#even though a personal statement is a chance for you to big yourself up

[sunmoonsurfing]

Not really used Tumblr in ages, but I am now back just so I can complain about how hard it is to write a personal statement for a postgraduate course :O I haven’t had to write one in almost 6 years ahhh

[inkskinned]

in internet posts it is easy to cut them out of your life. they are hurting you! they aren't listening to you!

they held your hair back. they lent you lipstick. they held your hand at the train station and got you home safe. they rounded on your bully, got loud, said get fucked, spitting-mad in your defense.

they also cut the hair off again. told you that you should really think twice before wearing something like that. took you for granted. took your insecurities and threw them in your face again.

you know logically it should be easy. all the internet advice comments always read it will feel better. like an equation - if a person is rotten, you just remove them. you pull the tooth that's hurting.

but it was never a big flare-up moment. you don't live in a sitcom. they never tried to take your boyfriend or steal from your apartment. they showed up to birthdays and they wrote songs about you and bring you water without you asking. once you found out they carry an emergency inhaler for you, even though you haven't had an asthma attack in years - just in case.

where is the line? people fuck up. sometimes they fuck up badly. sometimes people have raw personalities, like a powerline, and being around them is dangerous. addicting. sometimes they can't help themselves, but you know they're trying. sometimes they are just rough-around-the-edges. sometimes they don't even realize how they sounded when they said that. sometimes it's just - you've both loved each other for so long now, the way this thing hurts goes back to the root.

and that's the fucked up part. you have pushed your fingers against the sweetheart of memory. things these days are electric, tense, harrowing. they didn't used to be. there were a lot of good days in there. sometimes you want to just close your eyes and say can this be over yet? do we still need to be fighting?

doing that would give up any chance you get of getting an apology, but you don't always know that you need an apology, you love them. once they flaked on your birthday party. once they told you to get over it, people are always dying. they also let you crash on their couch for a week after the breakup, handfeeding you when you were so sad you couldn't eat. they are also judgmental about everything, occasionally react to banal statements with an attitude that is weird and fiery. they also love you like a lighthouse sometimes, so strong they cut the storm like lightning.

but the problem is that you might be storm. you might be the thing that needs breaking. what if you are two forces who are desperately, horribly drawn to each other, shaped by the other person's passions, and both good for each other and bad in equal measure.

what if you're both just people, and you're no saint neither.

just cut them off! swallowing the saltwater, you catch yourself in the mirror. you've been shaking more than usual. there's an ache in you that is oblique, loud, impossible to soothe. is this what it looks like? when life is "easier"?

your mouth will always have a hole, is the thing, if you remove the tooth.

[mullermilkshake]

The man behind the camera.

Cruises are full of people you don't notice.

Photographer!Satoru Gojo x Fem! reader Stalking,Masturbation,Betting,Fleshlight

<<< For more Satoru content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

Taking pictures of faces. Poses. In front of stupid movie characters and signs, smiles and memories. Photographs tell stories and make statements, though they never show anything about the person who took it. 

Satoru was currently in his fifth season on this large and rather boring cruise ship. It was the start of the season and pretty desolate, more so than usual for the month of June.

More often than not, Satoru would take pictures of the guests during peak times and then shuffle back to his cabin or try his luck with one of his colleagues after a few drinks for a grope or a quickie before doing the same bullshit the next day. 

Mind numbing was what he referred to it as. Mind numbing enough to lower his IQ because he knew he was more qualified than this. He was better than this. He was better than everyone on this damn ship.

 He should have been taking photos of models and living the high life enough to never want to stop working. Fucking someone high-class, new and sparkly every night, tall with big tits and legs up to her chin, yet here he was, taking pictures of sun burnt tourists and shirtless men with too much alcohol in their systems to know Satoru was even there. 

It was a shitty existence.

Until he took your picture.

You came on board with a group of friends Satoru didn’t care to recognise and he didn’t bother to get the names of. He remembered your name when you introduced yourself and even shook his hand with a smile. Hands soft enough like silk, small enough to fit swamped in his own hand and dainty like fine china. Yet your hand shake was so firm, strong enough to get his existence fired up. 

He hadn’t been deprived of sex, or had no luck with the ladies. In fact he was constantly inundated with numbers and subtle gazes from guests and colleagues on the ship that he could get his leg over most nights, and he did. But your touch sent his mind flying up into a rut and down right low in the dirt before you even had a chance to speak of your interests when Satoru enquired what activities you’d booked so he could take pictures for the group. 

Most of it was the spa which by anyone’s standards was a complete no go inside with his camera. Though he wished he could and kicked himself that you chose to go into the forbidden space. 

There was something different about you to which he was inclined to investigate. Maybe the glint in your eyes upon seeing the vast size of the ship when you climbed aboard, or it could have been that gorgeous smile that plastered grins on your friends faces whenever they saw it. 

It could also have been the fact that there seemed to be no interest in Satoru your end. It drove him crazy when your other friends clearly had an interest. A small obvious flirtatious gaze, lingering touch that went on for far longer than socially acceptable and kind words about his hair or eyes and even his cotton shirt that were clearly just to falter him didn’t work.

He could have had any of them in bed without much hassle and that was what bugged him. It would have taken so much more trouble had you even agreed to go out. Satoru saw how many guys asked you out or offered a drink to impress you and you turned them down every time he saw. 

It became a game, a test to see if he could get you himself. 

“She’s cute, who is she?” Suguru, Satoru’s friend and colleague sat down at his desk by the computer. 

Satoru was busy editing pictures, well most of them were of you in some shape or form. “Some girl, with her friends. The girls are hot but the guys they came with are a little up their own asses.” 

He played it off in a way Suguru wouldn’t ask questions. Of course your friends were hot, but you were hotter, but he didn’t want to put you in Suguru’s sights. Usually friendly competition never hurt anybody. But not this time. 

“I like that one.” He pointed to a friend of yours that appeared the closest with you. 

“Oh yeah?” Suguru almost took the bait to leave you alone, he fiddled with his pen and rolled it along the desk to either hand in thought. “She is cute, isn’t she?” 

“Yeah she seemed into me but it’s too early to tell.” 

“Well you know what we’re like Satoru… best man?” 

Best man wins. He took the bait like a dog to a bone the idiot. Sometimes Suguru Geto wasn’t anything like a friend, but rather just an asshole. 

“Pfft!” Satoru sat up in his chair that he’d slumped down and clicked the edited image away in a folder. “You wish man, I bet she’d be all over me in an instant if I took her out.” 

“Of course she would, because every girl is in love with the great and irresistible Satoru Gojo huh?” 

“I bet you fifty I can get a kiss real quick.” He said, grinning at his friend like it was real. 

He didn’t want to kiss her, he wanted to kiss you, right on the lips infront of those asshole guys who clearly wanted to fuck you themselves. 

Suguru chuckled and hit Satoru on the back. “I bet you fifty I can get a fuck in no time.” 

“You got it, best man wins.” Satoru couldn’t care less who Suguru fucked and he cared even less to hear him brag about his inevitable win after taking Satoru’s sloppy seconds. 

After that, Satoru tried his best to save face and tried his best to swoon you, a complimentary word and a drink, but you wouldn’t even take a sip of anything he or anyone else would buy you.  

A tough but to crack and that pissed him off. You were so kind about it too. 

“Honestly.” Satoru stomped through to his cabin in the depths of the ship. 

You had turned him down point blank after he finally got serious and asked you to dinner. Suguru was hot on your friends tail and too busy to notice but so blatantly obvious and you saw through everything so clearly, so transparent and it ruined everything. 

What a fucking fail. 

The door slammed shut and the darkness mocked him. “Fuck!” He kicked the chair innocently sitting there at the pathetic desk and didn't bother to flip the lights on.

“Suguru you fucked it up. You fucker.” Gritted teeth. A scowl. Suguru noticed his frown even behind his sunglasses at the bar. “Can’t take a hint to fuck off.”

The more time Satoru spent with you, the more he wanted to fuck you. God you were photogenic, the sun agreed with your eye colour, the tone of your hair and a sparkle he never needed to edit out. And you fucking said no.

“Doesn’t matter.” Satoru knelt down and felt around under his cot bed in the minuscule cabin. A laptop. “Got everything I need right here.”

With Satoru’s job, came great trust and everybody trusted the unknown yet dashing half obscured face behind a camera. Always watching, collecting and storing images in a secure place to give back to the guest’s at a price. 

Well… mostly secure. Every now and then some images may not even get uploaded or edited to make the final cut and inevitably get erased. 

Opening the computer, the screen livened up and lit up the darkened room and Satoru’s face, stinging his eyes wider in search for the folder. 

One folder named ‘PRIVATE’

He double clicked and scoured through the individual file names, a total of over one thousand photographs. 

001 (Gate)

002 (Cocktail)

003 (Bikini)

The photos on Satoru’s laptop computer were those said photographs that should have been disposed of and discarded to never have permission to see the light of day respectfully due to lack of focus, screen glare and an array of other professional reasons. Many photographs that just should have never existed. Ever.

And all of the photos in this folder were of you. 

“That’s more like it.” One photograph in particular was Satoru’s favourite and he scrolled and scrolled until the number appeared on the bottom of the screen. 

0967 (Pool table)

A candid picture of you, leant over the pool table in a bikini, smile on your face surrounded by your friends who watched in as you hit a pool ball in hopes to pocket it. 

It was seductive, like you knew Satoru was there snapping that moment in time, bent over the table with your tits pressed against the felt surface, threatening to slip out of your bikini top. 

You even bit your lip for him. 

“So hot.” He imagined what your skin would feel like, softer than your hand when you placed it in his to shake?

Skin supple enough to hold but pliable to shake and jiggle in a way he fucking adored to see. Dips from his finger tips and maybe even bruises when he grabbed you from behind and watched your tits bounce around as gravity worked its magic. 

Bent over, yeah he’d enjoy taking you from behind, bent over that lucky pool table, perhaps even in front of everybody, your friends and those guys you hand out with. That would have been extremely hot and just the shallow thought got Satoru worked up enough that he could already see his cock twitching away in his pants under the eye squinting brightness of the computer screen. 

“Christ… What the hell am I doing?”

The retreat from his pants and guilt only lasted for a second and his hand was inside his pants with a firm grip around his length, but resisted the urge to stroke himself. Guilt would set in after he blew his load, but you looked way too delicious to ignore. He only wished your nipple slipped out of your bikini top as you bent over. 

Shit, what would that taste like? 

His hand squeezed and moved a little inside the material, restricting but also stop him from tugging and pulling eagerly and coming all over the laptop keys. No fucking control when it came to you. Only you. 

Your other friends would throw themselves at him; Satoru loved a blonde every now and then, blonde and tall with legs up to the boobs. Boobs. Satoru loved tits; any tits all tits no matter the shape and size shoved in his face. Beautiful and supple in his mouth anytime. He loved them, his favourite part. 

Now Satoru was beautiful, perfect even and he could get said boobs whenever he felt like it. So why the fuck did you tell him no? No one else ever did in his life and it threw him through a deranged loop.

He moved his hand rhythmically, up and down, up and down and the forbidden movements were stronger than usual, firmer and drawn out wishing it never ended. This sensation, imagining your mouth wrapped around his cock and pulling to get that pop sound after it left your lips. 

The slurping sounds from it were unique in the fact it could never be replicated and be as good as the real thing. Unfortunately tonight, for some reason, Satoru’s hand wasn’t living up to expectations either, a cruel ‘fuck you’ in the night of silence.

“C’mon…” He pumped his hand, lifted his shirt and concentrated enough to burst a blood vessel but there was not even a subtle hint of a tingle in his balls yet. 

He thought of you, fucking you anywhere. Over the pool table, on the floor while after you had climbed out of the pool so you were dripping, your sweet moans cooing in his ear while you clenched around him. 

Still wasn’t enough.

“Fuck this.” Letting go of his cock, Satoru put the laptop down on the bed and leant over the bed to reach for a box underneath. 

His special box that no one knew about. He’d be an utter laughing stock to Suguru if he ever found out that Satoru Gojo had a flesh light and lube in his possession.

It was ample in making him come whenever he used it, rubbed adequately to milk him for everything and he used it sparingly. The cool silicone could never replicate the real thing, but it sure did come to use in the early hours of the morning when Satoru’s cock decided it was horny.

He hissed at the icy lubricant from the bottle when it dripped down the tip of his cock, never bothering to take the minute to warm the sticky substance. Lube on, his entire length inside the flesh light that was like for like of a mouth, or as close to it. Fuck it was good, the divots and bumps inside tickling and pleasuring the entire surface area. 

“You like that baby?” He imagined it was your mouth. 

How could he not? Satoru had seen that cherry red lipstick you used enough throughout the week you had been there to know how it would leave lip marks around his cock. Back and forth, twist left to right and there it was, the tingling in his cock to let him know he was getting close to filling the mouth up full. 

Going to be a big one this time too. Right in your mouth. Oh how you’d beg him for it, pray on both knees to be special enough to receieve him all over your face and down your throat. 

“Fuck…” Faster now, the slopping of wet and lube slapping together and met at the base as he bottomed out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

You would take all of him gladly wouldn’t you? Was that why you wore all those skimpy outfits to dinner and the pool? Was it because you knew that teasing and denying him, someone who always got who he wanted was fun to watch? You seemed sweet enough, but he could tell there was a temptress inside of you he wanted to drag out kicking and screaming. 

What Satoru would give to have you knock on his door and have your wicked way with him and he’d make sure Suguru would watch. You bent over and contorted in a way to make you scream in pleasure and rub that in his face to show he lost. 

Well, that was enough to send him over the edge wasn’t it? The thought of his friend losing. 

Satoru came inside that flesh light, cock twitching inside it like it would have done your mouth and let it dribble down those pretty lips and chin. So breathtakingly beautiful.You’d suck cock so well. 

An then the clarity set in and Satoru was just another pervert with a hard on late at night thinking of a person he couldn’t get with. It was still shocking that you had the resolve to turn his charm down. 

Satoru just couldn’t get you. 

He’d continue trying but if all else failed, he still had his job. And that came along with some awesome perks. Satoru had access to cabin numbers for the distribution of the photographs to the cruise lines guests. 

If you resisted his advances again, maybe he could just come to your room and ask in private.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ waiting for a hero ” : 

﹙ ex!antihero merc x gn reader. ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 781 alessio x gn reader !! 🍓  :  ﹙  mercenary  ˖  inhuman ˖ antihero ˖ punkgoth character ﹚

you adored him, but you had to let him go. it would seem that alessio refuses to let you go completely though. you're waiting for a hero, he's waiting for you.

﹙ cws ﹚: angst | wc : 1.0k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: put your pitchforks down! PUT THEM DOWN THIS IS CHARACTER DEVEL-

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

Ex!Alessio who just can't believe you're not in his arms anymore.

( Heeeyy. )

You frown at the pop up text. There's only one person you know who talks like that.

( What phone did you get now? )

( I just keep changing the card baby. Not that hard. Anw, dinner tonight? )

( Sure. )

( Really!? )

( If we were fucking together. )

( Come on amor. Don't do me like that. )

You humour him one more text before this number's blocked too. You can already see his frown through the screen. As much as your heart might twinge, you'd rather it ache than shattered. How else could you separate yourself from a man like Alessio?

Not only did he cook, he cleaned too. Respectful as hell. Made you laugh. Worshipped the very ground you walked on. You needed cash? Not with him. Had a problem? Not with him!

Oh right, yeah. Apart from one: he's a damn antihero.

The prospect of him being a mercenary, while daunting at first, isn't what drove you away. The nights he trudged in bloodied, the endless weeks he'd spend away, the stray bullets of anxiety shot several times through your gut. Now, that's what took you to the edge. What sealed the deal? His consistent strings of death. Yes, he came back like a npc nudged off a pixel cliff. But this wasn't a game. Neither was your heart. There is only so much you could take.

He's simply the hero you'll keep waiting for. Only — he's not a hero. He's a murderer. Once you left the relationship, only then could your morals fully voice their opinions.

This isn't a game.

It splits two ways. On one hand, you wished he could let you go. Slip through his fingers as easily as atrocities left them. On the other, you're almost touched with each attempt he makes. As frustrating as they might be.

Phone tango is a bi-weekly occurrence. Aren't they suspicious of how many SIM cards he's buying? Isn't he getting tired? Not when he shows up at your door. He'll talk for a solid twenty minutes to your door monitor. Either fully aware you're listening to everything or clinging to hope you'll check the recording.

"C'mon am I that bad? Look! Didn't even break through the window this time!"

He seems so proud of that statement. Like a child with an A for effort. "I just wanna talk baby. Promise. Time me even! I just need to talk to you and it's hard to do that since. Y'know. You keep blocking my numbers . . . didn't you like that cat pic last night?"

At midnight. He spammed you with several cat pics before trying to start another conversation. Maybe his method worked. This time you granted him ten minutes instead of five.

Another thing he never forgets? Your flowers. You'll open the door to a new bouquet every month. Florist bought, but with his own touches of course. You fell for him that day he brought you wild flowers. Of course he's trying his luck with this. You'll turn over the card with a cartoonish-mini-Alessio sporting comically big, pleading eyes to read an even more desperate note at the back:

"For my pretty tesoro. Give me one more chance?"

The flowers are let into your home. But he isn't. You almost feel solemn as you plop the blooms into your favourite vase. When would this end? Are you stringing both of you along to a meaningless demise? Is death not what you feared?

Maybe a part of you wanted it all. The resolve. All the lose ends to tie themselves so that you could find yourself in his arms again. Unfortunately, the pain they held outweighed the pain to be apart. It's funny, you're still here. Waiting for that hero.

You hold your breath whenever you spot him in public. This time, you're far too distracted. Male company tends to do that, doesn't it?

Is this it? What you've been waiting for? The questions leave you blind to emerald strays from the side. Sat in a booth not too far from yours. Not that it mattered. Your smile wasn't for him anymore. That much he can see. Crystal clear.

Happiness. When last did he spot it? It's a memory so vividly burned into his mind. How foreign it feels to witness it on your beaming face. It suits you.

Dark nails claw at knees. Doesn't make it any less uncomfortable that it's for another man. What more should he expect? You're not together anymore. He's not your saving grace or solace tower any longer.

It's only when black tuffs catch your vision, do your ears tune to your heart's wail. You stiffen at first. Assuming a scene. That damned grin as he so readily sits beside you. Drapes an arm over your shoulder and converses with the other man in front of you. You expect to smell leather, but only the aroma of coffee remains.

Had he . . .

That night, you await the inevitable text. Your phone stays silent. Maybe tomorrow? Only the weather forecast is there to greet your sleepy eyes. Routine, right, he already texted you two days ago. You'll wait a week. But when that too passes? Your gut coils.

You turn. Neither of your visions came to pass. You catch a familiar head's back. Solemn nips at his boot's heels. So heavy in the way he walks. Undeniably swift as he leaves the cafe fate brought you together in. You see the red string laid torn over the checkered floor.

