#or he’d be afraid to do anything even if he doesn’t think it’s unrequited

[enviedear]

LOVING ALONE IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི REQUEST | jason having (what he thinks is) an unrequited crush

CW | lovesick!jason with issues accepting love, just-a-buncha fluff. 1.6k words. 🎧ྀི

your eyes flicker to your window for the hundredth time in ten minutes. there's an attempt at forcing your gaze back to your book, but your concentration on it has long since shattered. it's impossible to concentrate on anything other than him, perched on your fire escape right outside your window—JASON TODD.

he thinks he’s so subtle, as if you'll never notice when he parks himself on your fire escape like some sort of gargoyle. you smile slightly at the thought, heart pounding a little faster than it should. a condition that makes itself apparent far too much when your mind drifts to him.

he's silently taken on a sort of sworn protector role, separate from his nightly redhood rendezvous. you count yourself lucky to have his presence around your domicile so often. you truly never got over the culture shock that was gotham, but jason helps. even if he decides to go to great lengths to try and hide it.

outside, in the frigid and everpresent putrid gotham air, jason todd sits in complete rumination. he has goosebumps marring his arms beneath his leather jacket, but he pays them no mind. no, he's far too busy listing all the reasons he should just leave, why sitting outside under the guise of guard is utterly stupid, but still, he sits.

he runs a gloved hand through his hair, tugging slightly. he feels pathetic. how can he meet death, the criminally insane, survive things that would kill most—and somehow, he's shocked still with nerves at the very idea of knocking on your window.

in his head he has it all pictured, if it went perfectly. you'd come to the window, a confused look on your face until you spot him. he'd pull some stupid line, something he heard dick use once, and it'd make you laugh. he loves hearing that, more than anything. then he'd crawl in—spend the rest of his night with you, doing anything. and in his head, that's perfect.

but the underbelly of that dream keeps him rooted to your fire escape. to him, there's no way you could ever share his sentiments. you refer to him as a friend and no matter how much he wishes for something else, he can't change reality. can't force himself to make something more out of what you give him.

between the blood on his hands and the rage he can never seem to fully rid himself of, he's come to the aimless conclusion that you deserve someone better. someone more delicate, someone who doesn’t live with one foot in the grave. but every time you laugh or shoot him an easy smile, it gets easier to admit that he’s too far gone.

you deign the separation foolish, but still, you give yourself one more attempt at reading before you put your book to the side. really—you just wish he’d just say something. you’ve thought about saying something yourself, more times than you care to admit, but the timing never feels right. besides, there’s a part of you that wonders if jason even realizes you’ve been waiting out for him.

every time you joke or tease, you can see some struggle behind his eyes. as if he wants to let go and laugh with you, but something—himself—holds him back. your very own sisyphus—his very own boulder to carry up a labyrinthine mountain.

maybe it’s his past and the walls he’s built around himself, but you’re over him expecting you to be afraid of him. you wonder how much more evident you need to be. if anything, you wish he could see himself the way you do—intense, yes, but also loyal and good, even if he doesn’t believe it.

he proves it every night when he stands watch outside your shitty apartment.

with a sigh, you stand up from the couch, moving toward the window. he’s always so close, and yet there’s a distance he keeps in place—you’ve had enough of that.

you slide the window open, leaning out just enough to catch him mid-step as he’s about to leave—flee moreso. “going somewhere?”

he turns on his heels, red helmet in his hands, "figured you'd be asleep."

you hum, eyes narrowing, "already? it's six pm on a saturday."

“just didn’t want to bother you.” he admits, voice low, almost timid. he doesn’t meet your eyes, and it’s frustrating how hard he tries to hide, even from you.

“you’re not bothering me, jason.” you say softly, leaning on the window frame. “you never do.”

jason looks at you then, something uncertain flickering in his gaze. his lips dart out to quell his chapped lips—you hold his stare, hoping he can see what you’re trying to tell him, wordlessly.

that you want him here, that you’ve been wanting him all along.

“i can stop by for a few.” he finally says, adding a shrug to the end of his sentence.

you smile, opening the window fully as invitation. jason crawls in, a rather innocuous task but given his stature, always surprises you.

“i have pizza and brownies. saturday special.” you tell him, a persuasion. you want him to eat.

“sounds good.” he’s in the middle of slipping out of his redhood garb, clad in a skintight athletic tee and his cargos—mask sitting on your coffee table. “i’m gonna change in the bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

before his fingers can grab his duffle you start, “why don’t you shower here? i know you don’t have any of your usual stuff but—”

he cuts you off, “i couldn’t. i’m already eating your food…and using your fire escape as a landing spot.”

“jason, seriously. shower here. i’ll heat up the food and put on some tv. it’s a saturday.” you’re not one to beg, but this is treading the line.

his shoulders sag, but there’s a small smile on his face, “thanks, sweetheart. you’re too nice to me.”

his tone is sarcastic, self-deprecating, and that annoys you slightly. you want him to know that he’s welcome here, wanted. needed.

“i like it when you’re here, you know.” you feel like sparking a match, timid flames sparkling. “i miss you when you’re gone and everything.”

he quirks a brow, "what are you tryin' tell me?"

you feel silly at his question, the air around you seemingly buzzing. jason peers down at you with a raised brow, as if he's genuinely confused by the sentiment. as if he's baffled by the notion he could be someone to miss.

your breath hitches as you debate your next move. you're walking a thin line between saying too much and not enough. you could play it safe, keep your cards close to your chest—or you could be honest. near painfully so.

when you find your voice, it comes out soft, "i'm trying to say that i like it better when you come inside instead of sitting on my fire escape. i don't want to be a landing spot for you, i want... more."

he clears his throat, shifting on his feet, "you don't want that." he seems to take a step back, not physically, but mentally. his face goes still, chest breathing even, mind anywhere but the present.

you groan, annoyance evident, "i do though. you have to see that in some way by now." you step towards him, "sometimes i think you feel the same way."

jason’s gaze flickers toward the floor, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve crossed the line, if he’ll pull away entirely. but then he looks up, eyes darker, severely sincere. “you have no idea what you’re asking for.” he cautions, but his voice is lower, almost a whisper.

you smile softly, finally letting your hand touch his arm, feeling the solid warmth beneath. “maybe i do. maybe i’ve been waiting for you to realize it.”

“don’t say that unless you mean it,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

“i mean it.” you reply, sincere in your admission. “i’m not afraid of you, jason. i’m afraid of what happens if you keep shutting me out.”

he grumbles at that, a half-willed attempt to argue against your point. you stay quiet, urging him to continue where you left off. you watch his face contort through a realm of emotions—confusion, fear, and then, thinly masked and wistful poignancy.

