to herself the entire way back to the house, as if she thought she could will it into existence if she hoped hard enough.

It was silly, she knew, but she didn't really care. After all she'd been through, she thought she deserved a little self reassurance.

The drive to her new home was short lived, though she didn't much mind. She hated to be alone now, it gave her too much time to think, and far too much time to overthink. A regular pastime of hers, it seemed.

It was odd, really. Before, when it was just her and the chromed glass house and the bruising voices, before she was taken away by her uncle, she loved to be alone. She cherished the times of peace she had between the hurt. Now, if she was alone for more than thirty minutes, it was likely she'd be found having a mental breakdown in a bathtub.

But, enough of the depressing stuff.

As the scarred girl pulled into the driveway, she didn't notice the second pair of tracks that accompanied her uncles, as she was far too wrapped up in her head. Something she'd be sure to kick herself for at a later date. She didn't notice the single light that was on in the kitchen, either, nor did she pay mind to the tools that lay neatly around their box as she passed the shedd that functioned as a garage, and she simply put the shell of a pickup truck that sat just outside off as another of her uncles pastimes. Opening and stepping through the front door, she didn't even notice the smudge of mud off the sole of someone's shoe that was left on the carpet.

She did, however, definitely notice the way the hair on the back if her neck stood to attention at the sound of a voice that most definitely wasn't the Sheriffs cursing angrily from the kitchen. Metal clinking to the ground and a tapping on something that echoed like tubing followed behind the exclamation, and (name) felt herself seize up in fear.

"It can't be them," she reminded herself silently, "it isn't them, it can't be."

Swallowing her fear, trying desperately not to let the tears that branded the backs of her eyes build enough to fall, (name) forced herself to move farther into the room, grabbing the aluminum baseball bat that resided behind the door and dropping her bag by a table near the door as she did.

Thinking back to the little bit of self defence that Bill had taught her upon her moving in, she pulled the bat to her side to keep it close enough that no one could easily pull it from her grasp, but could still cause some damage if shoved forwards hard enough.

Sneaking around the corner of the refrigerator that hid the person from view, she took a deep, calming breath before poking her head around to take a peek.

He was young, she could tell, likely not much older than herself. Shaggy, brown-blond hair nearly reached broad shoulders, and even though he was hunched over beneath the kitchen sink, she could still tell he was much larger than her. Muscles flexed under a sleeveless button-down shirt as he twisted a wrench against the plumbing under the basin, grunting lightly as he did.

He didn't seem like he was there to cause trouble, she figured. Who in their right minds broke into a house just to fix their backed up sink? Oh dear, maybe he's not in his right mind? What if they sent him and he's here to kill the girl? What if he was there to bring her back to them somehow? But they were away, they couldn't hurt her, could they? Even from the depths of prison, or the entrapment of the psych ward, the girl didn't really doubt that one of the two could get a word out to have her hurt (killed?) for getting them put away. She was going to die now and she wouldn't even be able to fix the meatloaf that she had planned for tonight's dinner. She felt her body begin to tremble (or perhaps it was already, and she only just then noticed) and her eyes glazed themselves with tears, to her dismay.

Could she swing and knock him unconscious? Could she at least discombobulate the man long enough to escape? Could she really even hurt somebody like that?

Before she could come to a decision, however, the decision came to her.

Away in the living room, a phone rang. The shrill tlrrring! making both bodies jump slightly, and causing the boy bent beneath the kitchen sink to take notice of young (name).

Blue eyes widened as he caught sight of her, baseball bat clutched in hand, and he threw himself backwards and away, slamming his body into the ovens door. Instinctively, his arms moved to guard his face and torso.