The calendar flutters. One week, two - three. Your flowers are due, but your vase is left empty. Another month, not a peep at your doorbell. Nor a beep from your phone. Even when there is, it's never him.

It's cruel to expect, you know. Distance does make the heart grow fonder. Colder. Like a damsel who forgot their coat atop a dark, windy building. Feet to the edge. Heart calling. Soul pleading. In the end, you're still waiting for a hero.

But he's not a hero, is he?

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[eaterofman]

I <3 You!: Serial Killer Yandere x Detective Reader

This was your chance to shine, to finally rise up in the pecking order... but have you bitten off more than you could chew?

The answer is yes, yes you have.

CW: Murder, Stalking, Obsession, Violence NOT directed towards reader, Manipulation, Mild gore/grossness towards the end

A/N: I have learned how to make aesthetic moodboards like the cool blogs. I am unstoppable.

Of course you took the case, why wouldn't you?

You were sick of being at the bottom of the food chain, forced to run meaningless errands and getting stuck with the paperwork for the rest of the division.

This was your big break. Finally an opportunity to prove your worth.

How hard could it be?

He knew you were watching him.. or at least, watching the aftermath of him.

And what a beautiful aftermath it was, specially tailored, just for you.

He hadn't known who you were before all this. He'd even been insulted at first when he learned the detective on his case was some nobody that'd been tossed on his kills like a stray dog being offered a bone.

He really had been planning on making you his next target, spitting on the face of the department that decided that he was so unimportant that his work was only deserving of an amateur. He'd show them what happens when he's underestimated-

...but you'd thrown yourself onto his case with a diligence he wasn't quite prepared for. You were taking him seriously, treating the lowlifes he brutalized as important as the rich bastards the rest of your department was worried about.

It was cute.

Despite your efforts, you were nowhere near discovering who he was. He wouldn't let you, at least, not until the time was right.

No, he would make you great, just as you would make him known, and then and only then, would he reveal himself to you. The two of you were so intricately connected after all, both of you unknown to the world around you.

By hell or high water, the city would know the both of you. He'd make sure of it.

You wearily rested your head on your desk, pressing your face into the wood as your eyes blinked in and out of reality.

You were tired.

You wouldn't admit it to your colleagues, you refused to show weakness. You knew what happened when sharks smelled blood in the water. Showing them, that after all these years of being relegated to coffee running and borderline secretarial duties, that you couldn't handle the first case you'd been trusted with?

No, you wouldn't let yourself be thrown back to the bottom again. You were going to prove your worth to the team.

But the disappearances weren't disappearances anymore. They were clear murders at this point, and they were escalating.

What had started as simple disappearances with no confirmed body had evolved into... statements, for lack of a better word. Brutalized bodies proudly displayed in a clear mockery of your efforts.

The killer was getting bold.

It seemed at first as though they were getting sloppy as well, a few times you had stumbled across a victim that had obviously been alive just a few moments before you'd gotten to them, blood still fresh and their eyes still hauntingly gleaming at you.

No, the killer wasn't getting sloppy. You weren't any closer to finding them then you were a year ago.

This was intentional. They wanted you to see it. Despite their brutality, they were careful, never leaving any trace of themselves behind.

The case had escalated to the point where the rest of your division had to acknowledge it. At first, your colleagues simply hadn't cared about a few disappearances of the city's less respected residents. It was practically a joke when they assigned you the missing persons case, like a wild goose chase you couldn't possibly in.

Despite this, you'd put your all into the case. Even if your colleagues didn't care about the occasional missing prostitute or tourist, you did. They were still people, even if they didn't make headlines.

Your division still didn't actually care about the people when they assigned a more advanced detective to your case. No, they cared about their reputation. A serial killer on the loose did not bode well for their public appearance.

You were happy that attention was now being directed towards what you'd known to be a problem since the beginning... but it was too little too late in your opinion. It wouldn't change the fact that lives were lost because you lacked funds and access to necessary equipment and time.

As your eyes drifted shut, you figured that even if this new detective took over your case completely, it'd be okay as long as the killer was stopped.

You didn't need to known, after all, you just needed to protect your city.

That was enough for you.

White hot anger broiled in his chest, threatening to explode as he paced his hotel room.

There was another man with you, another detective.

No, not a detective, a piece of trash that didn't recognize how important the two of you were.

The piece of shit thought he was better than you, than him.

After all the effort and work he had put into gaining notoriety, the fucking pigs had stepped in, placed an intruder between the two of you. Worse yet, an intruder who would surely take all the credit from you.

He wouldn't allow it.

As he eyed the two of you investigating the display he'd arranged for you from his vantage point, watching you be forced into the role of a sidekick, he played with the knife in his hands.

This would be his best work yet.

Just as you had feared, you'd been relegated to side work once your more senior colleague stepped in.

At least you hadn't been completely removed from the case, you supposed, but it had still been a bitter pill to swallow. You'd worked so hard, only to be pushed aside and undermined once again.

You wouldn't have even minded as much, if he'd at the very least listen to what you had to say.

Instead, you'd gotten lectured like a small child, chastised for not solving such a simple case.

You chewed on the words as you walked, coffee in your hands from yet another chore you'd been forced into running.

The bastard had even made you pay for it.

"Forgot your wallet my fucking ass..." you mutter to yourself as you stomp up the stairs to the small office your superior had claimed for the investigation.

Or at least, his part of the investigation. You typically weren't allowed to "cramp up his space" while he "worked". You were used to getting kicked out into the general shared office space to work on the additional paperwork he deemed himself too important to touch.

You knock on the door, hoping to not have to struggle to open it with your hands full of hot coffee.

But there's no answer.

Of course there isn't, god forbid he actually gets up off his ass and helps you for once.

You roll your eyes and go to reach for the doorknob... only for the door to crack open on its own. Huh.

You shrug, turning to hip bump the door open the rest of the way. Easier for you, you supp-

You're snapped out of your thoughts when you step in something... wet. Back still turned, you jump in surprise at the unpleasant sound of wet carpet smooshing up against your shoe.

"Ew, what th-"

You stop mid sentence, now facing the inside of the room. You drop the cups your holding in your hand, barely registering as the brown liquid mixes with the now deep red carpet.

There's blood everywhere.

Soaked into the carpet, splattered onto the walls, dripping from the desk your colleague is sitting at.

Or what remains of your colleague, at least.

Most of what was once him is now covering the small office space, you feel bile rising in your throat.

Even in your shock, it's hard not to notice the oddly pristine, brightly colored paper in the space where your superior's face used to be.

You refuse to step into the room to get any closer to it, survival instincts howling at you to not getting any closer.

But you don't need to, you can clearly make out the almost childishly placed paper cutout letters on the paper.

You feel your stomach contents finally leave your body, mixing with the other fluids on the ground.

The message of "I <3 You" mocks you from the other side of the room as you scream, falling backwards as your mind tries to process what you're seeing.

The killer was just here, had to have been you were only gone for twenty minutes at most and-

-and he knows you, you realize with dread.

You scream.

[ridestomars]

LAST CHANCE ON THE STAIRWAY – S. HARRINGTON HEADCANONS

𖥻 summary: fake dating old money!steve. 𖥻 pairing: old money!steve harrington x fem!reader. 𖥻 warnings: no mentions of y/n, not proofread - we die like men here.

💭 liv's thoughts: it's been a long time since i've written something, so i decided to make my big comeback with a concept that is very dear to me <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU'RE UNDER SIXTEEN.

♡ㆍWhen Steve comes up with (as he called it) a "miraculous, failproof" plan, he wouldn't stop trying to persuade you to join in. It will get to the point of being annoying, because being the brat that he is, this boy can't take a no. 

♡ㆍAnd that is why he is doing everything in his power to make you take up on his offer, which means that he is showering you with useless gifts just for the sake of you saying yes. 

♡ㆍBooks, cassettes, clothes, vinyl records… heck, even a brand new Walkman. He is truly going all in – and the plan hasn't even begun. 

♡ㆍThe thing is: Steve is one stubborn guy, and when he makes up his mind about something, he is going to get it. And he has decided that instead of getting a girlfriend the way normal people do, he has to have you as his fake girlfriend. 

♡ㆍYou could argue that it's because you're one of his, erhm… less fortunate friends, but deep down, Steve knows that this is his only shot at getting you as his girl. 

♡ㆍTo him, it's like you're this very unattainable girl, someone who's so different from everyone he's known his whole life. You do things for yourself, and you're so ahead of him in so many ways that Steve thinks that you'll never give him a real chance. So, he has to make do with this fake shot at getting to your heart.

♡ㆍAnd boy, does he grab that chance by the horns.

♡ㆍEven though you made it very clear that you were still very much friends, and you didn't want this to get too close to comfort, Steve is already thinking about your matching clothes for his parents' annual gala, and planning a romantic date on the golf course at the town's club. Only because his rich friends will be there to witness you playing together, and you "gotta make this relationship seem believable!"  His words, not yours.

♡ㆍSo, of course, he's going to bring you to his favorite rich-boy activities. 

♡ㆍThe first, which is his most dear, is shopping. And it's something, as you found out, that he does pretty much daily –– spending one hundred bucks like it's absolutely nothing. But, hey! Steve was never known for being responsible, was he? 

♡ㆍHe takes you everywhere, slowly finding out your personal tastes and favorite stores, and you're pleasantly surprised with how much you enjoy shopping with him. 

♡ㆍSteve is all for the silly antics: picking out a dozen clothes and making a ridiculous fashion show in the fitting room's small hallway, or wearing clothes that are the wrong size just to hear you giggle and tease him.

♡ㆍIt's nice to have him there for support since he always encourages you to try things you wouldn't have otherwise. Steve is not one to be afraid of making a bold fashion statement, and he wants you to feel secure enough to do the same if you want to. 

♡ㆍSo, if you see something that shows a little more skin than you're used to, or maybe a bright color you have never tried before, he is going to be your number one supporter. It does help that he finds you absolutely beautiful no matter what you wear. 

♡ㆍShopping with Stevie also means that you are coming home with a bunch of shopping bags, but don't worry! He will carry all of them for you, even if it covers his whole arm, because he doesn't want you to ruin your fresh manicure.

♡ㆍBut besides shopping, Steve always invites you to go to the club to play golf, or tennis with him… even though you have no idea how. 

♡ㆍSteve is convinced he is a good teacher, though. And that is what opens the door for opportunities for him to hold you tightly against his body, his big hands holding your arms as he explains how you should grip the golf club, or the tennis racket. 

♡ㆍHe keeps telling you that it's good to be close to you like this to show you off to his friends, but with time, the excuses fade as you both discover that touching is good, and that there's nothing better than to be in each other's arms. 

♡ㆍThose lingering touches, small smiles, and longing stares are almost like an unconscious thing that happens between the both of you, and you find yourself enraptured by them, completely forgetting about the boundaries you had set to avoid getting too caught up in this fake relationship.

♡ㆍBut it's difficult when Steve is the best fake boyfriend you could ever ask for. If you thought that he was just a good friend, man, you're in for the most delightful ride of your life… because if you feel like you're getting the lines between your real emotions and your fake relationships blurry, Steve had already jumped headfirst in it.

♡ㆍHis attentiveness just triplicates, and it's like he just wants to please you all the time. But it all happens so naturally that you start to wonder if dating him was supposed to happen sooner or later in your life; it just feels like the next step, really. 

♡ㆍAnd what surprises you the most is that you could complain about his intensity or his blatant crush on you, but you don't want to. 

♡ㆍIt's just needless to say that you're in big, big trouble.

♡ㆍBut let's talk about the good stuff, shall we? 

♡ㆍHaving so many gorgeous outfits, it's only natural that he will help you pick out great combinations for your nights out, especially when you have to attend his parents' events together. Trust me, he's gonna make sure you go either with matching colors, matching fabrics, or matching designers. 

♡ㆍYou are the only reason why those types of gatherings get bearable for him, honestly. 

♡ㆍLike I said in a previous post, the Harrington family is renowned and known all over America, so that means that hearts will be crushed once Steve appears on the cover of a gossip magazine with his hand over your waist, holding you close as you two pose for the camera. 

♡ㆍWhich takes us to why he made this whole plan up in the first place: he just wants to escape the madness of having people speculate about his dating life all the time and the crazy gold-digging mothers that practically throw their own daughters in his direction. Having a serious relationship keeps the craziness of being the country's most eligible bachelor, and it shuts down his parents, too. 

♡ㆍHe loves to take you out dancing at those parties, even though they're very conservative when it comes to their music; it's either soft jazz music, or some old classics that no one your age has heard of before. But you make your own choreography, pretty much mocking how the other very square couples are dancing.

♡ㆍIt's literally the Laurie and Jo scene from Little Women (iykyk). 

♡ㆍAnd please, he absolutely loves to get shitfaced at those parties! There are two things he really enjoys about those gatherings: the food and the neverending champagne. And he certainly savors every glass and those fancy finger foods – once, he almost took a whole tray of those. 

♡ㆍTipsy-Steve is just a ray of pure sunshine, and a ball of energy. He loves to dance like nobody's watching and to talk to everyone, including those he claims to dislike. It's funny because his cheeks get so red, and even his way of talking changes a little: his voice gets squeaky, and he merges his words together because there's just so much going on through his head. 

♡ㆍBut Drunk-Steve is a whole different person. He can barely keep his eyes open, and he has to spend the rest of the party sitting down somewhere because he gets too lazy… and now his words start to slow down, and he begins to feel a little more sentimental. So, as soon as the bubbly champagne takes its toll on his brain, he still can't stop talking, but most of his words are sweet compliments for you.

♡ㆍIt's like he feels a growing and unstoppable need to be a total sweetheart to you, praising you for just reaching out to brush his hair out of his eyes. And his clinginess just goes through the roof, wanting to be near you, even though you had just spent the last three hours together. 

♡ㆍIt's in one of his drunken spurs where you get to know his actual feelings toward you, because he simply can't keep his mouth shut. He goes on extensive rants about just how great he thinks you are, and that you just might be too good for him… and Steve has such a heartbreaking puppy face, pouting as he tells you all about what goes on in his heart, that it's hard to feel anything but a sense of growing affection for him. 

♡ㆍIt's funny, because one night he's pouring his heart out to you, and the next morning, he doesn't remember anything that he had said. And you don't say anything either. Maybe at the next party… or until your deal is over. There's always time, right?

LIKES, REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED! steve masterlist | main masterlist | navigation ── hey! wanna talk? leave me a message after the beep. currently accepting requests for steve and eddie. 

𖤐 taglist: I AM RESTARTING MY TAGLIST! if you want to be added to my taglist, just click here.

[lured-into-wonderland]

Continues from [x] with @asinusxdomi

“I don’t make friends with this kind of journalists…if you can even call them that…And I was hardly of any interests to them…so far” – until you appeared. Her voice was calm and cold; but there was a clear hint of contempt in it. All her life she tried to protect her privacy as much as she could; with her father being involved in politics, it was a difficult task. But Nunnally usually managed pretty well, trying to appear as boring as she could. Klaus’s accusations were ridiculous, but she was not to cause commotion in this building. With all these people around. Though he'd surely like that. That's why he's provoking her.

“Do I appear to be laughing?” – that was a rhetoric question, but obviously the man in front of her believed in his own delusions. Or perhaps he was playing some sort of a game with her. Pretending to be a victim? How ridiculous!

“Yes, this is exactly why I did that…” – Nunnally complied immediately with his idiotic statements; her voice dripping with irony – “Oh, wait…why should I care…? Would you mind explaining it to me… I remember you were so good in telling me what I should think and feel…”

A pause, when she sharply breathed some air. Her irritation was growing.

“Oh, well so full of yourself as usual, aren’t you?” – she said that in a quiet, almost tired voice – “Don’t flatter yourself. The only person that has anything to gain about this whole situation is you. Are you trying to get your fame back? Have you grown bored of being a high school teacher and decided to take your chance? Or did you and that man at the cashier actually frame me?”

She turned away and looked through the window. There was already a pretty big crowd around her car. She should have come by taxi, but if she was to be photographed, it might have tuned out even worse. But Klaus’s last words made a quick thought run through her mind that perhaps he didn’t do it, either. But since he was rude (he was actually rude almost all the time since they had met), she decided to ignore it for the time being. Instead Nunnally shrugged her shoulders: --

“Grow up yourself. I am not going to put myself into any further mess because it would serve you well. I can already see you in the spotlight talking how poorly I treated you…”

But she didn’t really have any plan. Coming here, she hoped she could convince him to leave her alone. That they could make a reasonable plan to deal with the situation. But it seemed he was adamant on using her to gain back public attention. And that was the last thing she wanted.

“Why me?” – she suddenly asked? She was sure there were more women that would serve his cause better. Or perhaps that was precisely his choice, because she was not obvious? And therefore more probable? No-one would accuse her for having this romance for publicity. And then it would also make him safe. And she was warned so many times not to trust people.

[finniestoncrane]

First of all, congrats for the 1,5k followers! I love your account! It's the main reason I'm checking Tumblr now and then and it really encouraging me to get to writing on Tumblr myself, though I'm still building up the confidence to do it 👉👈🥺

Jumping on the Vill-inn bandwagon, I'd love a blind date please!

I'm a 21 year-old ace Frenchie (afab, but I go by they/them in english) who wants to study cybersecurityI'm a big Sherlock Holmes nerd and usually I love murder mysteries and lovecraftian horror as an aestheticI want to get into witchcraft as well, for now I'm trying to learn tarot but I'd love to get more into itAlso a big videogames player, these days I do A LOT of Dead by Daylight (I'm trying to get into horror but I'm a bit of a scaredy cat) I'm a former gifted kid, so lots of people pleasing and a lack of self-confidence here, and a sprinkle of social anxiety to spice it up lol

And, once more, félicitations! You deserve it!

💜 blind date 💜 the kitchen is now closed! 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie1500 (to follow or to block) a/n: oh god anon that's the nicest thing ;-; definitely share your writing with me if you feel comfortable i'd love to read it ;-; 💚

"Oh, hi. You're finally here. Welcome to the Vill-Inn. I'll show you to your table. If you could... either eat quick and get out of here or be the designated spokesperson for your table, that would be great. We're already sick of your date. Have a nice time..."

That's not really giving you a huge vote of confidence in how well this evening will go, but as you approach your date, you recognise him instantly. He doesn't need an introduction, but he offers you one anyone.

"Hello, Edward Nygma, you're welcome, by the way."

You can push aside the arrogance, The Riddler is as infamous as they come, so you can see why he might have developed an ego. he settles down quite quickly, also, which makes starting the evening a bit smoother than the introductions were.

When you actually get a chance to get a word in, you reveal your interest in cyber security.

"This isn't supposed to be a job interview... but I'm going to keep you in mind for a 'project' I have coming up."

Edward is quick to tell you he enjoys testing the limits of cyber security, or rather pushing them to it. It's like solving a puzzle. A mystery, where the solution is behind codes and passwords.

"I'm the Holmes, you could be my Watson?"