“i’m not shutting you out. if anything, i’m protecting you.” he finally decides, arms crossing over his chest, eyes scanning the wall behind you. nervous.

you shake your head, fingers reaching for his twisted expression, finding home on his pink-tinted cheeks. “i don’t need you protecting me from you. i need you to want me as bad as i want you.”

your words are bold, maybe overconfident, but you mean them to the fullest extent. you’re so beyond exhausted of attempting to disregard or conceal your feelings. even if jason’s not, you think he deserves to know.

jason todd looks you over. his eyes raking you up and down like you’re some high valued product—and he’s unsure wether to take the bid or let it pass by. in the time you’ve known him, even in the thralls of his vigilante persona, he’s studied things. eyes pointedly and silently assessing his situation, no matter how far removed he is from his upbringing—his “father” lingers in his antics.

finally, he chuckles, low and more timid than usual, “you don’t know how badly i want you, sweetheart. but…” he stops himself, and you’re grateful because you would have done it yourself if he had continued on with some rebuttal. “fuck. you’re all i want.”

it comes out like a beg, pleading that rarely works it’s way onto his features. you smile, and pull him closer. his arms uncross, opting to gingerly hold your shoulders. still timid, unsure.

“you should know how much you mean to me. you do such a good job of showing me…keeping watch and never letting me eat alone. it’s sweet, you’re sweet. i want you to know it.” you keep his gaze when you speak, hopefully drilling each sentiment permanently into his consciousness.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, “i believe you. swear. i just… this is new. i never thought…” he falters off, equal parts unsure and dumbstruck. “i like you a lot. i didn’t know you felt the same, sweetheart.”

you grin, inching your face closer to his, “well i do. deal with it.” your tone is teasing, playful. pulling him back into the safety of reassurance—what you want him to anticipate from you.

it seems to put jason back in his element, “oh? you have demands? usually that’s my thing.”

you laugh, “could always be our thing. the demanding couple—sounds inspired, don’t you think?”

“something like that…” his smile is soft, “but for now, i think i’m fine with just being yours.” he says it so earnestly, no thought to it. just the truth, and it feels damn good. it envelops you just the same as his arms, wraps you up in utter victory. love hard fought—and it feels so sweet.

[fallinforgyu]

steamroller

pairing: mingi/fem!reader

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, college au, angst, smut - minors do NOT interact

warnings: no dom/sub dynamic, unrequited love, mutual loss of virginity, mingi has a massive cock, fingering, oral sex (f. recieving)

word count: 10k

a/n: i want to be honest with you guys, this is not a comeback. this is just a little fic that i’ve been working on for the past year or so that has brought me a lot of comfort, and i hope that it can do the same for you. i’m not sure if i’ll ever be active on this blog like i used to be, but please know that i will always be a writer and i will always read every single comment, reblog, and note that is sent to me. thank you for being my readers. i love you all so so dearly <3

“Hey, Mingi,” Yunho asked, staring at his distorted reflection in the back of a flimsy dining hall spoon, “Have you ever eaten a girl out before?”

 “W-What the fuck?” Mingi choked on his homemade sandwich. “Why would you ask me that?”

 “Because I want to go down on my girl on our next date…” he dropped the spoon on his tray, frowning as it clanged. “We’ve already fucked but I think it’ll be a nice way to show her I really care, you know? But I’ve never done it before.”

 “Wait-” Mingi dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning forward across the table. “You’ve had sex before?” 

 “You haven’t?” Yunho grinned.

 “Of course I haven’t, asshole! Why didn’t you tell me?”

 Yunho shrugged. “Guess I just didn’t think it was that important. What time’s your next class?” 

 “I’m done with classes for the day,” Mingi crumbled the tin foil that previously held his sandwich into a ball. “Yours is at 2:30, right?” 

 The older boy nodded and the two stood up, making their way to the nearest trash can.

 “Besides,” Yunho placed his tray on top of a growing stack of them while Mingi threw away his brown paper bag. “I thought you would’ve already fucked that girl you’re always with by now. What was her name again?”

 Mingi’s eyes widened as your name slipped past Yunho’s lips. “Sh!” he hissed, looking over his shoulder. “I told you to stop asking about her. She doesn’t like me like that.”

 “But you haven’t even tried!”

 “Yes, I have!”

 “Giving her a warm Tootsie Roll that had been sitting in your pocket all day does not count as trying.”

 “But I gave it to her on Valentine’s Day!” Mingi whined. “That counts for something, right?”

 He reluctantly met Yunho’s eyes, groaning when he saw his friend’s lips pressed into a thin line and his head shaking. 

 “You’ve gotta just tell her, dude. You’re never gonna know if you don’t try.” 

 He knew Yunho was right. If he ever wanted anything to change, he’d have to talk to you. Otherwise, he’d spend his entire life wondering what would’ve happened if he would’ve just had the balls to tell you. 

 He’d do it today, he decided, when he met you at your usual spot to walk back to your dorms together. That way, he could just run home if you said you didn’t feel the same way! Perfect plan. 

Mingi wiped his hands on his pants as he walked to your usual meeting spot, attempting to calm himself down and hype himself up at the same time. 

 He was really going to do it now; he was going to spill his heart out and hope that you somehow ended up in his arms. He’d start with how he’d loved you since you were kids when you took swim lessons with him at the community pool. You jumped right in the water when he was too afraid to duck his head underneath, and he remembered wanting to be brave like you. He loved you in middle school when you noticed him struggling with his math homework and offered to help. He loved you when you introduced him to Yunho, your friend from the student council who would end up becoming his best friend. And he loved you two years later, when he read your summer reading book aloud to you because staring at the pages made you sleepy. 

 He loved you last year when you went to prom together, even when you made a point of announcing to the rest of your group that the two of you were “Just really good friends.”

 Oh, well. He loved you when he gave you that Tootsie Roll three months ago, too.

 And he loved you now, when he approached you slowly and timidly, waving his hand to get you to look up from your phone.

 “Oh, hi,” you grinned, pulling the earbuds out of your ears.

 “Hi,” he smiled. 

 “How was… how was your day?” You asked the same question you always asked when you saw him, but it sounded different this time. It was like an exhale; Like you were breathing the words instead of speaking them. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought you were nervous. 

 “Good,” he nodded, gripping the straps of his backpack.

 “Good!” You repeated, clasping your hands together. “So…”

 He braced himself to say it. I’m in love with you. I have been ever since we were kids. I don’t want to be your friend, I want to kiss you.

 But you spoke first, and you said, “I think we should have sex.”

 He thought that he was having a stroke. He thought that you were having a stroke. “W-what did you say?”

 “Hear me out,” you waved your hands and closed your eyes. “We’re the last virgins in our friend group, right? And everyone thinks we’ve already fucked, anyway. So we could just do it together and get it over with so that it’s not as big of a deal when we do it with other people!”

 “I don’t…” His face felt like it was on fire. His stomach burned, and his palms were even sweatier than before. Get it over with?

 You sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped that on you so fast. I’ve just been thinking about it for a few weeks now, and…”

 Your voice turned into a murmur in the back of his mind as he analyzed your words. Been thinking about it for weeks now? Thinking about…

 “But you don’t have to decide now, okay? I just wanted to see if you would be up for it.”

 He slowly blinked and nodded back like an idiot. “O-okay. Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

 You nudged his shoulder with yours as you stood up to walk home with him, down the streets of the campus that had been home to you for the past nine months. “And there’s no pressure, alright? You can say I’m gross and you see me like a sister and I won’t be mad,” you laughed.