"Fuck! Fuckin' hell, girl!" The loud exclamation startled the girl, and she jumped again, shoving against the refrigerator hard enough to make it rattle dangerously.

~~~~~~~~~~×~~~~~~~~~~

Fixing the plumbing turned out to be far more difficult than Daryl had originally assumed. The bits holding the stuff to the things was rusted on, making it difficult to loosen the thingy mabob and clear anything clogging the that thing.

Putting all of his focus into wrenching the bits away from the stuff, Daryl completely failed to notice the other presence in the room with him, and when the phone in the other room shocked him out if his thoughts, he found his mind immediately assuming it was his father standing there with a weapon in hand.

As his back hit the oven and his arms moved to guard his head, he caught full sight of the person, and quickly came to realize his mistake. His heart beat harshly against his ribs, and he couldn't help but exclaim his dislike for the situation.

"Fuck! Fuckin' hell, girl!"

At his shout, the girl flinched away from him so harshly that he thought the refrigerator was going to come crashing down on top of him, and he immediately felt guilty, for some odd reason.

She looked absolutely terrified. (Eye color) eyes big as saucers, glazed with fear and glossy with tears, shaking hands gripped the metal of the baseball bat so hard her skin turned white, and her entire body was shaking like a leaf. Her eyes never left his form as he slowly stood up from the ground, one hand still held out in front of him, whether to ward off an attack, or to show he meant no harm, neither really knew. The girl was down right terrified of him, and he hadn't so much as said a word to deserve it yet.

This had to be the niece the Sheriff was talking about, he decided. The scared look she was giving him as she slowly backed away from him made him feel downright awful, and he knew he needed to do something to show her he meant no harm. So, remembering her uncles words, Daryl worked to make his voice a bit less gruff than usual, and tried to keep the edge out of his tone.

"Uh-uh, I ain't here ta hurtcha, girlie–" she took another quick step back "–I'm a friend of Bill's. I was jus' comin' in ta get a drink, I ain't here ta hurtcha."

There was far more that could be said, he knew, but words never really were his forté, and he wasn't sure how much he could talk before he made her more uncomfortable. However, the little bit that he had said, mostly naming her uncle, he thought, had made her shoulders un-hunch a bit, though she kept her distrusting posture. Smart girl.

Slowly lowering the bat until it pointed at his chest she grabbed it with both hands and hesitantly backed out of the kitchen, beckoning him to follow her. Keeping him safely at the end of the bat, and moved to pick up the still-ringing phone and gingerly press it to her ear, her eyes never leaving him, and the bat never wavering (though it did shiver along with her tremors.)

Her eyes relaxed a bit more at the voice on the other end of the line, and though Daryl couldn't much hear the words that were being said—aside from the mumbled tone—he could still tell it was the sheriffs deep voice that spoke.

"Yeah? Uh-hm, good, I uh, I guess... I did. Of course," as she spoke to the formless voice, Daryl couldn't help the small spike of fear that ran up his spine. What if the Sheriff didn't want him there now that he'd scared the girl? He had warned him, he thought. What if Bill made him go back to his shit-hole house and wouldn't let him come back again? This place was one of the few he had to escape that hell, he didn't want to lose that. What if the officer freaked and called Daryl's dad to come pick him up? He'd have hell to pay if he let that happen. He was sure he'd end up with a few more scars at least if his dad were to find out that someone knew of what went on behind closed doors. The Sheriff, no less. What if he–

His spiraling thoughts were disrupted when he caught the sound of his name coming from the other end of the phone line and immediately tuned back in.

"Uhm, uh, yeah, I–I guess. I mean, yeah, yes, he's still here... Oh, no, he's, uh, he's been nice enough," was she even still talking about the red-necked youth? "Yes, of course it's okay, uncle Bill. Sure-sure thing, yeah, that's okay with me. I was thinking about making meatloaf tonight, anyway, that usually makes enough for more than just you an' me."

Wait, what?

The girl had lowered the weapon, though she still kept a tight grip in it, and gave him a shy, almost apologetic smile, before finally letting her eyes dart away. Daryl stayed frozen in his spot. What was even happening?

"–oh," she suddenly looked dejected at whatever had been said on the other side. Scared, almost. "Yeah, no, no, that's-that's okay, uncle Bill, sure thing. It's okay, promise," she suddenly donned a small smile, and though he knew imediately that it was fake, he still found himself startlingly light-of-breath at the sight.

"Yeah, of course, see you tomorrow, uncle, stay safe." Tomorrow? What? Why was all this so confusing to the youngest Dixon? Why was the disappearance of her smile making him feel so hollow?

The sudden change in the expression that the smaller figure wore was dramatically startling to Daryl. Going from sad and scared and sorry and a bit regretful to blushing and wincing and all together uncomfortable in the blink of an eye, the girl shriekingly exclaimed:

"Uncle Bill! No! Ew, gross! Don–Don't say things like that, ya nasty!" Daryl couldn't help but find her blush and stutter quite endearing.

Even from the few paces away that he was, he could still hear the loud laugh that erupted from the other side of the phone.

"Alrigh–alright, uncle Bill," the girls face was still flushed intensely, "I'm hanging up on you now... Yeah, yes, okay—thanks for that." She winced again at whatever he'd said, and she somehow flushed even harder. In a softer voice, now, "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Stay safe." Her last words were barely a whisper.