He grins wide when you laugh at his joke, mentioning your interest in Sherlock Holmes, as well as horror and the occult. These are subjects Edward isn't well-versed in, so he spends the next hour grilling you intensely, taking in as much knowledge as you can give him and thanking you profusely for giving him ever more information.

Once he's prattled on about his own love for video games off of your own admission about how much you enjoy them, he decides it's probably only polite to ask you a bit more about yourself, to get a feel for your personality, though he is desperate to talk about himself more.

When he learns how much you have in common though, he feels satiated in his desire for companionship. You're someone who might just get him. He too, struggled in childhood with his intelligence and the pressure placed on him because of it. Though, he's gone the opposite route. He prefers to disappoint people, and he's got, if he can admit it himself, possibly too much self-confidence. But he can always hope that some of that rubs off on you... if you're willing to spend more time with him, that is.

"Which of course you do! Who wouldn't?"

You can almost hear the wait staff rolling your eyes, but you're surprisingly only finding yourself falling for him more with each ridiculous statement he makes.

[the-peddito-and-doise-show]

YAHOOO IM SO PROUD OF YOU TWO THAT WAS SOA WESOMEEE YYEHAHSGGZHAHVCBAGDGD

... Also. Uhh. Not tryna break the happy atmosphere but... Doise, my bbg, you prolly gotta say your goodbyes now....

“Yeahhh… I’ve been meaning to talk to you guys about that.” The Doise ashamedly said, putting his hands behind his back. “About(-a) what?” Peddito, Pizzamancer, Eigilante, and most importantly Doisette all said in unison. “So, uhh… I may have gone to the afterlife, and I may have possibly struck a deal with a literal god that allowed me to come back… and I may have to come back there again because I’ve already done my part…?” Peeperman: “Y-YOU DID ALL THAT?!” Eigilante: “This is The Doise we’re talking about, peeps. After all, he’s always been a broadway actor, so he’s always going to get in some dramatic situations and whatnot.” “I’m not believing this, I’m not fucking believing this—please tell me you’re joking. Please. Don’t go.” Doisette begged in disbelief. Doisey whimpered, as he couldn’t imagine life without his own father to guide him through the tough parts especially. Doise Chan lowered her head with a saddened expression, as she also couldn’t imagine life without her big little brother. Peddita Chan wanted to thank The Doise for introducing her a friend that was like a father to her. Pizzamancer tried to remain stoic and calm, but he too had been given a purpose to serve someone, that very someone who had treated him like he was his friend. Though he didn’t admit it out loud. Even though all of the recolored “ocs” were made to be blatant copies of their original versions, they too felt miserable about the thought of their friend leaving again when they just got here. Peddito… well, Peddito was glad that The Doise was going. He’d been trying to kill him all of this time. Still though… there was a shard of sorrow somewhere in him that missed the years of friendship he had with him. But he didn’t know that yet. Right as The Doise was right about to part ways with his newfound group of friends, both new and old, a mysterious yet familiar figure appeared behind him.

Once The Doise noticed, he was immediately taken back—and so was the rest of the gang who was not expecting this at all. “YYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOAAAAAAAAGGGGGGG!” He had screamed.

“Now, now, calm down, calm down! I am deeply sorry for interrupting your hour of grieving, but I believe I have to speak with him right about now. Come with me.”

The spiritual being then gently led The Doise away from the gang, who was still confused of the whole thing. Meister Stiff: “Uhhh… do you know that guy, Mr. Pizza Magician?” “First of all, I am a professional master of the dark arts for your information, you FOOL! But second of all… no, I have no clue who that guy was.” Gusto: “This-a day keeps-a getting weirder and weirder… I can-a barely remember everyone’s name!” Cement agreed with that statement, still having no clue of who was each person was.

“So, you may have known that your time is up, and since now you can finally rest, right?”

“Yeah, I guess…” said The Doise. He didn’t know where was this leading.

“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news for you!”

“…What’s the bad news?”

“I have to take back the power that I’ve given you before you came back here, y’know.”

“…Aw man—” The Doise had started saying, before immediately being struck by a wave of lightning stemming from the paranormal essence’s hand. “YYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOAAAAAAAAGGGGGGG!” He had screamed… again.

“Sorry about that, but it was necessary nonetheless.”

The Doise took a while being back to an average Joe, as he eventually refocused. ”So, uh… what’s the good news then?”

“You have shown incredible bravery, one that you were determined to protect your friends from a being who ‘thought’ he had the upper hand at any costs given. And you were ready to sacrifice yourself for the greater good, while still honoring the memories made with your own friends. For that reason, you’ve been given another chance at life again. I trust that you’ll resting here a lot more peacefully than that rather dark void back there!”

It took Doise a good moment there, before celebrating cheerfully. “Yippieee!” Then, the rest of the gang (who had been secretly listening to the whole conversation), rushed over to celebrate along with The Doise, cheering as well that he was able to stay with them. Especially Doisette (who didn’t care if it affected her tough image) kissed him many times on the cheek for how incredibly lucky she was to have him.

“Oh, and also, I’ve got two familiar friends with me as well—guess you can say that they’re back from their travels! Say hi to them, would you?”

Golden Pizzaboy waved over both Nick and Jerome, who were waiting patiently for them to be called in. “Wassup?” Nick said, trying to be edgy and cool (but horribly failing at it). Jerome himself just gave a supportive thumbs up. Peeperman: “H-Hey, I’ve been won-wondering of where you gu-guys have been!” Eigilante: “Where did you two even go in the first place, anyways?” Nick: “Uhh… South Dakota?”

[just-sg]

Honestly, if you look past the specific examples though, what it's actually suggesting is:

Expose them to any media a little outside of their ultra strict norms. Something "mild" enough they might tolerate it, especially if there's cheap drama or something so they're entertained and "not taking it too seriously", but they're still getting that exposure. -

Bring them into virtual spaces that aren't explicitly queer but where they will frequently have passing exposure to queerness, because that helps normalize it. This won't work for everyone, but any kind of casual, passing exposure that wouldn't endanger the people around them can also help, if possible. -

Try getting them invested in fictional characters who either are queer or have a lot of queer fanon readings. If you've gotten their guard down enough that you actually can get them interested in something, this CAN work. It won't always, but it genuinely can. This is part of the reason that good representation in media is so important. It is actively common and normal for people to be able to sympathize more easily with fiction than with real life strangers, because in real life, people are more guarded, have a more "us vs them" mentality. With fiction, there's more of a barrier, it feels "safer" to give it a chance. And where you only see glimpses of a stranger's life, or propaganda, etc, with a character it's easier to see through their eyes, focus on their most important experiences, make a loud and clear statement. A statement that is, you must remember, being made by a real human writer, often informed by real experiences. It's not like being presented via fiction makes it disconnected from reality. And such things can come not only from the media itself but also from fans, through fanfic, through analysis, etc. Even work that is not queer or is actively bad representation can do good through its audience. There are real people who became more accepting because they got really into queer ships in fiction, and yes, that even includes people who got into any/all of Superwholock. I specifically remember a post on here years ago of someone who wasn't even trying, but whose dad became more accepting and a decent ally because he watched BBC Sherlock and couldn't help but read it as gay and sympathized. Yes, even the things you think are cringe are capable of doing good. Yes, things can do bad and good at the same time, and those don't cancel each other out. -

AFTER— AFTER, AND ONLY IF— you have made any progress with them, talk to some friends. IF you have a safe environment, and can have safety in numbers, and someone is comfortable doing so (this person can also be yourself), someone they have already gotten to know and like but do not have immediate power over (i.e. a different relationship that something like a child coming out to their parents) coming out to them can, in fact, force them to confront their preconceptions. This can also be done in a virtual space, and is of course less risky in such a case. When it's not some nebulous Other, not someone you barely know, no longer fiction (fiction is still great as a stepping stone to get this far), but a real person and a peer who you know and like, it immediately becomes much harder to throw them back into dehumanized category. When it's done in a group space where other people are accepting and supportive, most people will be more averse to being the odd one out, too. They might not be immediately accepting and might be shitty for a while, but if they're at a point where you don't think they would be or cause a physical threat, and you can have safety in numbers, it can be worth putting up with. And if they do react badly, rather than "kys homophobe", if everyone else can be ready to respond like "dude it's not that big a deal, chill", there's a lot better chance they will, given time. Even if they struggle for a while after, a poor ally is better than an active enemy, and a poor ally with time and education becomes a decent ally, and maybe even a good one. -

Not necessarily "step five", could be earlier or could be omitted, but venting to them about vitriolic discourse once you've earned some sympathy can also be a factor. Don't frame it as "this is what you sound like (/used to sound like)", but as "I'm so upset, and coming to you, my friend, who I trust for support." Most people like helping their friends, and don't like seeing their friends hurt. Making other / worse homophobes into the nebulous "other" in a given conversation can help them see things from the other side. They might not have cared if they upset strangers in the past, but seeing the person hurt be someone they do care about can make that "more real", and encourage them to be kinder in the future. -

(I am 99.9% sure "step six" was a joke.)

But yeah. If it wasn't clear, these kinds of things are not actually "Easy Steps", but are advice specifically for:

People you already know and have any rapport with, i.e. family members, old friends you grew up with, coworkers who don't know much about your personal life but generally seems to like you, etc. - AND -

People who are more "mildly" or "casually" homophobic. This is not for the person you think is one excuse away from a hate crime, it's for the ignorant, the people who have lived their whole lives in conservative echo chambers. It's not for the zealots who see punishing the wicked as their righteous calling, it's for those who in their minds "want" to be nice to "everyone", but don't see queer people as people.

The goal is to break the echo chamber, to make them see us as Real Human Beings, and to recognize the reality of our identities as part of our existence rather than some arbitrary actions we're taking.

This will not work for everyone. This does work for some people. This is not safe to try for everyone, but for the people who can afford to, whether it's methods like the above or any other, educating and making allies out of bigots is literally vital work. No, we can't just kill everyone who wants us dead, and no, we can't just wait for them to die. No, it doesn't feel good to spend time with people who you know hate you or your friends.

And yes, it might "feel stupid" to appeal to them through "juvenile" or "arbitrary" or "unimportant" or "fake" things. But that's kind of the point. Lecturing and shaming people might help, sometimes, with enough collective accountability, but it mostly teaches people to keep their mouth shut and be shitty in private (which is still an improvement over doing it in public, ofc!); often, though, it makes them defensive. It gets them to dig in their heels, to retreat to their echo chambers, to tell their friends "get a load of this stupid shit lol" and get validation. But you catch more flies with honey. We call them "allies" for a reason.

No one has to do this, and people who are not in a position where they can safely do this with anyone they know absolutely should not endanger themselves trying! But at least understand that someone should, and don't actively discourage the people who can try from doing so. Especially not just because a 12-year-old post with good principles used examples now seen as "cringe" and didn't word itself the best it possibly could. Laying out a plan, a set of guidelines, even something to loosely keep in mind, is a good thing. Slowly and subtly softening people's bigotry through gradual casual exposure is a very good thing.

We joke about The Gay Agenda, but stuff like this is very genuinely part of it. Countless people are stuck in positions where there's very little we can do, but if there are even measly thousands of us putting in efforts as "small" as this, and the people we can turn into even borderline allies in turn convince someone else, or even just pull their wider social circles a little more centrist, it adds up. One guy who would have laughed at and added to a bigoted joke a year ago going "that's kinda fucked, man" now is a win, and we gotta take every win we can.

It's like... "Everyone wants to save the world, but no one wants to help do the dishes." And especially for those who have little power but can afford to do this much, isn't doing anything at all better than nothing? At the very least, it's good to consider the principles here, to understand things that might work and why, just in case they're ever useful in the future.

HOW TO TURN A HOMOPHOBE INTO A GAY RIGHTS ADVOCATE IN FIVE EASY STEPS: A Guide

Step 1: Make them drop everything they are doing for a Saturday and sit them down with a bowl of microwave popcorn and a season of Project Runway.

Step 2: Get them a Tumblr.

Step 3: Introduce them to SuperWhoLock and slash fiction (wait until they are really drunk and vaguely horny to pull out the PWPs)

Step 4: Invite them to drinks with your gay acquaintances until they become friends with one of them…then nudge your friend into revealing their homosexuality after a few months by asking for help and support….Let them see how impossible it is to write someone off so trivially when it’s someone you care about.

Step 5: Expose them to any sort of gay-bashing media (fundamentalist Catholics/any TV drama taking place pre-1970s America or Europe (ie Mad Men, Downton Abbey)) so they can see just how scalding is they fire they contribute to. 

Step 6: IF ALL ELSE FAILS, Neil Patrick Harris. John Barrowman. Matt Bomer. That is all

[sagau-my-beloved]

Headcanons about Zhongli with God reader:

Warnings: general Sagau stuff, slightly suggestive at one, vague mentions of violence at another

• For starters, he absolutely considers himself to be the most devoted, both among the other Archons and the rest of the world

• Because of how that's more of a subjective statement, he doesn't really have any way of proving it, and it absolutely irks him to no end

• Venti uses that to his advantage when all the Archons play the "Who can annoy Zhongli the fastest" game

• Right now Venti is crowned the winner at 753 to 1

• But moving away from that, Zhongli follows worship in a very traditional way

• He's a very traditional person, causing him to fall into this role seamlessly

• He does have a bit of a tendency to go overboard in the "traditional" aspect though

• He has an entire personal library dedicated to every single piece of text that even briefly mentions you, and tends to rely on them heavily to learn things about you, often without questioning the information

• "No no, I distinctly remember reading that your favorite flower was Dendrobium."

• "But Lamp Grass literally glows-"

• "It's just a grass, it can barely constitute as a flower! There is no way you didn't have plants that glowed where you last lived."

• It gets a bit frustrating for him, not towards you of course, but towards the books

• He's disgusted how so many of the works in his library are full of "blatant misinformation"

• Eventually, he just starts keeping his own notes, correcting every contradiction himself

• He might have even gone so far as to publish it under an anonymous name, if it didn't contain some of the more "personal" information about certain specific preferences of yours that fall in a more "intimate" setting

• "Hey Zhongli, what's this big book called 'Personal notes on the divine creator'? I've never seen it before."

• "... Those are my very boring and completely irrelevant transaction notes from the last decade, it's just full of numbers and acronyms, it would be nothing of interest to you, please don't open it-"

• Exactly how he conducts his worship differs heavily on whether or not he's still considered an Archon

• Under the assumption that he is, you'll be absolutely lavished in fineries

• Nothing is too good, and very few things are good enough

• You'll be gifted things you never even heard of in game

• He'll also give you the option to either take your pick out of the most glorious dwellings available, or, if none of them are to your liking, you can have one custom made

• Of course you really shouldn't have to trouble yourself with all the details, he'll pick up the slack by using the very meticulous information he gathered on your tastes to fill in blanks

• He's going to be the Archon that tries to completely fill your desires, down to the T

• Any small minor mistake means he needs to scrap the entire thing

• Also, there's a concerningly high chance he might crash the economy on accident from the amount of mora he's putting into it

• Now when he's not an Archon... It's all going to be much more personal

• He's going to try to accomplish whatever you want himself instead of just hiring someone else to do it, because he's broke

• You'll probably have to assure him a few times that it's really not that big of a deal that you couldn't get a very specific one of a kind piece of jewelry that cost upwards of 20 million mora

• (You do still get it, and on a completely unrelated note, he now owes Childe a really big favor)

• He does still give you lots of gifts, they're just more personal and easier to obtain

• Instead of hiring on expensive and experienced chef, he'll try making the dish himself

• He could probably go pick the flowers himself instead of dropping a couple thousand mora, right?

• He's keeping his library though, mora be damned

• Continuing on, this sense of traditionalism extends into his other mannerisms, like speaking

• It's very rare for him to directly say anything to you without it ending with some formal title

• It really doesn't matter how many times you correct him, how many times you tell him that your first name is perfectly fine, he'll either insist, or say that he'll try to stop and then not

• Rather serious when it comes to your honor, if he's in the same room as someone who references you by your name instead of your title, he'll immediately correct them

• How politely he corrects them depends entirely on who it is

• And God forbid anyone actually speak bad about you in a place where he can hear

• Acts of disrespect are dealt with quickly and efficiently

• If someone decides they want to use their tongue to spout such blasphemy, then they don't deserve to have one

• Affection wise, he's is a bit uncomfortable with instigating it, considering it to be disrespectful

• But he also gets jealous pretty easily when he sees someone else (Venti) practically hanging off your arm

• He's absolutely delighted whenever you instigate it yourself though, always moving to mimic your motions but never going further

• If you were to just tell him what you wanted he would gladly do it, but him assuming what you want is out of the question

• It's not only incredibly disrespectful towards you, in his mind

• He also doesn't know if he could live with being rejected in any form

• It would cause the currently unwavering idea that you prefer him over anything and everything to start crumbling

• So he would rather play it safe, at the disadvantage of losing out on some of your attention

• He does always try to be near you, or at least have somebody under him near you, in the case something happens

• He would never risk other people's incompetence interfering with your happiness and wellbeing

• There are many different excuses he uses to always try to be near you, and the most prominent one is knowledge

• You haven't been in Teyvat long, your knowledge is a bit lacking in a lot of aspects surrounding the world

• Lucky for you, you have a multi-thousand year old being who has a smattering of knowledge on pretty much everything at your beck and call

• Anything you could possibly think about asking, he probably knows at least something about, he's like your own personal search engine

• He doesn't really know what a "search engine" is, but by God, he's going to be the best one you've ever had

• He takes pride in any name you give him of course, whether he understands it or not

• (and please don't try to explain the Internet to him, poor guy wouldn't understand it even if he lived in our world)

[islandofsages]

perhaps you should’ve asked...

summary: in which you give in and buy a rex lapis plush.

characters: keqing and zhongli (separate)

tags: gn!reader, no specific relationship between characters and reader but you two live together, reader knows zhongli is rex lapis, fluff + crack, hc + scenario format

warnings: you get so much embarrassment you die none

author's notes: i just wanted to write something fun LOL also i have the rex lapis plush myself so i just thought “haha what if they see me with this thing” so yeah

keqing

when you found out keqing is secretly into rex lapis paraphernalia, you fought the urge to laugh. but that was then. now…you find yourself with a limited edition rex lapis plush. you couldn’t help it - it’s just so adorable you’d spend all your savings on it! fortunately though, you didn’t have to do that

though you then realize that you do not know how keqing would react to you having such a thing. would she be jealous? would she want it for herself? either way, you obviously need to find out her opinion on the plush for…reasons. you totally don’t just want to see her reaction towards you having limited edition geo archon merchandise

so you waltz to your shared home casually with the plush in your arms, you hugging it so tightly that you might squeeze out its stuffing. with a big smile on your face and a catchy hum on your lips, you enter your humble abode

keqing is, unsurprisingly, working in the living room (although you have a study room - you guess that she was simply waiting for you to come home) and she looks up once she hears your footsteps nearing her. she greets you happily but the moment she lays her eyes on the plush, her eyes widen