 You’re beautiful. I want you to be my girlfriend.

 “I’ll think about it,” he repeated.

 “Cool,” you nodded. “How’d that stats test go?”

You felt sick when you tried to go to sleep that night, nauseated with the thought that you might’ve just ruined everything. 

 You didn’t mean for it to come out so fast. You didn’t mean to make him embarrassed. You only meant to present the idea to him; a sort of business proposal that would benefit the both of you before you went back home for the summer.

 None of your friends were virgins anymore. Only you and Mingi were left, and you’d known each other the longest, anyway. 

 You turned in bed to stare at the pictures of the two of you taped to the collage on your wall. He stood next to you in a cheap rental tuxedo at prom, his mouth pulled into a gummy smile and his arm linked with yours. In another picture, he stood three inches away from you at your middle school graduation, a reminder of the awkward phase the two of you went through when you realized that he was a boy and you were a girl. 

 But there were pictures from before that time, too, like the one of the two of you covered in nasty, artificially-colored green frosting from the cake at Mingi’s Incredible Hulk-themed birthday party in 2005. Or the two of you dressed up as Cosmo and Wanda from Fairly Odd Parents for Halloween in fourth grade. 

 Your oldest friend. The person who’d seen you through every phase of your life – even your emo phase in seventh grade – and stuck by you nonetheless. 

 You thought of his full lips and his broad shoulders, his big hands. He was handsome, there was absolutely no arguing that, but he was also kind and gentle and sweet. He was always the first to notice when something was wrong and the last to believe you when you told him you were fine. 

 Being his lover would be amazing, but not if it meant you couldn’t be his friend anymore. You wouldn’t fall unless he asked you to because losing him wasn’t an option.

 You’d tell him tomorrow to forget it. That it was stupid, and you changed your mind. 

Mingi told Yunho about it at lunch the next day. 

 “She talked to me yesterday,” he mumbled, picking the peel off of a clementine.

 “And? What’d she say?” Yunho leaned forward, anticipating Mingi’s answer.

 “She wants to fuck me.”

 Yunho let out a laugh of disbelief. “Don’t play with me right now.”

 “She does! She said, and I quote, ‘I think we should have sex.’”

 “Well,” Yunho chuffed, “There you go, buddy! I told you all you had to do was talk to her!”

 Mingi knew he didn’t really talk to you. He knew he just listened (well, half-listened, half daydreamed about what losing his virginity to you would be like) while you gabbed on about how it was a win-win situation.

 But Yunho seemed so happy… No, proud of him. His validation made Mingi feel good – like this was the right decision.

 “So, when are you going to do it?” Yunho squeezed a gluttonous amount of ketchup on his dry chicken patty.

 Mingi stared at his Ziploc bag of slightly brown apple slices. “Well… I haven’t really told her I’d do it yet.” 

 “What? Why not?”

 “I just didn’t know if it was right…”

 “The girl that you’ve been in love with since you were a kid wants to give you her virginity and take yours at the same time, and you don’t know if it’s right?”

 Mingi smiled. “Yeah… I know.”

 “Tell her today. I bet you’ll do it before you go home for the summer if you tell her today.”

 “Okay, yeah.” Mingi nodded, feeling more sure of himself. “I’ll tell her today.”

You had headphones in when you waited for Mingi after school, but you weren’t listening to any music. There was already too much buzzing around in your head, and music would only overwhelm you even more.

 You chewed on your nailbeds and rehearsed your script in your head. Hey, I was way off base yesterday. That was weird and I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. Let’s just pretend it never happened and enjoy the summer, okay?

 You saw his sneakers first. They were clean, exactly how they looked when he bought them four months ago. 

 He was smiling when you looked up.

 “Let’s do it.”

 “Wait… really?” You tilted your head to the side, trying not to stare at his lips.

 “Yeah. You were right, it just makes sense for us to do it together.” His cheeks were pink.

 You slowly nodded, trying to convince yourself that it was a good idea again. “Right. Yeah… yeah, it makes sense.” You clapped your hands together. “Well! It’s settled then! Is Yunho leaving town anytime soon?”

 “I don’t… I don’t think so?” 

 You stood up to begin your walk home, and Mingi followed suit.

 “Well,” you sighed. “My roommates are probably home, but we should be fine if we’re quiet.”

 Mingi stumbled a bit as he walked. “Wait, we’re doing this right now? Like, literally right now?”

 “No!” you turned your head towards him as you spoke, but you didn’t look him in the eye. “But don’t you think we should do other stuff first? And like… work up to the big thing?”

 “Other stuff?”

 “Just to warm us up. You know, so it won’t be as scary when we…” You pictured Mingi naked and on top of you, his eyebrows furrowed and his pretty lips parted in a moan. You cleared your throat. “You know.”

 “O-okay,” he nodded. “Okay, yeah.”

 Mingi sat on your bed with his hands tucked underneath his thighs to hide how badly they were shaking. He looked around the room, jealous of your full-size bed. He and Yunho were in a shared room dorm, and his feet always hung off the end of his twin mattress. 

 Meanwhile, you scrolled through your phone to find a good playlist. You hit shuffle on the first one that suited your taste and a familiar song tumbled out of your cheap Bluetooth speaker.

 “You’ve kissed someone before, right?” You put your phone on your desk and walked to your bed.

 “Yes,” he nodded. 

 You narrowed your eyes at him. “Who?”

 He squirmed, adjusting his hands under his thighs. “My lab partner in ninth grade. She felt me up under the bleachers.” I was thinking about you the whole time, his internal monologue chimed in, the words never making it past his lips.

 “Gross,” you laughed, sitting on your bed. “Just let me lead, okay? Try to mirror what I do.”

 You reached up to hold his jaw, and his entire body stiffened.

 “Hey.” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Don’t be nervous, Ming. It’s just me. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want t–”

 “I want to!” He interrupted. “Please. I really want to. I’m just nervous.”

 You rested both your hands on his shoulders. “It’s just me,” you repeated. “The same me that I’ve always been.”

 Yeah, he thought, that’s the problem.

 “Just follow my lead.” You gave him an encouraging smile, which he weakly returned. “It’ll be fun, okay?”

 Mingi nodded, closed his eyes, and held his breath. A few seconds later, he felt your lips against his, and they were even softer than he imagined. He was sure that his were chapped, and he regretted not wearing lip balm more often like his mom always told him to.

 “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 He opened his eyes at the sound of your voice and gave you a tiny shake of his head.

 “Do you want another one?” You smiled. 

 “Yes, please,” he whispered.

 You kissed him again, a little bit longer this time. Your lips naturally slotted with his, and butterflies filled his tummy when you rested your hand on his thigh.

 And then your lips parted. He wasn’t sure what to do other than follow your lead like you’d told him to, so he let his lips part, as well.

 His breath caught in his throat when your hand slid down to his neck. He barely had time to recover before you slipped your tongue in his mouth, playful and teasing and light. 