Slowly pulling the phone away from her ear, the girl placed it gently on the receiver before turning to glance at Daryl, though he took note that she never once fully looked at him again.

"I'm, uhm, I'm sorry," she whispered, grimacing softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ו×~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[ty-menace-blog]

⤷ title: 12:04

⤷ featuring: taeyong (nct) x reader

⤷ rating: purely soft

a/n: i thought about this after watching one of his studio lives, and knowing the credit he just doesn’t often receive for being such a hardworking, and incredible artist, i felt it was my duty to write deeper into that, but pls enjoy !

⤷ summary: late night studio talk.

»»————-　♔　————-««

It was late.

A million things were on your mind. You were completely distracted. You thought about how you could never be on time for anything. Not even for your best friend's midnight crisis. To tell the truth, he never actually slept at normal times, so he liked to call you up late at night to have someone to talk to and be around. It was fine. Sometimes you weren't able to fall asleep so it was nice to be bothered. You were always his first choice. Always the one he called up at random times either to just chat or come hang out. That was nice too.

As you walked along the streets of seoul, you noticed the first drop of snow that began to fall. You stopped, and craned your neck up to look at the sky. It was dark, but you could see each and every snowflake that fell, one landing at the tip of your nose. With a crinkle, it dissipated into water, and made your nose tingle.

You took a peek at the time on your watch. It was past midnight. A sigh left your cold lips. You knew that if you didn't hurry, he would send about a billion messages wondering where you were or whether you got lost again. It was his way of worrying about you.

You smiled. He liked to be motherly. It was annoying, yet cute at the same time. You didn't mind it. Not at all.

The further you got down the street, the more you realized that it really was late out. You only came across two other people that were out, and they looked to be in a hurry (unlike you). Perhaps because of the cold. Either way, it made you pick up the pace to avoid the texts that you were sentenced to get if you didn't get there quickly enough.

When you got there, it surprised you that he hadn't sent not one message considering you were about fifteen minutes late. Perhaps he was busy. That was what you assumed, anyway.

Upon opening the door to the building, the immediate warmth you felt washed over your body while the smell of freshly brewed coffee crept its way into your senses. With a soft smile, you let your feet carry you the rest of the way mindlessly. Soon enough, you were in front of the studio, two drinks from starbucks in hand. One, an iced caramel frappicino, the other a strawberry açaí with coconut milk. One of his favorite drinks. You could say he liked anything pink.

Before you were able to knock on the door, it swung open, surprising you.

Taeyong never cared about what he wore late at night when going to the studio unless he planned on doing a vlive so, there he was dressed down in dark grey sweatpants, a plain white long sleeved shirt and a pair of shoes he'd recently artworked on. The shirt looked a size too big for him, but he looked cozy. Whenever he wore clothes bigger than him, it always made him look so tiny. You remembered a few weeks back how he came over to your place wearing the largest hoodie you’d ever seen on him, baggy sweatpants and a pair of converse with the laces untied. It made him look several sizes smaller, and five years younger. He ended up being the little spoon that night. As if you minded. The body heat he radiated all night was worth it. Especially after a point during the night he ended up turning around to wrap all of his limbs around your entire body resulting to you waking up sweaty the next morning. It was still worth it, somehow. Maybe it was the redness in his cheeks, an eyebrow twitching after every other breath, and the way he’d grip onto you at the slightest of movement from you. The moment he mumbled, “stay”, was when you melted in his long arms, and fell right back to sleep despite the overwhelming heat.

So, okay, it was maybe definitely worth it.

Taeyong stood in front of you, an arm holding the door open, wearing a cheeky smile. He looked adorable. You wanted to pinch his cheek but refrained due to still holding the drinks, and knowing he would whine and protest about it even though he liked when you did it. Such a baby.

"Oh! You finally made it, huh?" Taeyong commented, his eyes instantly dropping from yours onto the pink drink you held in your hand. "Let me guess: you're late because you went and got yourself two drinks." He shook his head. "Cruel. I fell asleep waiting for you, and you go and- wow, so cruel,” he said with a cute pout.

So dramatic, you thought to yourself as you fought back an amusing smile, and handed him the drink.

"Don't tempt me or I might actually keep it," you taunted as he took it. You took a sip of your coffee, and grunted with a gesture at him to let you in. He stepped aside, and you walked into the small space that felt like a cozy, warm home.

There was a small candle near the door that made the room smell like tonka bean and jasmine. A modern floral earthy melange. It made the room feel comfortable. He always knew how to make a space his home. Particularly, the studio, considering he stayed in it for majority of his free time. He liked it. He called it his Creative Space. You found him to be ridiculously adorable sometimes. Maybe it was the names he gave things or more specifically the way he said them. Either way, it was cute, and you never missed a chance to tease him about it every single time he came up with one.

You hummed as you sat down in the chair next to his, and looked over what he had previously been doing.