“i-is that what i think it is?”

you smirk as you nod vigorously in response. she folds her arms and shuts her eyes, assuming a pondering pose. you await her remark excitedly and for your chance to flex your little limited edition plush-

“i…already have that, (y/n).”

you feel your heart sink. then again, you should’ve expected this considering she is the biggest rex lapis fan you know but you suppose you clung onto that small sliver of hope a little too much. you try to reason that you bought it for yourself instead of it being a gift for her and she only snickers in agreement

she pats your back supportively as you sulk on the couch beside her and insists that hey, two is better than one after all; now you have your own and you two don’t have to share! though this does not help with relieving any of your shame but it’s the thought that counts

the next day, you see her hugging both of your plushies. she tells you not to say a word - not to her and not to anybody else. knowing her, you do exactly as she says.

zhongli

oh, now you’ve done it. this is the peak of embarrassment for you; here you are, living with the ex-geo archon himself, and yet…a rex lapis plush with the softest fur you could ever imagine is sitting in your hands. it stares at you cutely with his shut eyes, fast asleep in his own dreamland. how could you ever resist such an adorable little thing?

even then, you decide that you are not going to let him see you with the dragon-and-mini-him. you worry that he may be roaming the very streets you are walking through right now so you rush home, determined to keep this your “dirty'' little secret

the moment you step into your house, you relax and start making your way to your room to stash your little dragon away somewhere safe. where would work, you begin to wonder. would under the bed work? or should you hide him in your personal dresser? or even-

“(y/n)? is that…me?”

you freeze. you turn towards the direction of his voice hesitatingly, your cheeks slowly but surely growing red. there is no way to hide the plush in your arms. but at least there is a way to deny his statement…if you are to use the word “deny” loosely anyway

“y-yes? i mean, no! i mean, technically it’s rex lapis and you know, you’re not the geo archon anymore, you’re just zhongli now, hahahaha…”

you nervously laugh and scratch the back of your head sheepishly with your right hand, your left hand still clutching onto the plush firmly. following suit, zhongli offers a chuckle of his own. your cheeks are flaming red now

“what fine craftsmanship. it is no question that you procured such an item. and you are correct - i am zhongli.”

thankfully enough, he seems to not question it much. you don’t know why you were so worried; zhongli is quite literally one of the most open-minded people you’ve met. and that’s saying something for someone who has lived for centuries. so you breathe out a sigh of relief. until zhongli continues-

“although, if you simply wanted to hug rex lapis, you could’ve merely asked me. i would’ve been happy to oblige. i still am, if i were to be completely honest.”

you’ve had enough. you sink onto the ground out of embarrassment, your knees growing weak under his unintentional tease. he grows concerned and kneels down in front of you to check if you’re okay. and quite frankly, you are not

the plush now sits in your room (“your” as in either your individual room or shared room with him) and when he is ever in the mood to tease you, he will bring up the incident. he knows it always brings a blush to your cheeks.

[qierxing]

Congrats on the 500+ Followers👍I would like to request a fem!reader with Barbatos from Obey Me with the prompt “Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself.” ~🔮

thankies! one butler coming up!

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!!!" 

Your head is lightheaded from screaming those words. It's like it's second nature when the lamp leaves your hand to make a spectacular crash against an old marble statue. An artifact most likely from the old ages of Devildom and quite rare. 

You couldn’t care less. 

Your eyes rabidly search for another item, something heavy, something big enough to make a statement. Before you can even think to grab the bronze paperweight off a desk, a hand encircles your wrist. 

"Please, darling." Like a feral animal, you immediately start clawing at your captor's hands, hissing and snarling at any unwanted touch. 

His tired sigh is your only warning before you're sat up by his tail and then trapped within teal coils. 

"Let go of me, you bastard!" You wiggle, to no avail. Damn this serpent for having strong grip strength! It's only a matter of minutes before you're tired and worn out, slumped against cool scales. 

"Are you done, dear?" You can practically feel the condescension dripping off the question. Another slew of insults and curses leave your mouth, albeit more worn out and no longer threatening in this position. 

A chuckle, and then his coils shift to move your scratched hands out of the coils for his viewing. Barbatos clicks his tongue, conjuring up bandages and septic in a blink of an eye. 

"I'm glad you got it out of your system, but let's find something safer to do next time, hm?" You want to scratch out his eyes. He's acting as if you're an under stimulated pet cat who just needs a toy and some play time to keep it happy. 

"Fuck off." You make no move to shake off his hands despite the venom in your voice. It was long useless to try to fight against Barbatos and his mother henning. 

"Now, that's not very nice dear." Barbatos hums, as he finishes wrapping your hand with a click of scissors. "I get very worried about you at times."

You don’t want his worry or kindness. In another timeline, perhaps. But now his unblinking eyes just means there isn’t anywhere in this room, world, and even timeline that you can be free of. It’s long left you chained to his side, at his beck and call as if you were the servant instead of him.

“Let me go. Just let me go home.” You sob angrily. It’s humiliating, tears and snot running over your cheeks as you beg again. “Please–”

“Now darling, we’ve talked about this, haven't we?” More tears streak out of your eyes in anger. “But you should know, time here flows differently than the surface world.”

“W-What?”

“I once went up there, under my Lord’s orders. I had the chance to stop by your home.” He leans in, closed eyes and soft lips. “And do you know what I saw, my dear?”

Your throat closes. Like a cold shower, you’re left chilled to the bone.

“It’s really a shame they had to deal with a murder and a missing persons case. I don’t think they’ll ever catch the culprit, though.” 

You begin to scream.

[mae-gi-writes]

when the words fail . ten lee

Storyline: When your dance teacher decides to pair you up with your best friend Ten as a fun project for the school’s end-of-year performance, you couldn’t be happier. Ten’s your rock, the only person with whom you could trust your body, yourself, your feelings. But this dance brings out the best and worst parts of you, and suddenly, it feels like Ten means so much more to you than what he seems to be.

Genre: college!au, bestfriends to lovers, fluff, comedy, angst and mentions of insecurity and depression

Word count: friggin’ long because I can’t seem to write 1k fics now it’s ALL OR NOTHING.

Song: I Got You - Leona Lewis

————

A place to crash, I got you. No need to ask, I got you. Just get on the phone, I got you.

Gonna pick you up, if I have to.

————

“Love.”

Your nose scrunches up in distaste, “too basic.”

"It's a human emotion," Ten argues.

"It's overdone."

"It's necessary."

"Ugh," you can't help but roll your eyes, "can we do everything but love? We'll use it as a last resort."

He throws you a look as if asking whether you're actually serious, though you're used to it by now; that quirked eyebrow and the narrowing of his eyes. You always think of a cat when he does that, and right now is no exception. A pissed off cat.

"You spend too much time with your cats," is what you answer instead, ducking with a chuckle when he swats at your arm.

What you thought should have been a fun performance to plan is starting to grow into a headache. You're not even sure why your dance teacher came up with such a suggestion. Ten is one, if not the best, dancer of your class. Your entire cohort, even. So why -- out of all people -- has she chosen you as his partner?

"What about Life as the theme?" Ten proposes after a long bout of silence with only the click, click, click of his pen breaking it in small staccatos.

"Life," you lean your head back, stretching your neck slightly, "sounds alright, I guess. But shouldn't we be more specific?"

"So...youth? Like, the beauty of being young?"

"Sure. That works."

Once your theme is cleared, you move on to the logistics; the genre of dance, the music, what costumes to wear. It's all very blurry and unconfirmed, and even when curfew rolls around and you're trudging out of the studio, you still can't register the fact that you're the one who has been given the chance to work with Ten. Alone.

"You're thinking too much into it," is what Ten says when you voice out yout concerns, "Professor Lee probably thinks our styles are compatible."

Sure. Hiphop and jazz, it could work. But still, the skill gap is so obvious that it keeps you up at night.

The only comfort this brings you is that you get to work with your best friend, and what better way to spend the last few months of your degree than with the one person that understands all of you completely?

You try to comfort yourself over that fact, finally allowing the heaviness of your lids to drift you off to sleep.

"Since we're just the two of us, we can make a story out of it," Ten says the next morning during Dance Theory class. You're nestled at the very back and succeed in ducking behind your classmates in favour of exchanging ideas on paper.

Your heads are close, and if you look up you might bump your nose into his temple.

Instead, you keep your gaze focused on the page scribbled in black ink as Ten continues in a breathless murmur, "what are we? Friends? Lovers? Just two strangers who happen to meet by chance?"

"How about just us?"

"Us?"

"Yeah. Us. Our friendship."

Something indescribable flashes through Ten’s eyes when his eyes look up to yours, and you wonder whether yours are giving too much away. What are you giving away exactly? You ask yourself in annoyance. There’s nothing to give away.

Ten speaks before you have the chance to add on to your statement, “I like it,” he scribbles it down on the page in big block letters so that no one would miss it even if they tried, “our friendship.”

It seems that everyone else is more excited about the Performance than you are, asking you how you managed to get on Professor Lee’s good side and whether Ten had anything to do with this particular arrangement. As much as you hate to admit the thought out loud, the more you think about it, the more logical it becomes. Though…why would Ten even want to dance with you if that is his final piece, his thesis, the one stage that will determine where his future his headed?

“You should be happy about it,” Mark Lee says in response to your complaints as you gobble your way through your lunch. The cafeteria is hoarded with hungry students at this time of day and you’re glad you reminded yourself to bring a sandwich from home, “one; you get to work with your best friend. And two, you’ll get good grades for it.”

"Something doesn't feel right," you mumble through bites of your sandwich, "it's like...a sixth sense thing."

"Well tell you sixth sense to back off. You really can't complain when everyone's thirsting to get paired with Ten Lee."

"Maybe Ten doesn't want this."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Oh, I don't know Mark. Maybe because he doesn't want an extra weight on his shoulder?"

"Don't be stupid Y/N. He wouldn't want to work with anybody else but you," Mark takes another bite of his rice and curry, scooping up a little bit of kimchi he'd managed to wheedle out from the canteen lady earlier, "give him some credit."

You try. You really do.

As if to cure yourself of the guilt eating away at your insides, you stay up late mosy nights after dance practice, cooped up in your room in search of the right music to accompany your piece. You scrape the internet for pictures of costumes, wonder whether you could utilize some Chinese elements to your piece, and look over any lights that might amplify the feeling you're trying to convey.

All this information is scribbled into your notebook until the next morning when you have dance class with Ten. Nervousness takes a hold of you as soon as you step in though, and you try not to fidget under your best friend's quick glances when the teacher finally gives you free time to work out logistics.

"I was thinking," you start out shyly, keeping your notebook as close to your chest as you possibly can, "uhm, about the music, maybe we could use I Got You by Leona Lewis or one of Radwimps' songs. Or maybe even Youth by Troye Sivan since we`re working on that theme anyway--"

You realize you're babbling and quickly rush to add, "--I'm sorry, those are just ideas. We can definitely look at more options--"

"Don't go shy on me now," Ten chuckles, making a grab for your notebook and before you know it, he's flipping through the ink-filled pages with such interest it makes you cringe, "oh my god, Y/N. That's amazing. You did all this yourself?"

"I couldn't sleep last night," it's technically just half a lie, "so I thought might as well waste my time productively."

"Goody-Two Shoes."

"Oh shut up--Give that back," you snatch it back with a scowl, hating the way heat spreads to your cheeks, "I'm trying to do my part of the job."

"You're doing more than just your part," his chin rests into his hand, elbow on the table as he grins at you throgh his bangs, "so tell me. Anything else you wanna discuss?"

See, this is what you love the most about Ten. No matter how talented he is, he'll never be one to turn away your ideas in favour of his own. As you spend the next half hour planning out your costumes (Ten thought an autumn color palette would be best) and the story you’d want to tell (you chipped in a part about making it emotional to garner people’s attention), you realize the importance of Ten’s presence in all of this. It’s not that he’s the best at complying nor is he the most creative, but what Ten does is that he brings your ideas together, fuses the abstract into concrete, and gives you so much support you start thinking whether he’s just doing it to be nice.

But here’s the thing. He isn’t just nice. He’s nice, while also knowing what he wants.

You’re so immersed in the subject that you barely take note of the figure hanging over your shoulder until an unfamiliar soprano speaks up from behind you.

"Hey Ten!"

You turn and blink. The woman standing before you is dazzling. All long legs and golden dyed hair drifing down her back in glossy curls.

"Jueun," next to you, Ten straightens in his chair, "what are you doing here?"

Who’s this? Is your first thought. Of course, Ten has a lot of friends. So much more than you do. But none of them have ever stepped foot into his classes. Let alone his godly dance classes. You half-expect Ten to shoo her away with a half-baked promise to get back to her later, but you’re more than astounded when the girl — this girl — merely lets out a soft laugh.

“You’re the one who asked me whether I was free,” she grins at him. And then, like an afterthought, her gaze flits to you, “oh, hi. Sorry. How rude of me, I’m Jueun.”

Jueun — according to the limited, slightly awkward introduction mediated by Ten — is a third-year biology major who’s only focus had been to get into the field of medicine. She’d met Ten at the last Thai committee social and they had been seeing each other casually ever since.

“You’re from Thailand too?” You ask her with a slight frown. Jueun doesn’t remotely sound Thai.

Oh, why do you care?

“My parents are, though my father is half-korean. That would explain my name,” she smiles and it’s so pretty it almost blinds you for a full minute. No wonder Ten appreciates her presence. Any man would be lucky enough to entertain her presence. She turns to Ten then, another playful smile on her face, “I’m gonna head to the cafeteria. We could meet there once you’re done.”

“Sounds good,” he agrees.

In any other circumstances, you’re pretty certain Ten would’ve made a comment on Jueun’s presence after she’s gone. It’s not like he’s never dated before, you’re used to seeing him with other girls who disappear after a while. And you don’t see how Jueun is any different.

Except, Ten doesn’t even mention her. At all. Instead, he focuses back on the topic at hand; stage lighting, and leaves you in a tightly wound knot of confusion as you keep on gazing at him in hopes that he’d clarify this weird situation.

“So…” you muster up the courage to ask him as you’re busy packing up your bag. Ten is shoving his things inside none-too-gently, suggesting that he is probably going to meet him with this Jueun as promised, “you like her?”

“Huh?” Ten’s head snaps up to look at you.

“Jueun,” you motion towards the space she’d once occupied by your table, “do you like her?”

He offers a half-hearted shrug as you make your way out of the classroom, holding the door open for you, “it’s early days.”

“You’re seeing her?”

“I guess you could say that, yes.”

“Is she nice?”

He cocks his head in thought. In the corner of your eye, you catch a small smile fitting across his lips, “she’s…yeah. She’s nice. I get along well with her. She’s easy to be around.”

Ah.

A rock seems to form in your chest, and suddenly it’s a little hard to breathe. You look away from him, hands unconsciously tightening on your backpack straps as you wonder why it had taken Jueun’s appearance for him to say anything in the first place.

It’s none of your business. You know it isn’t. And you’re not one to pry into Ten’s personal affairs.

So you let it go, bid him goodbye at the cafeteria doors, and try not to think about why your heart aches a little at the thought as you make your way out of the school campus.

————

Go ahead and say goodbye, I’ll be alright

Go ahead and make me cry, i’ll be alright

————

“One, two, three, four and five—“

“On five?”

“Yeah,” Ten swings his arms around in a sweeping gesture, the movement as graceful as a swan on water. He rotates his body, adds a spin while counting, “five, and six and seven, eight.”

“Five and six, and seven—“ you try your best to imitate him, though you feel more like an ugly, awkward duckling than a swan. You stumble slightly, lips pursing into a pout, “this isn’t going to work.”

“You just gotta practice,” Ten repeats the movement again, slowly, and you do your best to follow, “yeah, that’s it. You just gotta make sure you hit it on the five, and six, you put your foot down—“ he does, you follow like a newborn fawn, the balance throwing you off, “—and seven, eight.”

The final performance — and evaluation — is in a month and is approaching too quickly for your taste. Late hours had been spent in the comforts of the music lab where you and Ten had sat together, notes spilling out from all corners and coffee cups at the ready for the long night, as you both worked on the melody, choosing each lyrics precisely to the story you were telling, and adding a few beats here and there to allow some depth into it.

Despite your tiredness, those days had been magical, almost pleasurable, when Ten was at your side. He’d bring you snacks from the convenience store whenever he could, managed to stuff a throw blanket in his backpack for the times you’d collapsed onto the couch to doze off. He’d sacrifice his own sleep for yours and instead would click away at the mouse when you gave in to the tiredness and didn’t complain once about coming early to dance practice the next day.

There was a lot of work to be done, a lot of details to be figured out. But with Ten at your side, nothing seemed too terrible or impossible. You’d sometimes find yourself into fits of laughter whenever you got distracted enough by the campus gossip he’d relay to your ears. When you got tired, he’d play loud, exciting music for you to dance to, and when you were both collapsed on the couch after too much staring at the computer screen, you’d exchange soft conversation about your future, about the things you’d like to do once you graduated, about all the places and the people you’d like to see.

“I like it here though,” you’d say to him, shoulders shifting so that it brushed against his. Ten was warm. Wrapped up in the blanket thrown over the pair of you as you leaned against his body, he was the perfect pillow to fall asleep on, “I like being close to my family. I like the simplicity of waking up every morning and knowing where everything is.”

Ten’s head dips so that he can look at you. The warm studio light hits his side profile, causing you to admire his features, “I want to travel,” he murmurs, “I want to work abroad for a few years. Yeah, that would be ideal.”

“Have you started applying for jobs yet?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t know what I want to do, specifically. I thought about going into costume design, maybe…” his voice trails off with uncertainty.

“That actually sounds like you. If you weren’t such a good dancer.”

“You can’t make a career only out of dancing, though.”

“Isn’t that why we’re in this program?”

“We’re in this program because we love dancing,” something catches in Ten’s voice then, something you can’t quite decipher, “but just our love for dance isn’t going to get us anywhere. We need to branch out, diversify.”

His words are shocking, for you’ve always known Ten to be a follower of his dreams. You straighten up, look at him as if he’s grown another pair of eyes. He avoids your gaze though, keeps it glued to the blanket he’s started fidgeting with.

“You got into an argument, didn’t you?” Your words are soft, yet hauntingly loud in the silence of the room, “with your mother?”

A pause. Ten’s figure stills.

Then, his head dips into a nod. He lets out a shaky exhale before dragging a hand over his face, “I don’t know what to do,” his voice comes out muffled underneath his palm, “Ma told me I wouldn’t be able to keep dancing forever.”

“You were made to dance,” your hand shoots out to grasp his forearm, “out of all of us, you’re the one who was made to dance, Ten. You can’t just throw that away just because your mother doesn’t agree with your definition of success. And imagine all the grants, the scholarships. You’ll get them all, Ten. What with our final performance—“

And then it hits you.

He might not get the scholarship. Not if it’s with someone like you.

That’s it. That’s the issue.

“It’s me,” you murmur out, “isn’t it?”