 “O-oh,” he breathed, a shiver running through his body.

 “How was that?” 

 “Good. I liked… I liked the part when you used your tongue.”

 “Shut up,” you laughed. “You wanna… keep going?”

 “Yes,” he nodded.

 And that was how Mingi had his first makeout session with his childhood best friend. He tried to keep his whimpers to a minimum, but it was hard to when your kisses progressively got more heated. Your tongue in his mouth was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and he blushed at your giggle when he tried to mirror your movements.

 “Such a fast learner, Ming.”

 “T-thanks…”

 “You know you can touch me, right? You don’t have to sit on your hands.”

 He looked down, completely unaware that his hands were still tucked underneath his thighs. They were both numb now, and they tingled when he pulled them up. He flexed and relaxed them to get his blood flowing again.

 “I’ve never…” he whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t- I don’t know where to touch.”

 You gave him a smile laced with what might have been pity and took his big hand in yours, moving it to rest on your hip.

 “What about the other one?” He whispered, even quieter than before.

 And then you were lifting his other hand and placing it on your cheek. His breath caught in his throat again.

 It’s strange to truly look at someone whose face has always been a constant in your life. You looked different, but also the same. People change, but they don’t. 

 Mingi was sure of one thing: your face was the most beautiful he’d ever seen. He liked it ten years ago, and he liked it now.

 He kissed you first the next time. And since he’d gotten a little more confident, he let his lips part and used his tongue first, too. He kept his hands where you’d placed them and you kept yours around his neck. You kissed and kissed and kissed, and for now, that was enough.

It didn’t stay enough for long. You and Mingi practically ran to your dorm after school every day, barely taking time to breathe before attaching your mouths together once your door was shut. Your obsession with Mingi’s lips had only grown since you started spending most of your free time kissing them.

 His hands were nice, too. They’d gotten a little bit more curious since that day, sometimes giving your hip a gentle squeeze or moving up to your waist while he kissed you. Any noise you’d make would immediately be met with a “sorry” – a constant reminder that no matter how attractive the boy you were making out with was, he was still just the same old Mingi.

 And the little reactions he’d make were precious. He’d gasp when you touched his thighs, he’d hum when you stroked his neck, he’d whimper when you took his plump bottom lip between your teeth. The more you worked him up, the luckier you felt to have been the only person to have ever seen him like this. 

 You wondered how that could be while you sucked his lips. Plenty of girls had crushed on Mingi over the years. You knew because they’d always ask you if you were his girlfriend before they tried to confess to him. No matter how many times you told them you weren’t, he never ended up dating any of them.

 You detached from his lips with a smack. “Mingi?”

 “Mm?” He blinked, eyes slightly glazed over and lips swollen from kisses.

 “Why haven’t you had a girlfriend before?”

 His eyes widened for a split second, and he tried to cover it up by blinking a few times. “Uh… just never met the right person, I guess.”

 “But girls have been throwing themselves at you for years… You didn’t ever want to try anything with them?”

 “Guess I just wanted to wait for someone that I really…” he swallowed. “Trust.”

 That made sense. The thought of doing all of these things with a stranger was horrifying, but you felt safe with Mingi. You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth.

  “I trust you too, Ming. Wanna try something new?”

 “O-okay, yeah.”

 You tapped his shoulder twice. “Lay down.”

 Like a puppy who’d just been given a command, he lowered himself against your pillows, swinging his legs up so he was laying on the bed. You swung a leg over his hips to straddle them, and his eyes immediately widened. 

 You’d never really taken time to admire how pretty Mingi was. His chest, which was more toned than you’d realized, was swelling and deflating as he attempted to stabilize his breathing. His Adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed, and you’d be stupid to not notice the way his thick thighs tensed and relaxed underneath his black jeans. 

 And then you leaned down, hovering over him to study his face. You ran your thumb over his sharp jaw as you took in his other features; The same darkness in his eyes that wasn’t mysterious, but warm and inviting. The straight line of his nose, the pointed tip of it. The birthmark under his eye, the one on his cheek, the acne scars that dotted his cheeks like stars. Those fucking lips.

 Mingi was really fucking cute. Had he always been?

 You kissed him again, smiling when a little whimper escaped his lips. 

 “Cute,” you mumbled, unaware that the word had left your mouth until it was too late.

 Or maybe it was a good thing that you said it. Mingi’s response was enough to make you think that, at least. He moaned again, louder this time, as he pushed his hips forward against yours. 

 Mingi always got hard during your makeout sessions, but you always pretended not to notice to spare him from any embarrassment. However, pretending not to notice was incredibly difficult with his bulge grinding against your heat.

 He moaned at the stimulation, but quickly interrupted himself. “Ooh-sorry! I’m so sorry, that wasn’t on purpo–”

 You clapped a hand over his mouth. “I told you we have to be quiet.”

 He nodded, eyes wide as your hand stayed pressed to his mouth. You slid it down to rest on his chest when you whispered in his ear. “Don’t be sorry. That’s what I wanted to try.”

 You pushed and pulled your hips against his erection again in one experimental thrust, grinning when his eyes screwed shut and his lips pressed together. You cupped his face to guide his lips to yours again.

 It was as uncoordinated as two virgins could be. Though your lips easily moved together from a week of practice, neither of your hips were skilled enough to set any sort of rhythm. You just desperately grabbed at each other, groping and humping and kissing like your lives depended on it. 

 Soon, you could feel your soaking panties uncomfortably sticking to your core. The fabric gave you the tiniest bit of stimulation, dragging against your clit and ever-so-slightly teasing you. And the boy underneath you was driving you insane, with his messy kisses and his tiny groans. 

 You didn’t know what the end goal was, but you knew that it felt better when you grinded your hips faster, so that’s what you did. 

 “Ah-” You silenced Mingi’s moan by pressing your mouth to his again, sighing as he hummed against your lips.

 And then he whimpered your name. He’d said your name a thousand times before, but he’d never said it like this. Like it was a cry for help, a desperate plea for something. The sound fueled the fire of your desperation as you continued moving your hips, hoping to God that he’d say it again.

 And he did. You attached your lips to his neck and he whined your name once more, followed by a tiny breath of, “O-oh, god…”

 His little sounds were getting better and better. Your name slipped past his lips between breathy whimpers and choked hums, and you kept licking and sucking his neck while you grinded your clothed, soaking pussy against his painfully hard, just as clothed dick.

 Finally, you took pity on the poor thing. His moans were getting increasingly desperate, and you could tell that he was doing everything in his power to keep them quiet. You hovered your lips directly over his ear.

 “What’s wrong, baby?”

 “A-ah-mph!” He squeezed his eyes shut as he writhed on the bed, pressing his hand to his mouth to keep his pathetic noises in. His whole body was shaking when you sat up.

 A wet patch on the crotch of his jeans made the dark fabric even darker, and a horrified expression washed over his face as your eyes immediately landed on it. If he would’ve looked between your legs, he would’ve noticed that your shorts were just as soaked, but he didn’t. He only saw your dumbfounded expression as you tried to figure out what you were supposed to say. All that came out was, “D-did you just…?”