"Any progress?" You asked, as you drummed your fingertips against the paper cup.

You knew that he had been working on a new song he was wanting to use for the comeback that was coming up for 127, but this particular song was a bit more difficult than, perhaps, any song he'd ever written. He tried to explain to you what the concept of the album was going to be about, but you never could understand it. You just knew that he had been having quite a hard time with it. It was pressuring, you knew that as well. It worried you how much of his time he had to spend to work on it. He hardly got any rest because of it, but he always reassured you that he didn't mind the hours of sleep he didn't usually get. Being an artist wasn't a job to him. It was a gift.

Back then, he didn't know how special he was, or what his talents were, but ever since then, he'd been grateful for the opportunity. He felt important. Like he had a purpose. When things got difficult, he liked to remember what he had to go through to get to where he was. Though, it seemed like this time was different.

Taeyong was sipping on his drink as his eyes roamed over the lyrics he was working on. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He looked conflicted.

He squinted, set the drink aside, and sighed. "I get so...caught up in myself sometimes, you know? I think to myself, am what I'm doing...is it enough? There are moments where I know what I want to do, like I'll have the exact vision in my mind but there are times like these where I question myself. Do people actually like what I put out? Or are they just being supportive because I'm me..”

Even from the side, you could see the astray glint in his eyes. You pushed your coffee off to the side, and moved closer to him. He turned to you slowly, looking anywhere but at you. You could see it. He felt ashamed to be so lost. You knew he didn't like to show that side of him. He was a vulnerable person, but also prideful. He only wanted you to see the best sides of him. Not the sides of him that sometimes felt like a thin paper in the wind going nowhere. He liked it when you were proud of him. He just didn't know that you always were, no matter what he did. In your eyes, he was phenomenal in every possible aspect. You were more than proud. You were thankful to be his friend. To know what it was like to see him on his tired days, his happy days, and even his sad days. You felt lucky.

"Taeyong.." You reached out a hand to put over his fumbling ones. "You're brilliant at what you do. Not many people can even do what you do on a daily basis. You lose sleep over all of this. That's dedication. That's having absolute love for what you do. There are always going to be a collective set of people that won't like what you put out either because it ends up not being their taste or simply because they may not like you personally for whatever the reason, but those aren't your audience. You don't have to worry about those people. Your fans? Those that actually appreciate what you do, and love it? They're your only audience. That's your aim. Also," you smiled. "-it's okay to get stuck sometimes. Book authors get writer's block all the time. They stop for about two weeks, then come right back at it again. You're not a superhero, Taeyong. You're human. You can't always do it all. I know you want to, but you simply can’t. Just know that I’m very proud of you for what you’ve done thus far. I really am.”

Taeyong sat there, looked in your eyes, and soaked up every word. His heart could've exploded right then and there. He loved that about you. Your utter support for him was more than enough to always get him right back on track. He appreciated you so much for it. He was grateful to have you in his life, even if he had a bit of trouble saying it. It made him happy to just know that you would always be there for him no matter what. You, his constant. He couldn't have felt any luckier.

"Thank you," he said softly, and took your hands in his, squeezing them gently. "I mean it, thank you for that. You always know what to say."

Your heart felt warm. If only he knew how you truly felt about him. Why you always got so defensive when it came to him doubting himself or worrying about whether people actually liked him. You wanted to tell him that none of that mattered above how you felt. That you’d always be there to support him.

It was hard to continue as if you only saw him as a friend. He made it so hard sometimes. A kiss to the cheek here, and hugs that lasted way too long. There would be moments where you’d ramble on and on about something, but caught him staring at your lips the entire time. As if he hadn’t listened to a word that you had said. Moments like he wanted to know what you’d do if he kissed you right then. Taeyong was quite easy to read. Especially for you. He was never able to hide anything from you. You could catch on easily.

You wondered when you would get the courage to tell him how you felt. Where your true feelings lain. His possible reaction to your confession still scared you enough to hold back, and resist telling him. To lose the friendship you two had, that scared you enough to want to never truly tell him how you felt.

“Ah, so,” Taeyong began as he turned back to screen in front of him. “I think I could use your input on some lyrics here. If they’re good enough, I might actually add them.” He gave you a wink. You couldn’t help but giggle as you drew closer to see the screen as well.

“What? Will I get credited on the album as well if my input happens to be good enough?” You asked, teasingly.

Taeyong shrugged, smiling. “Possibly. Wanna find out?”

You rose a curious eyebrow. “How can I say no to you?”

He laughed before smirking. “Easy. Just say n...n...oooo,” he taunted playfully as you slapped his arm, shaking your head.

There was no way that you could’ve thrown everything between you two away. What you two had was comfortable, and settling. You liked things the way that they were. You definitely could hold onto that confession a little longer.