Ten’s head whips up, eyes catching yours in surprise, “what?”

“It’s me,” you repeat the words that sound hollow on your tongue, coated with a sourness that makes you want to gag, “I’m the reason why you won’t be able to get your scholarship…isn’t it? That’s what everyone’s been telling you, right?”

His response is silence. But that’s more than enough.

“You’re right,” you swallow thickly. Take a breath, try to continue though your voice starts shaking, “you won’t get the scholarship because of me. But we can do something about that. We’ll focus the choreography on you so that you have more chance. We can do that—“

“No,” Ten’s jaw clenches then, “No. We—No. That’s not right. It’s your performance—“

“And yours,” you counter-argue, “which is why I think it’s fair enough you’re the center of it.”

He’d rejected your idea despite the argument that arose that night, refused to even acknowledge it as a possibility. But you were just as stubborn and willing to give up anything for Ten to get that scholarship that would put him under the radar of the best International Dancers in the world. Heck, he would get master classes out of this, and if he put his name out there, he’d definitely have a wider chance of creating the career he’s always dreamt of.

“We could change the choreography here,” you say while trying out the moves again. Fix, six and seven, eight, “I think you should be the one doing it. I could maybe stay in the background.”

“It won’t look as good,” Ten shoots you a sharp look, “let’s do it together, come on.”

Most attempts up until now had been futile to try and wheedle Ten into taking the centre stage. It’s frustrating, so much so that you end up at Professor Lee’s office one late afternopn in hopes of getting her to influence his decision.

"You know I cannot say anything about that," she looks up at you from behind her wooden desk, lRge and overflowing with papers that seem endless.

"But you agree that him getting more focus would provide better opportunities?"

Professor Lee hums, chin settling atop her hand as she looks at you over the top of her glasses, "Give him a little more credit than that, Y/N. He did ask me to put you with him, after all.”

You blink. “He—He did?”

Professor Lee cocks her head at you, probably confused by your behavior, “yes. He asked me himself. Said that you guys wanted to make your last dance piece a memorable one. Who was I to stop him?”

“But—“ your tongue suddenly feels a lot heavier, your chest suddenly constricting as realization washes through you. So Ten had asked Professor Lee himself, making as though it had been both of your idea, “—but you knew this would affect his grade. You know it. I’m—We’re not even close to the same grade boundary—“

“I’m well aware,” Professor Lee interrupts, “but he wouldn’t hear another word about it. You know how stubborn he is.”

That changes a lot of things. That makes you seething mad.

Who is he to know what’s best for him? What’s best for you? You understand why he’s doing it — he wants you to succeed just as he does. But the anger that pulses through you diminishes your amount of sympathetic reasoning and no sooner you’ve walked out of Professor Lee’s office that you fish out your phone and ram your fingers over your keyboard.

Y/N: Where are u?

The text comes back a few agonizing seconds later.

Ten: Uni cafe. Y?

You don’t hesitate, going straight to the said destination as you try and qualm the sudden overwhelming wave of feelings that are threatening to take over. You hate this, hate the fact that Ten has the audacity to do such a thing behind your back. It’s not just about trying to make it better for you but it’s almost pitiful, the way he’d done it. He might as well be laughing in your face because right now you feel like a complete, blithering idiot.

You’re almost through the cafe doors when you halt in mid-step.

Ten is here, but he’s not alone. Jueun is with him.

Something in your heart cracks.

For a minute, the world seems to freeze on its axis. With only you, and your beating heart. Too loud. Too much.

What are you doing?

You take a step back. Then a second. And then, you’re bolting away and through the campus as a new kind of rage takes over. Stupid, stupid, your brain screams at you like a broken tape record on repeat and your chest seems to constrict and you can’t seem to breathe through the ragged, pulsating blood roaring through your ears. Nothing makes sense as you dash blindly, your feet carrying you and before you know it you find yourself back in the dance studio, breathless and in a sort of daze that makes you slide to the floor.

Wow. You were desperate for Ten's help. But not desperate enough. And yet, he's done the very thing you didn't want him to -- have pity on you.

Pathetic.

A sob crawls up your throat. You lean over your knees, forehead pressed against your kneecaps as you try really hard to gain control of your staggering breaths.

But it's too late. And too much. You start cehing before you know it and you wonder, you wonder whether everything has ever been for nothing.

-----

And when you need a place to run to

For better or worse, I got you

-----

You don't know how much time you spend in the studio, crying your eyes out until your eyes sting and your nose clogs up.

The only thing that takes you momentarily out of your misery is the slow buzz of your phone. You fish it out od your backpack, hesitating upon noticing the caller ID.

Ten Lee.

You roll your eyes, look up to the ceiling to take a shaky inhale, then answer the phone.

"What?" You say as soon as the line connects.

"I've been calling you for ages," Ten's voice is like a knife slicing through the air, "where are you?"

"Studio."

"Wha--Y/N, I was worried sick--"

"I'm not your responsibility, Ten. You don't have to worry about me."

If he hears your bitterness, he doesn't say anything, "stay where you are. I'm coming."

The sound of the door clicking open announces his arrival a few minutes later, but you don't look up from scrolling your instagram feed. You really don't have the energy to face him right now.

You hear his footsteps approaching, "hey," he stops before you, squatting down to your level in hopes of catching your eye.

"Hey," he taps your knee and you look up reluctantly. Worry floods his eyes the moment he spots your blotched face, “woah — you look like shit.”

“Thanks Ten,” you wipe your face using your jacket sleeve. You turn your face away from him, a mixture of shame and embarrassment causing heat to crawl up the back of your neck.

“Tell me,” he nudges your knee once more. Then, his hand grasps it before he sits down cross-legged in front of you, eyes questioning and filled with a softness that echoes his concern.

It makes your chest hurt. And yet, you can’t find yourself to be mad at him.

“Did you—“ the words clog up in the back of your throat as your eyes slide to stare at his scuffed sneakers, “did you ask Professor Lee to put us together? For the final performance?”

His body tenses. He doesn’t answer though.

You laugh. An empty echo of a sound, “I can’t believe it,” you half-mutter to yourself, “why Ten? Why’d you do--"

"I wanted to."

You shake your head, "you...you wanted to dance with me?"

"Yeah. Yeah I did."

"Don't bullshit me," your eyes snap up to his, finally meeting those dark swirls of coffee brown that causes a small knot to tighten at your throat, "why would you? We're not even on the same level, and we--"

"I wanted to and you needed the help."

"I don't need your help!" You yell out so suddenly, the anger finally rising to the surface.

You exhale, inhale, exhale once more and squeeze your eyes shut through the film of fresh tears slowly blurring your vision.

"I don't--" you try to choke out, "I'm not extra weight, Ten. And I don't want to hold you back--"

He reaches for you, "don't say that--"

"I don't need your pity," your gaze snaps back to his despite the tears now rolling down your cheeks, "I don't need you to feel sorry for me. Nor do I need you to sacrifice your future just to--"

"Y/N you're not listening to me," Ten rubs a hand over his face, "I wanted to," he jabs a finger at his chest as he continues, "I wanted to. Okay?"

"But why?" You bite out.

"Because just for this once I didn't want to do something because I was good at it," his eyes suddenly flash and you catch the slow silent torment in them, a black storm raging, "I didn't want to do something just because there was going to be a lot of technique or wow factors or whatever. I wanted to do something of my own, that I wanted to and--and I wanted it to be with you."

His confession is startling, a little shocking even.

You can't do anything but stare at him. He stares right back, dark eyes locked on yours with no intention of looking away. And in it you see the conflict happening; the guilt, the remorse, the need to be understood.

"We could've talked about it," are the words tumbling out of your mouth after a long bout of silence. In the distance, you hear a door slam. Probably a few other dancers closing up for the night.

"You wouldn't have let me do anything," Ten says, "I know how you are."

Well, he isn't wrong.

"We've never danced together, not once since we got here," Ten continues in a soft murmur. He slides up to the wall next to you, shoulder to shoulder, his body so warm you unconsciously inch closer, "so I thought...this would be our last chance."

"But your scholarship--"

"I don't care about a damn scholarship, Y/N."

You allow your head to fall onto his shoulder and a soft sigh escapes your lips. You stay there for a while, the quiet slowly calming you down and weighing down on your lids. Ten’s breathing is a constant rhythm, as is the beating of his heart, and you find that it actually feels comforting to hear him so close like this. It’s nice.

“Tell me about Jueun,” you mumble out after a while.

Ten must’ve dozed off too, for when he speaks next his words are slurred, “what about her?”

“Do you like her?”

You feel his head pressing atop yours, “I like spending time with her. Do I want to go out with her? Yeah sure. But I wouldn’t say I like her that way…yet.”

“Do you think you could?”

“Maybe,” he pauses, “she thought we were dating. I had to explain that we’re just very close.”

You swallow. “Oh.”

There’s something inside you that lights up with that knowledge and the image launches at you so vividly you can’t shove it away quickly enough; you and Ten, walking side by side with your hands interlocked. Him smiling down at you in that crooked grin of his as you tell him about your day, before he pulls your hand up to kiss your knuckles.

You quickly shake yourself out of your thoughts, shivering. Weird, you think to yourself, it would be weird.

————-

Go ahead and make me cry, I’ll be alright

Go ahead and say goodbye, I’ll be alright

————-

Nothing more was said on the matter of Ten having bargained your place next to him with Professor Lee. Instead, you decided to throw yourself entire into the project. Every spare moment you had would find you in the dance studio, going over moves and polishing those that you still found to be a big struggle. Ten would be there most of the time to offer comforting guidance and dancing along to the music with you. His presence, despite not having asked anything of him, was a comforting one, and the more you danced, the more comfortable you felt with those uncomfortable turns and twists of your body.

It happens on a Wednesday evening. You and Ten had Dance Theory in the morning and had grabbed a quick lunch before heading back to the studio, offering sheepish shrugs to the person in-charge as she raised her brows at the two of you as if asking, “you two again?”

“One, two, three and four and five—“ Ten is chanting out as you follow the dance steps, moving in a slow turn using your knee. You turn too fast though, your outstretched hand knocking into Ten’s with as much grace as an awkward duckling.

“You need to take your time with that one,” Ten goes down on one knee to demonstrate, swinging it back and forth as he looks up at you, “see? You use the momentum, not your back foot. Then you’ll have more control over your movements.”

You try it out, kneeling down and spinning around none-too-gently. This time, you turn too quick. Your body crashes into Ten’s chest and you both topple to the ground in a mess of tangled limbs.

“Shit, sorry!” You lift your face from Ten’s chest, before bursting out laughing at his annoyed expression, “sorry Ten, I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.”

He groans, hand going to his chin to rub the sore spot, “I think I broke my chin.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic. Here,” and you knock his hand away to take over his massage, “better?”

You grin at him, not realizing your compromising position until you feel one of his hands skimming along your waist. Your smile drifts away as he pulls you up with him in a sitting position and it would’ve been all so innocent if not for the fact that you’re currently sitting on his lap.

“Sorry,” you manage to mumble out and trying your best not to stare at the fact that his lips are in touching distance with yours.

Ten gently nudges your hand away then, providing you some space as he leans away from your, tilts his head to the side even, “s’alright. Though I doubt my medical insurance will cover this.”

“I’ll pay you in bubble tea,” you slide out of his lap and dust yourself off, “let me try it again. Don’t stand in my way.”

He doesn’t. And both of you decidedly ignore the slight bout of tension that had sparked a few moments earlier.

It’s normal, you try repeating to yourself as you toss and turn in your sleep that night, dance partners need to have some kind of chemistry for it to work.

Another time, you’re trying out one of Ten’s movement combinations, lying down on your back as Ten circles his leg in a circular arc before he’s crouching above you, “I can lift you up with my hand,” he’s explaining, though you’re suddenly focused on the way his mouth is moving, forming words. You feel his hand caressing the side of your face, slipping to the back of your neck. And then you’re being lifted from the ground and right into Ten’s arms.

“Use your core, Y/N,” Ten chuckles when you flop against him like a dead fish instead of that smooth lift you were supposed to do, “it’ll be smoother that way and you can come up with me as I draw back from you.”

So you agree and decide to try with the music.

You try not to let the music affect you too much, focusing on the power each movement creates. The melody picks up through the speakers and you join Ten in the middle, the pair of you moving side by side like mirror images until you drop your body to the floor and Ten replicates the exact same movement he did earlier.

He kicks his leg back,circles around before dropping to the ground with such fluidity and so much emotion that your breath catches the moment his gaze locks on yours.

His hand caresses your cheekbone, slips to the back of your head.

You force yourself to concentrate, try not to get distracted by the way he’s looking at you.

He tugs you up. You follow in a slow motion until your noses brush. Your hand cups his cheekbone, an impulsive move. But one that works.

You don’t realize you’re breathing hard until the music fades.

You and Ten. Breathing in sync. With barely any distance between you.

Close. So close.

“That feels good,” Ten’s murmur brushes against your face.

“Y-Yeah.”

Your eyes drop to the ground. It’s too much. The tension crackles in the air. Electricity, a warning sign. And you wonder if Ten feels it too.

The phone rings. You both jump, started. Heads turn to the device at the other end of the room.

“That’s probably Jueun,” Ten says before slowly extracting himself from your hold and walking over to his phone. You sit there, allowing the space to let you breathe, to allow your heart to calm down from the sudden ricocheting excitement that’s taken over your body. Heat floods your limbs, the bottom of your stomach, so much so that your palms curl into fists by your side.

Ten’s voice floats through the room but the words don’t register in your brain. That is, until he calls out your name and causes you to jump, “w-what?”

“Put your sweater on,” his lips curl into a smile, “we’re going to a party.”

That is how you find yourself dragged to one of Jueun’s classmates’ dormitories, introduced as Taeyong and who coincidentally is also friends with Mark. It’s eleven in the evening and the smell of booze and smoke fill every single pore of the house as you struggle through a throng of people to reach the kitchen. Goddamn, you only want a glass of water and almost cry out in relief upon seeing the drinks stacked on the table. You’ve lost Ten along the way, not that you mind, for the moment he spotted Jueun, he’d been a gone man. Plus, after what had just happened in the dance studio, you probably need some time alone with your thoughts.

You’re midway through pouring some water for yourself when someone taps you on the shoulder.

You turn to see Taeyong, a cheeky smile curled along his lips and hands tucked into the back-pocket of his leather jeans. Who even wears leather jeans?

“Y/N, right? I’ve heard a lot about you from Jueun. It’s nice to finally put a name to a face,” he holds out his hand for you to shake, which you do after some slight hesitation.

“You know about me,” you say it as if it’s a statement, eyebrow quirking up in curiosity, “how do I not know about you?”

“Well,” he grins wickedly, a mischievous little boy ready to take on a challenge, “you can know all about me tonight, if you want.”

As much as Taeyong isn’t really your style, you welcome the distraction he provides. Soon enough, you find yourself at the pool table playing beer pong along with his friends, cheering and whooping and high-fiving random people you’ve only just met seconds ago. But for once, you don’t care. You want this, you want to escape the sudden need to seek out Ten’s presence, you want to push him out of your mind for as much as possible and if alcohol will help, then so be it.

You’re in the middle of downing another shot of absinthe with Mark — he’d sought you out a few minutes earlier, complaining about how you’d ditched him in favour of Taeyong’s cool friends — when a hand lands on your arm, pulling you back into a solid chest.

A whiff of a familiar scent invades your nostrils. You blink as Ten’s blurry face comes into focus.

“Oh,” you squint up at him, “what are you doing here?”

“That’s enough.”

“Wh—“ you scoff, shake your head as a soft giggle erupts from your lips, “what are you doing, Ten?”

“You’ve had enough to drink,” he takes the absinthe out of your grip and you cry out in protest, “wh—give that back!”

“No,” and without waiting for your consent, he turns away and downs the entire thing, shuddering as he does so.

Mark whines out behind him, “what the fuck, dude? Not cool. We didn’t get to drink together for ages. Why you gotta gatecrash like that?”

“She has her final performance in two weeks,” Ten then makes a grab for your arm, though you struggle and push him away. To no avail, his grip his firm. He tightens it for good measure, “she can’t be drinking this much.”

“Aw come on man—“ Mark’s words are cut off by Jueun’s voice calling out Ten’s name from behind him.

You take this chance to wriggle out of Ten’s grip, for once glad that Jueun is here to provide him some kind of distraction. Glaring up at your best friend as a newfound rage bubbles up through your chest, you shove him away forcefully, “Yeah Ten, you have bigger fish to fry. Why are you babysitting me?”

He winces, “I’m not—“

“You’re the one who wanted to bring me here,” you jut your chin out at him, “so let me be, and mind your own business.”

“I—“

But you’re storming away before he has the chance to say anything else. You don’t want to hear anything more, the tide of emotions wrapping you up in wave after wave of despair and feelings that you yourself can’t decipher. A small sob echoes up your throat as you stumble out into the open air. Your hands reach out blindly, finding purchase on the outside wall as you allow yourself to breathe in, breathe out.

The music is nothing but an echo from the outside, blending in with the distant noise of cars zooming by and other people’s chatter. You clutch at your chest and wonder why your heart feels like it just got punched.

It hurts. Right between your chest. Something that is tearing up, eating away at you from the inside. Memories flash through your mind; Ten’s face, crinkled up in that adorable smile of his, with Jueun in a corner of the room. A picture of what you saw earlier like a permanent scar etched into your memory.

Ten’s eyes, swimming with some kind of softness you can only define as adoration as he looks down at her. You squeeze your eyes shut. The dance studio, him hovering over you. His lips milimeters away.

You can’t stay here. Struggling to your feet, you stagger forward. One step. Two steps. Away from that house.

It hurts. It hurts so much you wish to tear your entire heart out of your chest.

It hurts. Tears are streaming down your face. Fat pebbles of water dripping down your sweater.

It hurts, though you don’t want to think about why it does.

Because deep down, you know exactly the reason why.

You like Ten.

You love Ten.

And he doesn’t love you back.

—————

And if it don’t feel right, you’re not losing me by letting me know

—————

It’s Thursday and you’re currently waiting for the practice room to free itself. Your head is heavy and every noise seems too loud. But still, your nerves are jittery, all over the place.

You haven’t spoken to Ten since last night. And you’re not sure what will be the outcome of this conversation.

You rarely fight with him and that’s because you’re both so non-confrontational by nature that 1) you let things slide easily and 2) you talk it out to clear the air.

But last night hadn’t been the usual bite and snap. Last night, there had been something a little more coiling in your stomach, in the way Ten’s eyes had blazed with hurt.

The door opens. You look up, just in time to see Taeyong striding out. He halts in mid-step, recognition dawning on his face, “hey, Y/N!”

“Hey,” you smile back weakly and wonder how he’s not hungover. Or if he is, he does a good job of hiding it.

“Where did you disappear to last night?” He asks, shifting to lean on one leg as his arms cross over his chest, “Jueun told me you left early.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t…feeling too good.”

“Too much to drink?”