 You just made a boy cum. From kissing. This had to have been the best day of your life. 

 “I’m sorry,” he breathed, pushing you off of him. He immediately stood up, locating his jacket on your desk and holding it in front of his pants as he slid his bag over his shoulder. “I’m… I’m sorry.” He looked down the whole time, never letting his eyes meet yours as he slipped his way out of your bedroom door. 

 “Mingi!” you called two seconds too late. “You’re not going to–” 

 You sighed, letting your voice get quiet. “Help me?”

 He didn’t come back, leaving you with soaking panties and an unsatiated pulsing between your legs that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

You texted him the next morning.

 It’s not a big deal, Ming. Do you want to come over?

 He didn’t respond. You went the whole weekend without hearing from him, and even when you waited for him at your usual spot on Monday, he didn’t show. You sent him another text. 

 Stop being stupid. I miss you.

 He didn’t respond to that, either. By Tuesday, you were so anxious to see him that you waited outside his lecture hall after his morning class, scanning the crowd of faces for him. He wasn’t difficult to find; his tall frame easily distinguished him from the rest of the crowd, even with his shoulders slouched. He made eye contact with you and immediately put his head down, walking faster. 

 “Mingi!” You yelled, weaving through the crowd to follow him. 

 His pace quickened, his long legs carrying him out of the brick building and through the grassy common area, skillfully dodging flying frisbees and strategically-hung Enos. 

 “Mingi! This…” you panted. “This isn’t fair! Your legs are longer than mine!”

 He flinched with each call of his name, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t slow down. You picked up your pace to a jog, huffing as you tried to catch up to him. “MINGI! Stop fucking ignoring me!”

 After quickening your steps to a borderline sprint, you finally got close enough to grab the handle of his backpack, yanking him backwards and causing both of you to collapse on the lawn in the process. 

 “Ow…” he whined, rubbing his butt and attempting to brush grass off of it.

 “You…” you breathed. “You fucking suck. Why aren’t you talking to me?”

 “W-What do you want me to say? What the hell am I supposed to say after humiliating myself like that?”

 “I told you it wasn’t a big deal, stupid! I wanted to make you feel good!”

 His ears burned as he looked at you with wide eyes, a mixture of embarrassment and shock painting his face. 

 “And you… you didn’t even stay and help me. I was more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life, and you just got up and left! Right after I helped you finish! Who the fuck does that?”

 “I…” he breathed, trying not to pass out. He made you more turned on than you’d ever been in your life? “I didn’t think you wanted me to…”

 “You didn’t think I wanted to feel good, too?”

 “No!” he stammered, “No, I just… I didn’t think, I mean, I thought you would think I was gross.”

 You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Mingi, the entire point of having sex is to feel good. I didn’t think you were gross, I was jealous of you.”

 And see, that was where he fundamentally disagreed with you. As far as Mingi was concerned, the entire point of having sex was to be intimate with someone you love. Feeling good was just a bonus. 

 He loved you so fucking much. Knowing that you didn’t feel the same way about him made his chest physically ache, but he knew that you needed him, and that was more than he could have hoped for. If you didn’t love him, at least you could love the way he made you feel. 

 “I’ll make it up to you next time,” he assured you. “I promise I’m gonna make you feel good.”

 Your smile reappeared, and he felt like he’d been hit by a train.

 “Yeah,” you laughed, punching his shoulder. “You better. Wanna try that new boba place?”

The boba was mid, but it was nice to just be in Mingi’s presence again. He crumpled his straw wrapper as he told you about his weekend, how his mom’s birthday was coming up, and how things were getting more serious between Yunho and his girlfriend. 

 You liked the sound of his voice. You remembered when it used to crack all the time in middle school, but it had since balanced out into a smooth baritone, cascading your ears in warmth. 

 “Are you listening to me?”

 “What? Yes.” 

 “No, you’re not,” he scoffed. ”You’ve been staring at my lips for the past five minutes.” 

 “Yeah, because you have foam on them.”

 He immediately wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his ears flushing a bright red as he mumbled a disingenuous “fuck you.”

 The foam was only a scapegoat. You both knew how much you loved his lips. 

 “Speaking of fuck you…” You shifted in your metal chair. “When… when are we going to… you know…”

 “What?”

 “You know…” You looked to the side, your eyes widening. 

 His heartrate doubled. “Oh. Um… I don’t know. Was there… did you have a specific time in mind?”

 “Sorry, didn’t realize I needed to make an appointment,” you laughed. “I don’t know. I just… I want to. Soon.”

 He remembered your words. Get it over with. 

 “Okay,” he nodded. “We can. Soon.”

 You picked up his hand that was resting on the table to play with his fingers, pinching them between your smaller ones while you chewed on a ball of sweet tapioca. 

 He swallowed and watched you, his eyes glazing over. I love you, I love you, I love you.

 Your stomach dropped a bit when you met his starry eyes. You didn’t know why.

Two days later and you had Mingi underneath you again, his hands gripping your waist while you sucked on those perfect lips. 

 “Gonna make you feel good this time…” he whispered, trying to catch his breath between your feverish kisses. “Promise.”

 You just rested your hand on the back of his neck and sighed.

 “Can I… Is it okay if I take your shirt off?” He asked, his face a deep shade of red. 

 “Yeah,” you breathed. “It’s okay.”

 But he didn’t move, so you tugged on the hem of your shirt and lifted it off yourself. His breath caught in his throat when he saw your half-naked torso, covered by nothing but a slightly too tight purple bra that you got on clearance a few years ago.

 He shakily brushed a fingertip over the little bow in the center of it.

 Your face felt so hot you were sure water would boil if someone rested a pot on your cheek.

 “Can you… take your shirt off, too? This feels weird.” You covered your torso with your arms.

 “O-oh, yeah,” he nodded. “I’m sorry. Yeah.”

 You scooted back so that he could sit up, his trembling hands lifting his shirt over his head.

 His chest was flushed red. That was the first thing you noticed. And his belly was lean, but also soft and smooth, puffing and deflating with his shallow breath. 

 You rested a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. He just watched you.

 “We’re not kids anymore…” you whispered. There was a sad tone to your words, almost as if you were grieving.

 “No,” Mingi shook his head, his voice barely audible. “We’re not.”

 It was a beautifully horrifying realization. The kid you used to make mud soup with was a man now, and he was touching you like you’d never been touched before.

 You kissed him then. To comfort him, to comfort yourself, to be closer to the person who already knew you better than anyone in the universe.

 You unclasped your bra and just let it loosely rest on top of your chest.

 “Hey,” Mingi whispered, “Just me, remember?”

 Right. Just Mingi. 

 You tossed your bra to the side, instinctively covering your boobs with your hands.

 “Please…” Mingi placed his hands over yours. “I want to see you.”

 He sighed when you removed your hands, just as slowly.

 “Pretty…” he mumbled. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

 You nodded and he ran his hands over the lines on your sides where your bra had been digging into your skin. You cursed yourself for not buying a new one before this. Maybe he’d like one of those silk push-up bras you always saw your friends wearing, or perhaps one of those flimsy lace bralettes that you saw in the windows at Victoria’s Secret last week.

 “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and the insecurity in your stomach almost vanished completely. Almost. 

 He leaned forward, cupping one of your tits in his huge hand and gently kissing the other. You gasped when you felt his wet tongue drag across your nipple, and he looked up at you for reassurance while you laced your fingers through his hair. 

 “Does that feel good?”

 “Yes,” you breathed. “Y-yeah, that feels good….”

 He gently latched his mouth to your nipple, sucking and then running his soft tongue over the flesh to soothe it. You didn’t mean to, but you arched your back, and his free hand found a place in the dip of your waist.

 You subconsciously tugged on his hair as he sucked your other nipple. He worshipped your tits, kissing, sucking, and licking them while you quietly moaned, grinding against his erection. You wanted to let him continue all night, but soon,  the pulsing between your thighs started to become unbearable. 

 “Ming… need you to fuck me,” you whispered. “Please.”

 He pulled back a bit, his plump lips glossy and his adam’s apple dipping as he swallowed.

 “Okay.”

 He didn’t move and you didn’t, either. You just looked at each other, breathing heavy though you’d hardly done anything yet.

 “... Nobody’s ever seen me naked before,” he said under his breath.

 You shook your head. “Me neither.”

 He kissed you again, but it was really just so that you wouldn’t watch him while he took his pants off. And you weren’t sure what you were doing, you weren’t sure why, but once both of your pants were off, you reached a hand down and felt him through the thin fabric of his boxers.

 He took in a sharp inhale. 

 “I’m sorry,” you said, “Is this okay?”

 And then you felt a large hand between your thighs, softly rubbing you through your panties.

 It felt so much different from when you did it to yourself. More pleasurable, sure, but also more vulnerable. More intense.

 Neither of you knew what to say. You felt how hard he was against your hand. He felt the little wet patch soaking through your panties. You both needed this desperately, and yet for a few moments, nobody moved. 

 “Y-you can take them off of me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper and it cracked in the middle, but you were proud of yourself for getting the words out. 

 His hands shook when he slid them down your thighs. Before he could stare for too long, you slid your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down. 

 You weren’t sure if he was big or not. You’d never seen a penis in real life before, only in porn, and he looked about the same size as what you’d seen in porn. Did that mean he was big?

 He looked down, and you realized you were staring. “Sorry,” you stammered, forcing yourself to look him in the eye again. 

 “N-no, it’s okay. Is it… I mean, do you like it?”

 Your face broke into a smile. Mingi, Mingi, Mingi. “Yes, it’s  lovely, Ming. Stop stressing.”

 You reached for a condom on your nightstand, closely inspecting the foil packet for instructions. 

 “I think I can do it,” he mumbled, gently taking the condom out of your hand.

 “You know how to?”

 “I think so.”

 After a few minutes of him fumbling with the latex, his lips were on yours again and you could feel his dick resting on your thigh. 

 “Are you ready?” He pulled back for a moment to look you in the eye.

 “M-mhm,” you nodded.

 He kissed your cheek and held his dick in his hand, aligning himself. A painful stretching sensation flooded your lower half as his thick tip poked at your entrance. 

 He inhaled shakily. “C-can I… can I push it in now?”

 You nodded. “I… think so? Y-yeah… go ahead…”

 He pushed his hips forward, and the sensation intensified when you felt his tip enter you with a pop. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything you’d ever felt before. A horrid stretch, almost like a burn, splitting you open in the worst way. Tears pricked into your eyes.

 “OW! Ow, ow, ow, stop, stop, stop!” You pushed his broad shoulders away, whimpering when he frantically pulled out. That hurt, too.

 “O-oh my god, are you okay? What did I- D-did I do something wrong?”

 You looked down at his dick, which was still fully hard. He was big, you supposed. Really big. With his cock resting on your stomach, it went all the way up to your belly button. You felt stupid for thinking you could take him without any prep.

 And you also felt embarrassed. This wasn’t how your first time was supposed to go. This didn’t happen in porn. You were supposed to be screaming his name, he was supposed to be groaning yours and pounding you into the mattress. You were supposed to be making him feel good, and he was supposed to be doing the same for you. A lump formed in your throat and you attempted to blink the tears out of your eyes, which probably just made them more teary. 

 “No,” you breathed. “I think… I don’t think I’m wet enough.”

 He frowned. “Did we not kiss for long enough?”

 “No, no, we did.” Guilt crept into your chest. You knew this wasn’t how he pictured his first time going, either. 

 His frown intensified as a pained look washed over his face. “Are you not… is it because you’re not attracted to me?”

 “Stop it, Mingi. It’s not for any reason. You didn’t do anything wrong. Let’s just… we can get lube from the store and try again tomorrow, okay? I can jerk you off to help you finish if you want.”

 His heart ached. He didn’t want you to ‘help him finish.’ He wanted to make love to you, soft and tender and slow. He wanted to hold your face and kiss your forehead and tell you how much you meant to him.

 But his dick was painfully hard, and there aren’t many times that the love of your life offers to help you finish even though they don’t feel the same way about you, so he said, “Yes, please.”

 You wrapped your fingers around his erection, biting your cheek to stop yourself from crying. He bit his lip to do the same.

Mingi couldn’t make eye contact with the cashier when he bought lube from the drug store the next day. His hands shook as he put his card into the reader, and they kept shaking while he entered his pin number. The machine dinged and he yanked his card out, snatching the plastic bag from the cashier before they had time to offer him a receipt. His face burned the entire walk to your dorm and didn’t stop burning once he got there.

 His breath caught in his throat when you opened the door. “I got the…” he held the plastic bag up. “I got the stuff.”

 You laughed and stepped back to let him inside. “You make it sound like we’re about to do drugs.”

 Yeah, something like that.

 Mingi didn’t say anything when you sat him on your bed and straddled his hips. He whimpered a little bit when you pressed your lips to his, and you assumed that it was just because he was horny. 

 You held the side of his neck and worked your tongue against his, rolling your hips forward to grind against his growing bulge. He whimpered again, and you moved your face down to suck on his neck. 

 “I think you need to finger me first,” you whispered in his ear.

 “W-what?” He blinked up at you for a moment, his eyes wide and starry before he shyly looked away. “I’ve never… I mean… I don’t know how to do that.”

 “It can’t be that hard, right? You just take your fingers and, like… put them in me.”

 “I think it’s a little more complicated than that.”

 “Well… I’ll just tell you what feels good, okay? I do it to myself all the time.”

 His eyes snapped up again as he imagined you touching yourself. He’d thought about it before, late at night when he was jerking off, but hearing you say it out loud made him feel dizzy. Flames erupted across his cheeks again, and his body tensed.

 Your face burned with the realization of your confession. “Stop picturing it.”

 “S-sorry.”

 “I just need your fingers first, okay? I can’t… I can’t take your dick without some prep first.”

 It was like you wanted him to cum in his pants again. He nodded and reached for the plastic bag, fishing out the lube and taking it out of its little purple box. 