Or not enough. You grimace, “something like that.”

“Also, nice shots,” it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the beer pong game that you won against him and one of his other mates Jaemin, “when can I have a re-match?”

“That depends whether you’ll be hosting another party or not.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow quirks up suggestively, “does that mean you’ll come if I host another one?”

“Depends,” you grin, “what’s the prize?”

A cough. You both turn to see Ten with his hands in pockets, dressed as though he’d just rolled out of bed. It’s even more contrasting when he walks over to stand beside Taeyong who is finely decked in another pair of black jeans and black muscle shirt to match.

“Hey Taeyong,” Ten nods in greeting, “how’s it going man?”

“S’alright, what about you?! Was just talking to Y/N about last night. Did you know she’s an amazing beer pong player?”

“The very best,” you add.

“No,” Ten’s eyes flicker between you and Taeyong, “no I didn’t. Would be nice to see that in action.”

“Maybe next week,” Taeyong glances down at his smart watch, “oop, I gotta go. I have chem lab next.”

You wave at the young man as he jogs down the corridor and waits until he’s out of view before walking inside the studio, Ten hot on your heels, “What was that about?” He asks as you drop your bag on the wooden bench in the corner of the room and proceed to plug in your phone.

You scroll through the list of songs as you ask, “What was what about?”

“Since when were you so chummy with the campus playboy?”

“Since when did you care?”

Ten lets out a loud, exasperated sigh before he walks over to you, grabbing onto your shoulders and swiveling you around so that you have no choice but to face him. He grabs your phone, tucks it in the back pocket of his sweatpants before finding your gaze, “you’re mad.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“You stole my shot last night.”

“That’s it?” He scoffs, disbelief crossing his face, “that’s why you’re mad?”

“And you butted your nose into my business.”

“Y/N, I always butt my nose into your business—“

“You don’t need to,” your mind flies you back to that said night; Jueun had leaned towards him, stealing a small kiss from his cheek. Your chest constricts and you look away, “that’s why people think we’re dating. You do these things that friends don’t do. So just—just stop. It’s annoying. And awkward.”

Your eyes glue themselves on one corner of the studio to avoid the evident hurt that paints his face. Ten’s hold on your shoulders loosen slightly as a distinct pause hangs in the air.

Then, he slowly moves away, “alright,” he mumbles while adjusting his cap, “if that’s what you want.”

It’s not.

But it’s better for it to be this way. Because no way in hell are you spilling your unrequited feelings to him and no way are you going to jeopardize his newly-formed relationship. No matter how many times Ten rejects the idea of him dating, it’s as clear as day in his eyes, in the way he tilts his head more attentively towards her, in the way he smiles so brightly it hurts.

The rest of practice happens in silence, only broken by you asking questions when you struggle with the movements. Ten is patient, explaining everything in detail and holding on to you when you need the support. But it’s clear that there’s some sense of dislodgment, of awkward silence that builds in the space wedged between the two of you. And as much as you miss the familiarity of him altogether, you know it’s for the best to pull away now when the pain is still fresh.

Obviously, Ten does not know a thing about your unrequited feelings. So it surprises you after dance practice as you’re making your way out of the door that he reaches over to grasp the back of your elbow. Light enough that you can pull away, yet firm on your skin.

“Yes?” You cast him a glance. And then, surprise takes over.

Because as Ten meets your eyes, you notice the tears threatening to fall.

“H-Hey,” all semblance of ignorance goes right out of the window as your wall breaks and you rush over to him just in time for Ten to bury his face into your shoulder. His tears are silent crystal jewels sliding down his cheeks and drenching your shirt, but the way his arms find your neck to hug you tight against him is enough to cause guilt to creep in and settle at the base of your stomach.

You hug him back hesitantly, hand smoothing down his back in long, slow strokes, “it’s okay,” you hush into his ear as sobs finally start emerging from the back of his throat, “hey, don’t cry.”

It takes a while for him to calm down, you tugging him to the bench and continuing to stroke his back until his sobs subside into sniffles.

“I’m sorry,” you finally blurt out. And as if his tears are contagious, you find yourself leaning onto his shoulder to cry silently into him as you murmur, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I was just…angry.”

When he speaks next, his voice is hoarse, caught up with emotion, “I’m sorry for overstepping. I didn’t—I didn’t realize that I was being overbearing—“

“No no,” you tighten your hold on his arm, “I was being a sensitive bitch. It’s not your fault. You were only looking out for me.”

“Still,” he blows his nose with a tissue, “you’re right. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Silence envelopes the room, both of you too wrapped up in your own thoughts to see the time passing. You wonder briefly how your friendship has come to this. You’ve never had any bumps where Ten was concerned and these few weeks had been rough. Is it because of your dance project? Were you spending too much time together?

No, that’s not it. The thing is, everything is changing. Too much, too fast.

You’re a bystander watching him fall in love and live his life, and he’s moving on. Without you.

Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, you let out another soft sigh before extending your hand out towards him. A tentative attempt at peace, “friends?”

Ten looks at your hand, before extending his own to clasp yours.

“friends.”

And you know that no matter how much you try to tell yourself to stay away, you’ll always be looking for Ten in the crowd.

——————

What’s weird about it, I’ve figured it out in my head.

I have to say, I got you.

——————

“Are you ready?”

You almost snort out your bubble tea, “no.”

It’s a few days before your final performance and you’re in the cafeteria , mourning over your sugared drink and thinking about how your life is about to end with Professor Lee telling you how inadequate you are at dancing.

This is where Mark had found you a few minutes earlier, looking like you’re about to throw up the contents of your stomach.

“Don’t think about it,” he says now in-between bites of pasta, “it’s all muscle memory by now. You’ll be fine.”

The last few weeks after your sudden outburst with Ten had been peaceful, if you don't count the million of ways in which your heart is breaking every time you spot Ten and Jueun together. Sometimes he valls her during your break. Sometimes, you spot them flirting by the corridor. And sometimes, she joins you for a late night snack in the middle of your dance practice.

"You seem very keen on her," you'd remarked to your best friend one evening after she'd gone out to throw the trash.

Ten's ears blush bright pink, though he doesn't say anything.

That's good enough of an answer for you to put two and two together. Their relationship is moving along just fine and every second of it feels like a punch in the gut.

Still, you hold your head high and a fake smile on your face, hating the fact that she's pretty and feminine and smart, and just everything you're not.

And though you still feel the residual effect of that weird tension building between you and Ten during dance practice, you tempt to brush it off so as not to get your hopes up high. Because apart from the intensity in hid dark orbs when he dances with you, it's like an on and off switch that seems to be merely for the sake of the performance.

That hurts you even more.

"So when are you going to tell him?"

You glance up at Mark, sipping on your tea before you ask, "tell who? And what?"

"Tell Ten that you like him--"

No sooner has Mark spoken that your hand shoots out to clamp over his mouth, eyes widening with panic as you quickly glance around the room with fear.

"What the fuck, Mark?" Your eyes narrow dangerously, "don't day those kinds of things out loud."

"I whash vwandering--" you glare at him, before pulling your hand away to let him talk, "I was wondering when were you going to admit it but since you weren't and the performance is coming up, I feel like you should. For your own good." Is what he says before shoving another forkful of pasta in his mouth.

"What are you talking about? Of course I can't tell him," you snap, "it'll ruin everything!"

"Or make everything better."

"You are out of your mind."

"And you are just running away," Mark leans onto his elbow, throws you a pointed look, "c'mon Y/N, do you really want to leave all these things unsaid? I see the way you look at him."

"No. No way. I'm--you know what, I don't even have to answer you right now."

"Ten would want--"

"He would not," you cut him off harshly, "want me to fuck things up for him and Jueun."

And with that, you collect your bubble tea and backpack, before striding away to the dance studio with rattled footsteps and a pounding heart.

No. No no no. Telling Ten is dangrrous. Telling Ten will. Fuck. Things. Up.

God knows you don't need that right now.

The thought of it haunts you though, in the form of Mark’s words. Even when you spot Professor Lee waiting by your dance classroom. Even when you try to focus on the beats of the music flowing through the speakers as you take this time to stretch and warm up your muscles. Ten comes late, closely followed by Jueun’s figure and that almost feels like a knife stabbing straight through your chest. Someone might’ve as well held up a “Here to Hurt Y/N” sign. You quickly swivel away, face the wall, biting your lip as the familiar sting of tears crawl up your throat.

No. Stop it, your mind chants. That’s not what you’re here for.

That’s right. You have a performance to deliver. An artwork to complete.

“Ready?” Professor Lee’s voice pierces through your inner monologue and you look at her, before your eyes find Ten’s who is already walking over to you.

“Hey,” his hand reaches up to tap your nose, “ready?’

You nod. You don’t really trust your voice at this point.

“We’ve practiced this millions of times,” he murmurs into your ear while you both get into curled up ball positions. Professor Lee stands on the sidelines, flicking through the connected phone for the desired song, “don’t worry. Just dance.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumble back. Why does Jueun have to be here?

You have half a mind to tell Ten that Jueun needs to get out — you can’t concentrate like this — but it’s too late. The melody begins, a slow thrum that causes your limbs to slowly extend with poetic grace. Just like you and Ten had practiced.

Okay, you think. Focus. You concentrate on the melody, on allowing your body to fold to the words flowing through your song as you kneel and face Ten. His eyes are dark, focused, pinned to yours like you’re everything he’s ever seen. You do the same.

You’re not quite sure how you manage to finish the performance, only realize that it’s over once your forehead presses against Ten’s, breaths intermingling and fingers interlocked and the music drifting away only to leave a silence laden with emotions put on the table. For a minute, no one says a thing.

And then, as if breaking the soft spell that is Ten’s eyes, a soft clap echoes throughout the room.

“Nice,” Professor Lee says, before she beckons you two over. You do just that while trying to catch your breaths and in the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Jueun, “still a few things you need to work on. First off, your synchronization at the turns and twirls. You need to be careful of that. And Y/N, don’t forget when you lift your leg towards Ten, you need power. Much more power and resistance, like he’s pulling you and you’re fighting against him.”

You nod. She’s right. As she always is.

“In terms of the technique, I think you just need more practice. It looks good overall though,” she pauses for a minute, then continues, “but Ten, for god’s sake, you need to look at her when you’re dancing. Don’t look as if you’re dancing with a corpse. She’s your best friend, you’re supposed to love her. She’s one of the most important people in your life. Is she not?”

Ten mumbles out something that sounds like “yes”, though he shuffles his feet like a guilty kid.

“So show me that she means that much to you!” Professor Lee exclaims, “you look like you want to be anywhere but here. That’s no good. I wasn’t expecting that from you. Y/N,” she gives you a once-over, then nods, “the emotion are there. Loving the facial expressions so keep that up. Show this man how to do it.”

It isn’t until Professor Lee is out of the room that you manage to let out a sigh of relief, “jesus,” you look up at the ceiling and feel like you’ve just aged ten years, “she scares the fuck out of me.”

Ten doesn’t respond. You glance at him, only to notice his glazed over look as if he’s still contemplating what your teacher just said.

“Ten,” you nudge his arm, “you okay? She’s always a little harsh. Don’t take it the wrong way—“

“Yeah I know,” he cuts you off, “we should keep practicing the techniques.”

Something has shifted in his expression, though you can’t really pinpoint what it is.

The rest of practice goes smoothly enough and Jueun leaves at some point, probably bored with constantly hearing the same music. At some point, tiredness takes over, causing you to flop onto the floor and look up at the ceiling. Your muscles are aching, you know tomorrow’s going to be a battle to get up from bed.

“I can’t feel my legs anymore,” Ten crouches next to you before he flops, head landing on your stomach and causing you to grunt at his weight.

“You’re heavy,” you try to shove him off, hating how quickly your cheeks flush with heat at the close proximity. Ten grabs a hold of your sweater with a pout, “nooo.”

“We’ve got a lot to work on,” you murmur, though it sounds loud in the silence of the room.

“I’ve got a lot to work on,” Ten tilts his head up at you, “apparently I don’t seem to look at you the right way.”

“That’s because you take me for granted.”

“Shut up.”

“Just imagine there’s Jueun in front of you and you’ll be fine.”

A pause. Before he asks, “do you imagine someone else when we’re dancing together?”

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. You lift yourself up with your elbows, enough to catch sight of Ten’s face. It’s hard to say what you find there, since it’s not a face you’re acquired to seeing, “no. I—no.”

“Do you think of Taeyong?”

“I don’t like Taeyong,” you state flatly, “and I think everyone knows that.”

“So who do you think about then?”

“Just—well, you. I guess.”

And then, you realize the weight of the words that had just blurted out of your mouth. You clamp them shut, teeth finding purchase onto your lower lip as you rest your head back against the floor with a mental scream. Oh shit. Have you said a little too much?

You brace yourself for the worst. Ten will either make fun of you, or he’ll just ask you to clarify your words. Eyes squeeze shut on their own accord, as if just waiting for this dreadful silence to end.

But Ten does neither of those things.

Instead he says, “I’m hungry. Wanna get food?”

“Uh—“ your brain backtracks, “sure.”

Looking back at Ten’s questions, it was clear that he was trying to figure out the intensity of emotions flowing through you whenever you danced with him, whether that came out intentionally or not. It’s not like you want him to know you long, yearn for him to be yours. But there are some things — you learn — that cannot be hidden no matter how much you try.

The next few practices feel weird, leave you buzzing for no reason at all. It’s like a switch has suddenly been switched on inside your best friend. Gone are his shy touches and tentative steps to close the gap between you. Ten reaches for you with a confidence now, with some kind of fluid grace that makes you wonder whether he knows what you’re trying to hide in the grooves of your heart.

But it’s not just that. It’s the way he looks at you that changes. Every single time your gazes lock, something intangible flickers in those dark orbs, something that causes your heart to do a cartwheel because goddamnit, Ten is hot when he wants to be.

And you hate yourself even more for thinking this way.

When you’re not practicing, you’re at Mark’s house and bribing him into keeping this whole ordeal a secret. He manages to come to some kind of agreement begrudgingly after you swear you’ll treat him to a month full of dimsum, but swears that once the performance is over you’ll have to say something because, as he reasoned, it wouldn’t be fair for Ten not to know.

You have no clue how he’s come to such a conclusion. But that’s good enough, for now.

Meanwhile, you start cherishing every single moment you spend with your best friend. You hug him more often — when you’re taking a break from practice, when you’re all sweaty and use that as an excuse to rub your face on his sweater, when he’s lying in the middle of the floor playing with his phone — and tease him mercilessly about Jueun while trying to ignore every crack in your heart at each word that escapes your mouth. If she makes him happy, who are you to step in their way?

Bubble tea trips in the middle of practice becomes a more frequent occurrence when you start spending even more time in the studio to polish up your moves. Whenever that happens, you find yourselves sitting down at a park bench and gazing up at the stars. One of those rare moments you get to breathe and just exist.

Ten would often entertain you with stories of his childhood before moving here, and in return you’d tell him about yours. You spoke about the food you’d want to eat after the exam, the things you’d like to do once you’re free as birds. He tells you about his wish to travel to Europe and you tell him about your desire to go roadtripping towards the coast of the country so that you can camp out and heal from those four hard years of university.

“We should go,” Ten says, dark orbs glimmering with excitement in the dim light of the park, “we could go with all the boys.”

“With the boys? Someone will be found dead if we do that,” you snicker, taking a few sips of your drink, “Yangyang will probably set something on fire, Winwin will find a way to hurt himself or hurt something, and Mark—“

“Mark will get himself piss drunk,” Ten finishes with a cackle, “oh Mark. What a dork.”

Times like these with Ten are magical. Simple, yet filled with so much of yourself that it fills your heart up, makes you all giddy. You wish you can stay like this with him forever, in that small slither of time where the moment belongs to you, and you only.

Alas, the time flies when you’re not looking and all too soon it’s the day of the final performance. As you lay in bed that morning, feeling all of your muscles protest in unison as you stretch your legs, realization creeps up on you; this is the last time you’ll get to perform on stage as a student. This is your official last dance, with no more to come in the future.

Possibly the first and last dance you'll ever get with your best friend.

Your heart aches at the thought.

Participants are to be prepared at five in the evening, two hours before the show starts. Ten doesn't hesitate to give you a small peptalk as you both peek through the dark curtains separating you from the rest of the world. Other dancers are busy milling about and the sheer amount of them just adds on to the growing stress building inside your tummy, not helping in the slightest.

"You'll be fine," Ten keeps on repeating, unconsciously brushing away strands of your hair. You're both already in your costumes -- basic beige pants and white shirts -- and are waiting behind the curtains, box of chinese takeaways forgotten in the corridor at your feet as you try to stop the flurry of panic from crashing into you.

"I need to practice that twirl," you tell him with panicked eyes, "and that weird pause at the end, we still haven't figured that out--"

"Y/N, Y/N," Ten's hands are quick to grab your wrists, before he gently lowers them to your sides, "you'll be fine. We will be fine. I promise. We practiced this dance every day for the past month. There's no way you can make a mistake."

"Oh don't say that, that doesn't help."

His eyes flash with determination. His hand slips to yours before he gives it a gentle squeeze, "I'm here aren't I?" He says softly, "if you fall, I fall. We're soing this together, hm?"

Yeah sure. Except Ten dances like he's made to and you're just a potato in comparison.

Still, you allow yourself to nod. You really do hope that he's right this time. The last thing you want from this performance is the memory of you falling over onstage. And definitely not with Ten in tow.

"Where's Jueun?" You realize you haven't seen her since rehearsal this morning, glancing behind Ten as if she'd appear by magic.

Ten shifts his weight on his other foot, "she was busy this morning, but she said she'll be there for the performance."

"How is it going with her anyway?"

Something darkens on his face. He looks away, "it's complicated."

Huh. Complicated. That's not a word he uses often. Out of curiosity, you can't help but push, "why's that?"

But as if on cue, the intercom buzzes to warn all dancers to be on standby and all your words suddenly fall short when another wave of anziety surges up through your chest.

You clutch at Ten's hands, "oh god. I'm going to be sick."

"You can be sick after our performance," Ten proceeds to lead you to your standby spot, bowing to some of your classmates on the way, "swallow it if you have to."

"Ew," you grimace, "that's disgusting."

You admit that it does help take your mind off things.

"Don't worry about the steps," Ten keeps murmuring into your ear as you join the line for the stage. You can spot the dim lights of the stage, the silhouettes waiting for your appearance, and the MC for the night already giving thanks to whoever sponsor has helped this night come to life.

Oh god. Oh no. It's happening. It's finally happening. Your knees start shaking and you try to wipe your sweaty hands on your pants. The MC asks for encouragement and cheers follow, filling the auditorium with so much excitement it makes your throat run dry with stress.

“We’re number three,” you hear Ten’s voice near your ear, as if hearing him through a film of glass, “we have some time.”

You nod, lick the cracks along your lips.

You really don’t want to mess this up. If not for you, then for Ten.

“Hey.”