 “I’m sorry about yesterday, by the way.” His voice was quiet.

 “There’s nothing to be sorry about. That’s why we’re doing this together, you know? Because we feel safe around each other.”

 He nodded.

 “But for the record…” You lowered your head, still embarrassed about how yesterday went. “I’m sorry, too.”

 “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He smiled.

 You kissed him, and you were so glad that you were kissing him. 

 “I’m really going to need you to walk me through this because I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.” His cheeks were a splotchy red. 

 You laughed. “I promise it sounds scarier than it actually is.” You pulled your shirt over your head, embarrassed again when you realized you were wearing the same purple bra that you wore yesterday.

 “Shit,” you breathed. “I meant to wear something nicer for you today. Sorry.”

 For me? Mingi thought. For me? 

 But he said, “I like this one. It’s cute.” And he touched the little bow again.

 “Thanks.” You climbed off of his lap to take your shorts off. “Lift your arms.”

 He obeyed, and you lifted his shirt over his head. It didn’t need to be off yet, you supposed, but you’d been dreaming about Mingi’s lean abdomen all day and you didn’t want to wait another second to have it under your fingertips again. 

 You laid down on the bed and slid your panties off, but didn’t spread your legs yet. You felt vulnerable again, especially considering that Mingi still had his pants on. 

 “C-can you–” you started.

 “Yeah,” Mingi nodded, already unbuttoning his pants. When they were off, he sat back down and gently brushed his fingertips over your thigh. 

 “Okay,” he breathed. “Tell me what to do.”

 “Just… just kiss me for a second.” The truth was, you weren’t even really sure how to give him instructions, and you wanted to buy yourself some time. You usually just felt around until something felt good, and you weren’t sure how to explain that to him.

 He kissed you. You decided that even if he was always too big for you, even if you couldn’t ever take his full length, you’d probably be just as happy kissing him and jerking him off like you did last night.

 You felt his hand on your inner thigh and you liked the feeling. 

 “Okay, so…” you inhaled deeply. “Just start with one. And you can just kinda… feel around? I’ll tell you what feels good.”

 “Okay,” he nodded, taking a deep breath, too. “Okay.”

 He dripped some of the lube onto his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb in an attempt to warm it up. Your body tensed as you felt his finger slide between your folds, shaking slightly as he rubbed you up and down.

 He seemed to stop breathing for a moment. His eyes just raked over your body, all wide and starry while he clumsily touched you. 

 “You’re gorgeous,” he breathed. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

 “M-Mingi, Ah-” You let out a tiny yelp when his fingertip brushed your clit.

 “Did I hurt you?” He immediately stopped, taking his fingers away. 

 “N-no, that felt good… really good…” You nodded. 

 He tried to find the spot again, clumsily drawing circles around it.

 “S-so good. Yeah, r-right there,” you sighed.

 His fingertip slipped a little too far to the left. 

 “N-no, back where it was.”

 After a few seconds of “Here?” and “No, here,” back and forth, he found the spot again and gently traced it. 

 Your eyes rolled back and closed as your body twitched, trying to get used to the sensation of being touched by another person. 

 Then his fingers slid further down, but it was intentional this time. 

 Mingi looked you in the eye and didn’t say anything as he gently circled his fingertip around your opening, coating it in lube and spreading your arousal at the same time. 

 You didn’t say anything, either. You couldn’t if you tried. But he understood your tiny nod and the look of desperation in your eyes, so he gently pushed his finger inside. 

 His long, thick finger went deeper than your own ever had, but it didn’t hurt. “O-ohh,” you breathed, shivering.

 Mingi was at a loss for words. Your pussy was hugging his finger so tight and you felt so warm and the tiny noises that you were making were about to send him over the edge. “Fuck…” he sharply inhaled through his teeth, staring up at the ceiling for a minute so that he didn’t cum untouched.

 “M-Mingi,” you breathed, “Go like this.” And then you held a finger up and curved it inward, and he immediately obeyed.

 Your back arched to a borderline uncomfortable degree as you let out a pathetic little noise, and Mingi seriously was on the edge of an orgasm already.

 “I-is that a sensitive spot?”

 “Do it again,” you commanded. “Mingi, do that again.”

 He did, and then he did it a few more times, pumping his finger and setting a rhythm. You were probably being a little too squirmy, but you couldn’t help it. Nothing had ever felt like this before. 

 “Fuck,” you breathed. “Add another one.”

 Mingi meant to ask ‘Are you sure?’ but his head was so fuzzy with arousal that he just obeyed, pushing his middle finger in next to his pointer finger.

 “S-shit,” you gasped, sitting up and holding his wrist. “Hold on a sec– fuck.”

 “Are you okay?”

 “It feels good,” you nodded. “Just forgot how thick these are.”

 He understood. He could almost feel you stretching out, and he suddenly felt horribly guilty for not offering to do this before he attempted to put his dick inside of you yesterday.

 “You’re doing amazing,” he encouraged you, nodding slightly. “J-just let me know when you want more, okay?”

 “C-can you…” You blushed, too shy to complete your sentence. 

 He knit his eyebrows at you, giving you an encouraging nod. He felt your pussy tighten around his fingers, and he tried not to groan.

 “What do you need, baby?” He soothed, “Just tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

 Your face burned. Mingi had never been more attractive to you, with his lips swollen and his cheeks flaming and his fingers deep inside of you. He was gently thrusting his fingers, massaging your g-spot, tracing your opening, and stretching you out all in a fluid motion.

 “C-can you play with my clit again while you do that?” You whispered. 

 He nodded immediately, smiling and circling his thumb around your pebbled clit. 

 “O-ohh…” you moaned, burying your face in his neck. “Oh my god…”

 He swallowed roughly. “G-good…” He encouraged as he felt you slowly relax around his fingers.

 Your back arched, tiny little whimpers escaping you as Mingi made love to you with his hand. 

 And he was barely holding it together. He could feel the tip of his dick sticking to his boxers, precum smearing against the fabric and providing his cockhead with the tiniest bit of friction every time he moved his hips. 

 “Do you want one more? Or are you good with two?” His voice was hoarse. 

 “I d-on’t—“ You inhaled sharply, eyes closing as you felt the tiny spark of an orgasm in your core. “D-don’t think I can take a third…”

 Mingi nodded, and then he kissed your forehead. He wanted to speak, but he was putting all of his effort into keeping up a steady rhythm with his hand and not coming in his pants while your tensed thigh rubbed his dick. 

 And then it was silent for a few moments, except for the quiet squelching coming from between your legs every few seconds. 

 “I think I’m gonna cum.” You whispered, keeping your eyes closed. Focusing on that feeling, chasing it.

 Mingi swallowed, his breath catching. “Mm.” He hummed. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

 Your breath caught in your throat, the rest of it escaping in a choked whimper. “F-faster…” You breathed, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Please.”

 He nodded, quickening his movements. You leaned up, catching his lips in a messy kiss as you got closer and closer.

 You were quieter than you thought you’d be. As your orgasm approached, you hardly made any noise at all, save for a few little gasps. 