Ten’s hands cup your cheeks, tilts your face up so that you have no choice but to look at him.

“We’re doing this together,” his eyes, a dark storm, makes you shiver, “alright?”

Your head dips into a single nod.

“No regrets,” he says.

“No regrets,” you repeat softly.

“Have fun.”

“Have fun.”

His forehead touches yours, “exactly.”

You’ve never had him so close and what normally would’ve flustered you to death actually comforts you in this very moment. So you lean into him, closing your eyes to breathe in his boyish scent, the scent of familiarity, the scent of what home means to you.

And maybe it’s the fact that it is going to be your last dance, maybe it’s the fact that you’ll have to carry those feelings to your grave that causes tears to sting the corner of your eyes, but you quickly reach out to hug him close, blinking them away fiercely while hiding into the crook of his neck.

You don’t know how long you stay like this, snug in your best friend’s arms until you hear the MC’s voice booming across the stage:

“Next up we have ‘I Got You’ performed by Ten and Y/N! Give it up for them please!”

You pull away reluctantly, blink at his one last look of encouragement followed by a small pat on the back, before you direct yourself towards the stage, Ten close on your heels.

“Ready?” He whispers, hand suddenly catching yours. He gives it a squeeze.

You squeeze back, “break a leg.”

————

Dark.

Everything is so dark.

Silence.

Only your breath, and Ten’s, a few meters away.

You feel him standing in position, and you do the same. Your heart beats so loud you wonder if the audience can hear it too.

And then, the melody slowly fills the room and as if on autopilot, your body starts swaying.

A place to crash, I got you

Your leg swings in a circle and you crouch, face slowly lifting to catch Ten’s eye. A golden glow bounces off his face.

No need to ask, I got you

Just get on the phone, I got you

Slowly, as slow as a trickle of water moulding its way through the cracks, everything comes back to you.

Come and pick you up if I have to

The movement, the emotion thrumming through your veins makes adrenaline push your body forward as you slowly give in to the sensation of dancing.

Just figured it out in my head

I’m proud to say

I got you

There’s only you. And Ten. And no one else. His orbs flash to yours, and you dare a small smile.

He smiles back.

And the beat drops.

Go ahead and say goodbye, I’ll be alright

Go ahead and make me cry, I’ll be alright

It feels like flying, twirling through the air before rolling to the floor. Ten follows, hand reaching up to cradle your face. You throw your head back before he’s tugging you and as electricity sizzles between your bodies, you close your eyes to bathe in the moment.

And when you need a place to run to

For better or worse, I got you

Everything comes rushing back. A tidal wave of memories that pull you under; you and Ten dancing in front of the mirror, sharing a laugh. You and Ten talking about life under faint streetlights. You and Ten locking eyes, and the storm, that dark stormy night you find there.

The bridge comes on and you start walking to the edge of the stage, every beat vibrating through your core.

Cause this is love and life

And nothing we can both control

You close your eyes; Ten’s face flashes through your mind.

Those beautiful eyes. The curve of his mouth. The pain of letting him go.

And if it don’t feel right, you’re not losing me by letting me know

Hands grip your shoulders, spin you around.

Eyes burning with tears, you let his arms crush you to his chest.

And just as the crescendo hits, your arms lock around his neck.

His mouth crushes yours.

For a milisecond, you’re startled at his action.

Your heart drops to your stomach, brain freezing up like you’ve just dunked your head in ice.

It’s a good kiss. A beautiful kiss.

A kiss that makes you lose all breath.

The crowd practically goes wild with cheers and shouts that fill the entire room.

And then it’s over.

You’re dancing again.

Go ahead and say goodbye, I’ll be alright

Go ahead and make me cry, I’ll be alright

Your mind is frazzled even when your body follows theough with the rest of the dance. What the fuck was this? Did Ten do it in the heat of the moment?

Your brain is flooding with questions that don’t make sense.

And when you need a place to run to

For better or worse, I got you

You stand, foreheads pressed together and chests heaving, as your eyes flutter up to find his.

That’s it. That’s the end of it.

An eerie silence. Only broken when the applause suddenly floods the room followed by a few calls and wolf whistles. A series of ‘encore! Encore!’ Make your eyes pound as loud as your heart and as you turn to breathlessly bow to the public, you can’t dent the heat rushing through you at the way Ten’s hand is locked on yours.

You wait though, until you’re past the corridors and until you’ve reached the sanctuary of your audition room before slamming the door shut and whirling around on him with flares nostrils and barely restrained anger.

“What the fuck was that?”

Ten’s chest is still heaving, still recuperating from your performance. He’s looking at you with some kind of emotion you can’t make out and you wonder, for a second, what this means for you. What it means to him.

“Ten,” your breaths come out ragged. You keep your eyes on him, demanding answers, “I asked you what the fuck that was.”

It takes a while before he answers. When he does he sounds weary, “I—don’t know. It was an ‘in the moment’ thing.” A pause that fills the gap for a little too long before he continues, “I’m sorry.”

An in the moment thing. You want to scoff, to hurl something at his face. What does that even mean?

Fury boils through your stomach. What about Jueun? What about everyone who will now think there’s something going on between the two of you? What about your feelings for the said man standing right in front of you and telling you that this didn’t mean anything to him?

What about you?

“I hate you,” your eyes start prickling with tears. Everything you’ve kept inside until now starts pouring over until you see red, “I really hate you, Ten.”

And you whirl around and walk away without waiting for him to call you back.

He doesn’t.

————

“What. A. Kiss.”

“Shut up Mark,” you turn your head to the other side so that you don’t have to look at him, to picture the satisfaction on his face, “I don’t want to hear this right now.”

It’s a shame that you had left right after the performance soon after it ended in hopes of avoiding the crowd. Not that it would help considering that rumours are already flying about like bees buzzing through the air as soon as you left.

Mark confirms that Ten had departed a few minutes after you did and that Jueun was not impressed with the whole ordeal.

You scoff at that, “duh, was she supposed to be happy about that?”

“Have you spoken to Ten since?” Mark decides to ignore your question. He takes a seat at the other end of your couch, jostling your leg in the process.

You try to shove him off with your foot, “obviously not. Why would I do such a thing? It’s awkward enough as it is.”

“So this wasn’t planned?” Mark whistles, leaning back to rest against the couch, “wow. Wow. You guys are amazing—“

“No no,” you scowl at him, “you mean a disaster.”

“Look on the bright side, you got to kiss him—“

“Mark,” your scowl deepens, “do not make me throw my slipper at your face.”

There is no way in hell you could’ve anticipated that kiss and even despite all your rebuttals at Mark’s attempts at teasing, the colour rushing to your cheeks and the way your chest fills up with butterflies proves you otherwise.

You can still feel Ten’s lips on yours, a blissful echo of what could have been, a soft tingling that sends blood rushing all the way to your toes. There are so many things you want to ask him, so many possibilities flourishing in your mind with that one simple kiss and yet, you’re so wary of having your world crashing down on your shoulders because why else would Ten do it if not for your performance?

“Have you?” You ask Mark after some time, albeit reluctantly, “spoken to Ten?”

He shakes his head, “haven’t seen him actually. He literally disappeared off the face of the earth after the show.”

“Yeah,” you grimace, “wouldn’t think so.”

There’s part hope and part fear splitting you down in the middle but you don’t dare dream of what could be. You can’t allow yourself to, because every time you do causes an image of the hurt on Jueun’s face to flash through your mind.

You’re not that girl. You are definitely not that girl.

But what you do need are answers. And something tells you that you won’t get any unless you ask him for yourself.

So it’s a week later that you find your way to his flat, feet shuffling as you try and concoct up the conversation, map it out in your head so that it doesn’t sound as bad. After your last conversation with him, you’re not quite sure where he stands himself.

An in the moment thing.

His words bounce off your skull, terrorizing you with the weight they hold.

You take a deep breathe. Exhale softly. Then reach up to ring the doorbell.

Only for the door to swing open, almost slamming into your face.

“Oh, hi!” Jueun’s voice causes you to blink. Jueun, standing at the door with nothing but a t-shirt that’s definitely too big for her — Ten’s— and a towel wrapped around her petite waist. She blinks back at you in confusion before offering a small smile, “what are you doing here?”

“Wh—“ you don’t even get the chance to ask her yourself when Ten’s voice rings out behind her, “who is it?”

Jueun hollers into the apartment, “it’s Y/N!” Before turning back to you, a grin now bestowed upon her face, “sorry I—I was just about done with my shower. Ten’s in there now. You were looking for Ten right?“ She opens the door a little wider, “do you want to come in?”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Someone is up there in the skies laughing at you right now. You feel like a complete, utter idiot.

“N-No that’s alright,” you somehow manage a smile, though it probably looks as fake as it can get but Jueun doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t know you after all, “I—Just tell Ten I’ll swing by later—“

“He’ll be out soon though, I have drinks if you want some.”

“No really,” you’re already taking a step back. And another, and another, “it’s alright. I think—I’ll call him later.”

“But—“

You don’t wait. You dash down the corridor, fly down the stairs like your life depends on it, and don’t stop running until you find yourself in the safety of the bus station. Leaning against the lamplight while catching your breath, you struggle to put all images into one coherent thought as dread slowly pools in around you, wraps you up in its horrifying embrace, stuffing out any hope you might’ve had that Ten felt the same way you did.

You’re not sure whether to cry or to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Your heart hurts. In all kinds of ways. Tugging and pulling and being torn apart as though someone had been tossing it over in their hands before chucking it out of the window. Then, the pain starts to settle like a rock lodging itself in your chest where your heart should be.

It hurts.

You bite down hard on your lower lip. Hard, until the salty taste of blood hits your tongue.

You don’t feel it though. Not when your heart is the one breaking all over again.

—————

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

You can’t help but grin up at the worry dotting Mark’s expression looking like a kicked puppy that just had its bone taken away.

“I’ll be fine,” you swat him playfully on the arm, “and atop looking at me like that. You’re going to see me in a week.”

In a week is your graduation and the day of results. You haven’t spoken to Ten over the past two weeks that have flown by and had merely asked about him through his circle of friends in hopes of scraping by with some crumbs you can try picking up with both hands.

You wonder if Ten is thinking of you as much as you are thinking of him. Everything you’ve built up until this very moment had been raw and true and felt real at least to you. The question lies in whether it had been the same thing for him or if it had all just been a fogged up lie, whether he still thinks there are things that he should’ve kept to himself despite the fact that you’ve known him for so long.

In an attempt to rid yourself of all these stupid feelings you’ve tried burying in the grooves of your heart this past month, you’ve agreed to fly out to visit your mother on the other side of the country. A little peace and time away from the university is never a bad thing after all. You’ll be back in time for the results, although you’re not quite sure how that will turn out when you and your best friend aren’t on the best of speaking terms.

“Have fun at your mom’s,” Mark’s arms wrap around you in a soft warm hug, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, “and don’t worry too much about Ten. I wouldn’t. You know how—“

“Yes Mark,” you pull back to offer him a small smile,”I know.”

All too well, you want to add. But you don’t dare say it out loud.

Bidding Mark one more goodbye, you give him one last hug before making your way inside the airport to check-in. It’s bustling at this time of day, filled with students going back home for the holidays or families flying in on vacation, but you find yourself humming under your breath as you go stand in line for your luggage, the good vibes finally catching up to you. For the first time in a while, you allow your shoulders to fall back and relax as you take in the bustle and the noise shuffling around you. It’s been so long since you’ve actually spent time admiring, observing your surroundings that you sometimes forget the beauty of simplicity, of living life just as it is when it isn’t confined to all your inner problems.

And then, as if karma really wants you to suffer,your phone chimes. You glance down and almost gasp at the name flashing across your screen:

Ten: where are you?

Anger flares. Boils through you. How dare he, after all this time, now come around to ask you how you’re doing?

The hypocrite.

You type back your reply with barely restrained anger: I’m leaving today.

His answer comes almost instantly.

Ten: I know. Mark told me about it.

You swear you’re going to strangle that guy the next time you see him.

Y/N: That’s none of your business. And it’s too late anyway.

With that, you lock your phone and drop it back into your backpack even when you feel another buzz vibrate through your jeans. You’re not about to give him that satisfaction of knowing that he still has you hooked around his finger even if deep down you’re all too aware that you’re whipped for him. So whipped you’re so tempted to drop everything to run back to him, to make things good again, the way they always had been.

No. You shake your head in hopes that will clear every toxic thought invading your head.

Thankfully, you’re next in line to check-in and that’s enough to take your mind off the pulsating device throbbing through the material of your backpack and seeping into your jeans. Your fingers, itching to make a grab for the said device, curl onto the folds of your passport as the worker quickly ushers your luggage through the weighing machine roll.

“Thank you. Your gate is E7 and you will just have to check through security at the very back if you turn on your left,” she motions towards the said area and you nod, thanking her with a small smile before slipping out of the queue with another loud breath escaping your lips. God. You need this vacation to start already, or you’ll have to start finding other things to take your mind off—

Strong hands grip your shoulders. Whirl you around so fast you barely have time to blink.

Only to come face to face with none other than Ten Lee in the flesh.

“Wha—“ the words are knots that tangle up your tongue. Your mouth feels like it’s suddenly been filled with sandpaper, “what—what are you doing here?”

“Stopping you from leaving,” Ten is breathless, sweat dotting his hairline and chest heaving as if he’s just sprinted over. His bangs are disheveled and you want nothing more than to run your hands through his messy locks. Your hand curls into a fist in response as he continues, “where are you going? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why should I tell you anything?” You scowl back, “I thought we weren’t on speaking terms, considering you were ignoring me and all.”

“I wasn’t ignoring—“

“Oh please Ten,” you roll your eyes, “as if you didn’t know I came to your house that day when Jueun opened the door.”

“Wai—What? What are you talking about?” His confused expression seems all too genuine for it to be an act and gathering up the last bit of patience you have left, you allow yourself to exhale shakily, try and coax your emotions to simmer down, “I came to your house. Two weeks ago. Jueun answered the door and the rest of was self-explanatory—“

“Jueun? When was that? That’s— I don’t remember her being here—“ realization suddenly dawns and you feel like scoffing in satisfaction. That is, until he says, “I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there when Jueun was, Y/N.”

“Bullshit. She told me you were in the shower—“

“Yeah, in the dance studio. Not home,” his eyes had turned dark, stormy. Something inside you starts trembling as you watch his jaw clench, “she dropped by to fetch her things. That was the last time I saw her.”

There’s a distinct pause where you try to assimilate everything that had just come out of Ten’s mouth.

There’s surprise. Shock. And then, all the missing pieces start coming together.

“Is this why you haven’t called me at all, all this time?” Ten’s question bursts your bubble of thought. You blink, realizing that he’s standing before you in the flesh with something soft and tender in his gaze that makes your entire body light up with heat.

He takes a step closer. You take a step back. Amusement flickers across his face, until it is wiped out by your statement: “well you haven’t bothered calling me either.”

“Yeah, because the last thing you told me after the performance was that you hated me.”

“You said our kiss was just an ‘in the moment’ thing. How do you think I’d react?”

“I don’t know Y/N,” the frustration in Ten’s voice is clear. It’s probably the first time you see him so out of sorts. It surprises you, “what was I supposed to say? That I’ve been trying not to kiss you from the moment we’ve had our evaluation with Professor Lee? That my interest in Jueun just flopped the moment I realized I didn’t like her as much as I loved you? What—What did you expect me to say, Y/N?”

Silence. Only broken when you mumble, “well. This is clearly enough.”

It’s probably his words that render him red-faced and embarrassed, for he looks away and starts mumbling intelligible words under his breath without real meaning and in that particular moment, seeing Ten looking so lost and bearing his heart out to you with such genuine emotion makes your own heart quake in your chest.

Ten likes you. Just as you like him. He loves you. He’s been thinking about you, and that in itself causes a troop of butterflies to suddenly erupt through your insides.

You don’t even think about it as your hands come up to grab his t-shirt before pulling him in.

Your lips press against his. They’re trembling, but the warmth from Ten’s mouth is enough to boost your confidence.

His breaths, small stutters of air between your parted lips, make you press even closer if that’s possible. You kiss his next breath away and relish in the soft gasp that echoes out of his throat.

Warm hands slowly cup your face, trailing down your neck to drop at your waist while yours find their resting place by his jaw. You feel him kiss back, the softest movement of lip against lip, and you swear you almost lose it.

‘Y/N,” he breathes, voice drugged and hoarse, against you, before he proceeds to take over the kiss and kiss you a little deeper. You’ve kissed before onstage, but this is completely different. It feels completely different. You can’t help but sigh as Ten pulls you inevitably closer, tilting his head to the side as your mouths start moving together in a slow, hesitant dance that makes you tremble.

This. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Ten, in your arms. You and him, with nothing but your feelings out in the open, bared over the table for both of you to see. There’s some kind of soft glow of warmth that seems to seep through your veins the more you keep on kissing and kissing as if your entire life depends on it, and out of impulse you tighten your grip on the back of his neck, fingers sliding up to cascade through his dark locks. You hear him groan out softly in response, and that causes you to smile into the kiss.

You pull away after a short while upon realizing that you’re still in a public area, foreheads resting against each other and sharing the same breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur out.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats with more emphasis. And maybe it’s the mood, the fact that you’re in his arms and that allows him to let out a small laugh. You join in too and wonder briefly how stupidly in love you both look, like those main actors in sappy romance movies. Not that you can care.

The airport speaker suddenly breaks the spell when your flight is called for boarding. You almost jump out of the skin as realization pours through you.

“Oh shit,” you let out another laugh,”I have a flight to catch.”

That only makes Ten tighten his hold, “when will you be back?”

The desperation in his voice causes a grin to break across your face. You lean in, cupping his cheek with your hand, “I’ll be back next Sunday.”

“Okay,” he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, “I can wait that long.”

He accompanies you all the way to the security line and just before you walk through the sliding doors, tugs you back by your pinky finger with that sort of guilty look that little boys would give their mothers when they were found out with their hands in the cookie jar.

You look up at him with a grin. Although, you’re not sure your grinning has stopped ever since that kiss, “I will be back. Don’t worry—“

“I know I know,” Ten lifts your hand to his lips, presses another kiss on the back of your knuckles, “I’m just beating myself up for being such an idiot.”

There are still so many things left unsaid between you, so many things to unpack about your relationship and where you want to take it from there. But standing in front of Ten right now makes nothing but happiness glow through your skin, through the grooves of your heart. It finally feels right, everything falling in place like it was meant to be, and the grief that you’d been carrying around all his time has suddenly vanished as if there had been a clear blue sky all along.

“I’ll come back to you,” you smile up at him when he’s tugged you once more into his arms, “I promise.”

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, “I’ll hold on to that promise so you better not break it.”

“See you soon then?”

Ten pulls back then, searches your gaze for a long minute in silence. And then, as tenderly as a soft caress, he leans down to drop another kiss on your mouth.

“Come back to me.”

————

A/N: Hello and if you’ve reached the end of this story, thank you so much for reading this till the end!! It’s a long and a tough read and honestly I practically had a writer’s block for 1 month over this thing. This was supposed to come out end of June but ehhh, life happens I guess!! Anyway, I hope you liked this and I am forever grateful, as always, for your support. Thank you so much for reading my work and for following my blog. I might not know all of you, but every single one of you has made my day a little brighter every time I come onto here. It feels like home.

Stay safe and see you in the next fic!! Xx

[nothinggold13]

In my mind, there is a key similarity between Peter and Caspian’s humility, and what that means for them as Kings, though that humility is shown with a very specific difference: Caspian is asked whether he feels sufficient to become king, but Peter is told that he will be.

Here’s Caspian’s exchange with Aslan:

“‘Welcome, Prince,’ said Aslan. ‘Do you feel yourself sufficient to take up the Kingship of Narnia?’

‘I-- I don’t think I do, Sir,’ said Caspian. ‘I’m only a kid.’

‘Good,’ said Aslan. ‘If you had felt yourself sufficient, it would have been proof that you were not.’“

Now, as Caspian says, he is only a kid. The book describes him as being about Peter’s age (14), while the timeline says he is 13, which tells us that he is, at most, Peter’s own age, and at least, the age Peter was at his own coronation. (Though the book description doesn’t disallow for him being 13, I am personally partial to taking it more literally, and thus view Caspian as being 14 in PC. The timeline is a mess, anyway, so I give myself some freedom. This is inconsequential to the greater point, but is just a general explanation of why I treat his age as open here, even though there’s a “canon” answer.)

So, when Aslan crowns Caspian, he first asks him if he feels sufficient, and then applauds Caspian for his humility. The humility in question is that Caspian doesn’t believe he is sufficient: i.e. enough. That’s the big thing Aslan requires of the people he makes stewards of Narnia: not that they themselves are enough, but that they rely on Him; Aslan is the High King above all High Kings, and when he appoints a King over Narnia, he is choosing not just a leader for His people, but someone who will follow.

Now, how does this apply to Peter?

Here’s Peter’s own conversation with Aslan:

“When the girls had gone Aslan laid his paw -- and though it was velveted it was very heavy -- on Peter’s shoulder and said, ‘Come, Son of Adam, and I will show you the far-off sight of the castle where you are to be King.’

And Peter with his sword still drawn in his hand went with the Lion to the eastern edge of the hilltop. [...]

‘That, O Man,’ said Aslan, ‘is Cair Paravel of the four thrones, in one of which you must sit as King. I show it to you because you are the first-born and you will be High King over all the rest.’

And once more Peter said nothing, for at that moment a strange noise woke the silence suddenly.”

Peter is silent through this entire exchange, though, specifically, the second time we’re told it’s because they are interrupted by Susan’s horn. During this conversation, the only insight into Peter’s thoughts is focused on his view of the castle: “[...] but to Peter it looked like a great star resting on the seashore.” We’re given no reaction for what Peter actually thinks of Aslan telling him he is to be High King... however, we are told how he feels in the moments immediately following:

“For a moment Peter did not understand. Then, when he saw all the other creatures race forward and heard Aslan say with a wave of his paw, ‘Back! Let the Prince win his spurs,’ he did understand, and set off running as hard as he could to the pavilion. [...]

[...] Peter did not feel very brave; indeed, he felt he was going to be sick. But that made no difference to what he had to do.”

So, although the narrator doesn’t tell us what Peter thinks about becoming High King, we are told exactly what he thinks and feels about the first act he is called to do under that role: he doesn’t feel ready. Firstly, it doesn’t occur to him that it is his duty to act until Aslan waves everybody else back, though when he understands, he runs without further hesitation. Secondly, Peter has no confidence in his own actions when he goes to fight the wolf; he’s terrified, even though he doesn’t stop running. But that’s the thing about Peter: he may not feel ready, but he will always do his duty.

Compare this to the movie scene, where Peter is given a chance to respond to Aslan’s statement:

Aslan: That is Cair Paravel, the castle of the four thrones, in one of which you will sit, Peter, as High King. You doubt the prophecy? Peter: No. That’s just it... Aslan, I’m not who you all think I am. Aslan: [...] Peter, there is a Deep Magic more powerful than any of us that rules over all of Narnia. It defines right from wrong, and governs all our destinies: yours and mine. Peter: But I couldn’t even protect my own family!

In the movie, Peter is allowed to express those thoughts that remain internalized in the book: he doesn’t feel ready, and that scares him. Yet, when asked if he doubts the prophecy, Peter says “No,” and then when Susan’s horn sounds, Peter runs off immediately, willing to do what needs to be done. Although the scenes switch Peter’s moments of inaction and action, (holding his silence, but failing to act autonomously in the book, but speaking his fears and running in without hesitation in the movie,) both scenes tell us the same thing about Peter’s character: it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t feel like he is enough, because he will do what is needed, regardless.

Back to Caspian for a moment. While he may not have saved the Narnians from the Telmarines himself, at the time that Aslan asks him whether he feels sufficient, he has already been leading them for several days at least -- perhaps weeks -- even in battle. Caspian has acted as King before. And yet, when the question comes, he still feels he is only a kid: there is no way that he alone is enough. (But he is not alone; Aslan rules before him and beside him, so long as Cas will follow him.)

Peter, meanwhile, has never been King. He has led his family, yes, and done what needed to be done, but he hasn’t acted as King in the way Caspian had by the same point in his story: the moment Aslan tells him he will be King. Peter’s a kid. Peter’s scared. Peter doesn’t understand all that this means for him.

And in the book, Peter says nothing.

After all, Aslan didn’t ask him. He told him.

But if Aslan had asked him, I feel Peter’s response would have been very much the same: Aslan asks, “Do you feel yourself sufficient?” and Peter says, “I don’t think I do. I’m only a kid.” But there is one thing I would add to Peter’s response, only because it is the thing he shows us again and again by his actions: “But I will do it because you ask it of me.”

Peter doesn’t take the role of High King without question because he believes himself to be sufficient; if Peter believed his own power was enough, he would never be King of Narnia at all. But the reason Peter doesn’t question in the book is the same reason he starts running the second he hears his sister’s horn in the movie: he will always do his duty. His silent acceptance could never be, “Yes, of course, I understand completely.” It’s him holding in his doubts, his fears, his uncertainties. It’s the way he says, “If you say so, then I will do it, although I cannot understand.”

Peter is duty-bound. Always. It is that quality which, in the movie, took him from “Look after the others,” to, “You will be High King.” And though in the movie they let him question that which scares him, it never takes away from his willingness to do what needs to be done. I don’t think it’s paradoxical for Peter to show us both: he has always been a man of thought as much as a man of action; hesitant but willful; wavering but faithful; humble and noble, in all he does.

When Caspian is asked whether he feels sufficient, it is not exactly the same as being offered a choice; it’s not as if he says, “I don’t feel ready,” and Aslan says, “Then I won’t ask this of you.” The question is Aslan asking: he is simply asking after Caspian’s heart to rule, not his willingness to.

For Peter, this is already decided. There’s no question. But it’s alright, because he doesn’t need the question. For all his fears, he is still willing. For his own uncertainties, his heart is already growing in Kingship.

They’re different boys, in different circumstances. Both are Kings. Both are only kids. And even though one is asked while the other is told, they are both willing, and it is that obedience which makes them the Kings they are.

[iwadori]

When they neglect you for another girl Part 4 (Sakusa)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Word Count: 2.6K

Genre: Angst to Fluff

masterlist

AN: YES I DID PUT MYSELF IN THIS STORY! SUE ME. This is basically inspired by a random conversation i had w the great @teesumu, so this is basically for you doll <3

Sakusa:

You and Sakusa have been together for a around 10 years and love eachother immensly.    

However recently Sakusa has been busy and you havent really had much time together lately as he claims been busy doing loads of visits with his new agent.

But of course, being the loving partner you are you wanted to revive the spark in your relationship.

You have been seeing a lot of people on social media posting their aesthetic ‘picnic dates,’ and you knew that this was something that appealed to you before it was ‘on trend.’ Kiyoomi immediately came to your mind once you had the idea of going on a date. You knew that you haven’t be around each other lately, as Kiyoomi always had either a ‘meeting’ or some sort of ‘interview’ that his new agent “Empress” has set up for him.

You didn’t really know Empress that well, just that she was ‘good at her job,’ a ‘hard and dilligent worker,’ and a ‘raging hottie’ with Atsumu’s opinion being the last one. You weren’t suspecting her to have any malicious intent towards you or Kiyoomi, since you knew that he had a great judge of character. But it was just odd, that every time Kiyoomi was running late or having ‘super-secret’ conversations on the phone it was always because ‘my agent set up this,’ ‘my agent set up that,’ and that’s what left you a bit wary.

As you were scrolling through your phone you see a calendar updating saying : Next Week‘ A DECADE AGO WE FELL IN LOVE.’  

10 years. How could you forget? You and Omi have literally been together for a decade. You think back to the decade of madness and love you’ve been through together, smiling fondly to yourself but then you think about where you are now... barely even talking to each other, only mainly seeing him when he comes home from work.

You need to fix this. Or at least make an attempt to get you and Kiyoomi talking again. So, the only thing you can do, is plan that picnic.

You spent the rest of the day planning your anniversary picnic. ’It’s going to be great,’ you think to yourself, you have a list of all Omi’s favorite foods you're going to make him and bring and you are probably going to pick up a few board games and maybe even get some paint supplies. You and Kiyoomi used to paint a lot together, with the two of you not being the best of painters, but you enjoyed eachothers company non the less.  

Everything was sorted...for the most part. All you needed to do was get Omi there, and it’ll all be okay. Right? As you were bubbling and looking for more picnic inspo, you hear your front door open which made you even more excited to tell your boyfriend your plans.  

As you rush to go greet him, you see he’s on the phone making you roll your eyes. “No Empress it won’t work, we need this sorted by next week. Okay? Next week.” he says in an agitated way. He hangs up the phone and sighs, shoving off his duffel bag.

“Hey Omi, how was your day?” you say a bit hesitant, noticing his annoyed mood.  

“Fine” He said dismissively, aiming to walk past you aiming for your bedroom.

“Oh well I have something amazing planned for ne-” you try to say following after him.

“Can we not do this right now Y/N,” he says again turning too look at you making you frown a bit, all you wanted to do is surprise him with your plans and have a day out with him. After noticing your sad look he finishes with “it’s just that Empress she’s bee-”

“I don’t want to hear about her.” you say bitterly folding your arms, Empress is the last person you want to hear about right now “God Omi can’t you just care about me? For once.”

“I do I-”

“You don’t anymore,” you say, with all the emotions and feelings you’ve been just supressing from a while coming up. You don’t even know how you got from point A to B with this conversation, but there's no stopping now. “I feel that, for a while now we haven’t been how we were before when we were just Y/N and Kiyoomi. Instead of how we are now. Just Y/N. Then Kiyoomi and Empress.”

After hearing his agents name, Kiyoomi’s name contorts to confusion “Empress? What does she have to do with anything?”

“How can you not see? For the past month all it’s been is ‘Empress this’ ‘Empress that,’” you complain “Having your super secret conversations with her, like god Kiyoomi can’t you see a problem with this?”  

“It’s not like that Y/N, we’re just work partners” he says looking a bit annoyed “Just business.”

 “Just business? So Kiyoomi, what were you talking about on the phone earlier” you say with your voice slight accusingly.

“Umm I, I can’t really say?” he says more of a question then a fully assured statement. You squint your eyes at him and scoff.

“What is going on with you Omi?” you say “are you cheating on me with her is that it?”

“No, no of course not Y/N! How could you even ask that?” he frowned at your question making your chest hurt, since deep down you knew he could never do that to you. Could he?

“Well tell me then, what were you talking about?” you ask again.

“I can’t say..” he finishes  

“Well I can’t stay.” you say and his face goes back to confusion “Here. With you.”

“What do you mean Y/-”

“I need a break or something. I just can’t be here right now.” You start to rush and pack a big of things whilst Kiyoomi just stands there.

After you pack up your stuff, you look back and see Kiyoomi just there. Standing. You were upset, you kind of wanted him to rush after you and beg you not to leave, but he was just there. Standing. So you put the hand on the door and just before you leave you turn back and say “bye Sakusa, see you later?” to which you see him slightly nod at.

When the door shut, Kiyoomi starts to cry. After hearing you call him by his last name really twisted the knife that was already in his heart. You haven’t called him that since you were like 15. He knew what you wanted; he knew you wanted him to rush towards you and beg you not to leave, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. But what he could do is call the one person he only could call.

After a few rings, he hears “What do you need Saku?”  

“She’s gone, she left.”

“What do you mean she’s gone, did you tell her?”  

“No I didn’t tell her. And that’s the problem, Empress she think-”

“Saku, don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

“You’ll handle it?”

“Don’t I always?”

He couldn’t argue with that, he just had to trust that Empress could sort it. “And also, don’t spend the week with your head up your ass crying, you’ve got a lot of grovelling to do kiddo.”

He nodded even though she couldn’t see him, as he knew that what just went down needed to be resolved, fast.

Meanwhile, on your end. You’re a mess. Sobbing all the time, tissues are your best friend, you’ve been waiting just waiting for a message or a call, or some form of communication. You just wanted to feel wanted by your boyfriend (can you even call him that now.)  

You spent the rest of the week at your parents, immersing yourself in your work and doing ‘self care’ things, trying to forget all about the argument you and Kiyoomi had.  

One day, you receive a letter, it wasn’t delivered by a mail man though. It was slid under your door, in a golden envelope sealed with a red hot wax seal. It read:

‘Dear Y/N,

My sweetheart, im sorry for how the week has been and I know a letter with only a fraction of how I feel won’t make up for how I acted that day. But im inviting you to join me at the Gardenia Botanical Gardens at 2 pm tommorow, to celebrate our 10 year anniversary.  

I know there is a big chance, you may not want to see me and I understand but please. I love you, so so much, that words can’t even describe. But I need you to see me apologise and I need to make it up to you.  

I hope to see you there, I’d wait the whole day for you. If you don’t show, I understand.

Sincerely, Sakusa Kiyoomi

P.S The theme is ‘summer hot day, tea with the queen’ - Atsumu’

You smile at the letter, but wonder if you should actually go or not. You did want to see him of course and get this all resolved, but you had your own plans for your anniversary which wouldn’t of been spoiled if he didn’t withhold his super-secret phone calls.

It took you hours to contemplate on what to do, but you decided to just sleep on it and see how you feel tomorrow. In the morning, you knew what you wanted to do. Of course, you had to go, at least to hear him out and see if he really did cheat on you or not. For all you know he’s inviting you to tell you that he’s going to run away with his agent and his secret kids they had together. You shook the negative thoughts from your head and just repeated your mantra ‘hope for the best and prepare for the worst.’

When you got there, you didn’t exactly know where he would be but he said ‘botanical gardens’ so of course you decided to just wander around there. It was nice walking around and just smelling the roses, and seeing the pretty scenery.  

“Excuse me ma’am,” you hear someone say tugging on your leg “um that mister over there told me to give you these.” Looking down, you see a small boy who looked about the age of four with a crumpled up bunch of roses handing them to you.

“Oh thank you,” you say giving the kid a head pat “where is this ‘mister’ might I ask?”

“He’s over there!” The kid pointed behind him and you look to see Kiyoomi sitting under a white gazebo which is surrounded in your favorite flowers and the table is filled with food.

You walk over to your ‘boyfriend,’ with him not noticing your present yet. When you reach him you say “I think she stood you up buddy,” you joke making him jump abit startled.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, instantly beaming “You came you made it!” he stood up and pulled you into a hug, which you return before you remember why you came here in the first place.

“Oh I-” he says awkwardly

You decide to sit down pulling him down with you. You kind of sit there in uncomfortable silence, for a while until you both say.

“So I-”

“What are yo-”

You both laughed at your simultaneous comments, before Kiyoomi looks at you letting you speak. “What did you want to bring me here for?”

“I didn’t want, what happened last week to happen Y/N I-” he says looking a bit panicked “It wasn’t supposed to go this way.”

“Then how was it meant to go Sakusa.”

“Y/N, please don’t call me that, I know I made you upset but pleas-” he starts before getting distracted again “Y/N, I called you here to say a few things..”

“Them being.?” you ask a bit impatiently.

“I love you. I love you so much, you don’t even understand. Ever since I saw you at my volleyball game in our first year, in the stands just cheering us on. I knew that from that day, after I scored the winning point and our eyes met, that we were destined to be together. I just love you so much Y/N”

“Omi I don’t understand I-”

“Just let me finish please, It’s taken a while for me to say this. And trust me, there’s been so many times when I wanted to just say ‘hey Y/N let’s get married,’ but I couldn’t I was scared, and I wanted it to be perfect, so perfect. Because you deserve the world Y/N. That’s why I got Empress to help, I know that our conversations may seem odd, but I love you and she knows that she just wanted to help trust me. And she did, all this wouldn’t of been done if it wasn’t for her. But anyways Y/N what I waned to say was I love you and I love you and I-” he rambles on loosing track of his words.  

But in the midst of his speech, you hear all that you needed and responded with the only way you can.

“Yes.” you say simply, with a growing smile on your face.

“Yes?” he repeats confused “What do you meann ye- ohhh" Kiyoomi blushes embarrased that after all that he ended up ruining the thought out proposal he wanted to give you with his ramble.

“Im sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean to say it like that I wanted it to be perfect and I-”

You shut him up with a kiss making his eyes widen as he reciprocates it anyways.  

“What did she say?” you hear someone shout from a far, and you look over to see the MSBY Jackals all standing there with shit eating grins on their faces.

“I said yes!” you yell back, to which they all cheer and rush towards you guys giving you both hugs and slapping Kiyoomi on the back.  

As the boys celebrate Omi finnally do what he’s been planning for ages, you get approached by Empress who awkwardly walks up to you. “ I didn’t want to leave the impression that me and Saku were any sort of thing?” she says

“Yeah I think it was definitely a big misunderstanding, it’s just that Omi was never around and whenever he was he was just talking to you and you know how it is.”

“I definitely know, I’d feel the same way if my boyfriend did that to me.”

“Oooh boyfriend?” you ask her feeling nosey on her romantic life.  

“Yeah boyfriend. You know iwaizumi hajime... the trainer?” she says smiling a bit when she said his name.

“The trainer! Nice.”

The rest of the night was fun and was basically an engagement party for you and Omi all you and friends just partying and celebrating yours and Omi’s love for each other. “Omi” you say getting his attention “Happy ten year anniversary babe”

“Happy anniversary, I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

After the party you spend your months now planning for a big fat wedding, with the help of your new found bestie, Empress (who you obviously misjudged from the start.) You and Omi could never be happier, every thing was back to how it was before, maybe even better. And you definitely spent at least two Saturdays a month going out for picnics and it was now a tradition in your relationship, so in the end you did get your ‘aesthetic picnic date.’

AN: WHAT DID U GUYS THINK??