 Your mouth dropped open and you pressed your forehead to your lover’s, letting out one single moan as your orgasm clenched down on his fingers. It ran through your body in waves, your muscles tensing and releasing rhythmically.

 “My god…” Mingi groaned, continuing his movements. “G-Good job, baby.”

 You squeaked, gently pushing his hand away as you neared overstimulation. His brows furrowed as he worried that he’d hurt you, but you immediately eased his anxiety by holding the back of his neck and pressing your lips to his again.

 “Felt so good…” You mumbled through kisses. “T-think I’m ready now…”

 His heart fluttered as he felt your hand between his legs, stroking his sensitive thighs. And then he looked at you in a way that a boy had never looked at you before, with big, dark, sparkling, pleading eyes. Like he needed you.

 So gently, like you were afraid he’d break, you slipped his dick out of his blue plaid boxers. He was so hard, so sticky and pulsing that you were sure he must have been in pain. “Thank you for making me feel good,” you whispered. “I know it must have been hard to wait…”

 He shook his head, closing his eyes. “Don’t thank me.” He let out a tiny noise as you stroked him once. “I loved it,” he breathed. “I loved doing that for you.”

 You smiled, kissing him again. “Take these off,” you pleaded, tugging at the waistband of his boxers. 

 Mingi pushed them down, kicking them off the bed at his feet. And then he was fully naked, hovering above you, also fully naked. It should have been scary, but you’d never felt more safe. You reached your arms behind him, stroking his back before sliding your hands down to teasingly squeeze his ass.

 He let out a choked noise and you laughed. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to do that. You have a really nice ass.”

 He shook his head, laughing and kissing you again.

 “You’re really beautiful, Mingi.” You whispered, feeling another pang in your core as he groaned at the praise. 

 He reached a hand up, squeezing your breast as he kissed you and kissed you and kissed you. His heavy cock rested on your belly, clear precum sticking to your soft skin. 

 You reached for the condom on the nightstand, carefully ripping it open. His eyes didn’t leave your face as you gently rolled it onto him, your small hand wrapping around his girth. You slid his tip between your folds, then coated it in even more lube. You knew it might still hurt a little bit, but you felt much more prepared for it this time. 

 “The second it starts to hurt,” he whispered, his voice raspy. “You tell me.”

 You nodded. The two of you looked into each other’s eyes, and didn’t look away when his tip was aligned with your entrance. 

 But his eyes fluttered shut a bit when he slipped inside. He couldn’t help it.

 Your gasp made him open his eyes again. “Are you okay?”

 “Mmh–” You nodded, your voice high pitched and squeaky. He pushed forward, filling you, stretching you, making you his.

 “Mingi…” You whined, tears blurring your vision. “S-so big…”

 He kissed away the first tear that fell. “I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered, “Y-You’re doing so well.”

 He stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his length. 

 “Is it…” You looked up at him with teary eyes. “Is it all the way in yet?”

 “Not yet.” His eyes were full of empathy and adoration. “Can you take any more? It’s okay if you can’t.”

 You whimpered. “S’big, Mingi.”

 “I know, baby, I know it’s big. Does it feel good? D-Does it hurt?”

 “It feels…” you trailed off. “It feels good but it hurts. I dunno if I can take any more.”

 “That’s okay,” he nodded, kissing your forehead. “You feel s-so good just like this.”

 “R-really?”

 “Yes,” he nodded. “You feel amazing. So… so fucking good.” He gritted his teeth as he spoke, shaking and sweating and forcing himself to not instinctively start fucking you hard and fast. “Can I move a little bit now?”

 “Yes,” you nodded. “Slow, please.”

 He pulled back so that only the very end of his tip was dipped into your opening, then shakily pushed forward in a single stroke, a little over three quarters of the way inside. 

 Tears stung his and your eyes. You felt better than anything he’d ever felt before, and the stretching sensation was starting to feel more pleasant than painful. 

 “I’m so…” he whimpered. “I’m so proud of you. You’re taking me so well.”

 “Mingi…” you whined in response, clawing at his back. “F-feels good.”

 “Yeah?” His eyes met yours. “It feels good?”

 “Mmm. I want… want you to fuck me. B-but slow, okay?”

 He visibly shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as his whole body became covered in goosebumps. 

 “T-tell me if it’s too much.”

 He attempted to set a pace then, slowly pushing and pulling his hips to halfway-fuck you as gently as he possibly could. Little moans slipped from your lips in time with his thrusts.

 “Ungh…” he whimpered, “God. F-feels so good. You’re so…” his eyebrows furrowed. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

 “Mingi…” You rested your hand on his cheek. “Kiss.”

 He didn’t need to be told twice. His perfectly full lips gently kissed yours, softly massaging his tongue into your mouth while he slowly pumped his cock in and out of you. You were embarrassed that you couldn’t take his whole length yet, but you decided in that moment that this wouldn’t be the last time you did this with him, and you had all the time in the world to train for the entirety of him. 

 “Fuck…” he repeated, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m… I’m close. I’m sorry.”

 “You are?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at him, a moan slipping from your lips when his thrusts got a bit faster. 

 That was fast, you thought, but it was his first time, you supposed. You hoped he had good stamina, because you didn’t want this night to be anywhere close to over.

 “I c-can’t…” His hips were starting to shake a bit. “God, you feel so good. Squeezing me so tight.”

 “Ming…” you whispered, holding his face. “I wanna make you cum. Want you to cum for me.”

 “Oh, fuck…” he whimpered. “God, f-fuck-“

 His voice cracked as his eyes squeezed shut, his belly tensing and his lips dropping open in a silent moan. 

 And for a few seconds, time didn’t exist. There was only him and you and your bodies, like this was how you were always meant to be. You felt his big hand on your waist and his thick length stretching you out, but you also felt that same comforting atmosphere that always followed him around. You saw his face, the one that you knew so well, contorted in pleasure, and you heard his familiar voice making unfamiliar noises. And there was no one in the world you’d rather do this with. There was no one else you wanted to kiss. 

 “I love you.”

 He cried out as he came, curling in on himself and burying his face in your neck as he pulled out so just his tip was inside, pumping the condom full of his load. 

 He pulled out and rested his cock on your belly, huffing in your neck as he caught his breath. 

 You stroked his hair and swallowed, a lump forming in your throat. 

 You said it. You told him out loud and you’d never be able to take it back. 

 He just kept breathing down your neck, sweaty and shaking and wondering if he heard you right. 

 “I– I tried not to…” you breathed. “I tried so hard not to fall in love with you. You’re my best friend and you mean more to me than anyone else. But I just…” 

 You swallowed. There was really no going back now. 

 “I see you smiling and it hits me like a steamroller. Like my chest is knocked in and I can’t breathe. It feels… It feels like I’m suffocating and I don’t know how to stop it or make it go away.”  

 You felt his large hand hold your jaw, and his lips were on yours. 

 “Please… be my girlfriend,” he mumbled, breathless between kisses.

 You pulled back to look in his eyes. “What?”

 “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. Please, please, please be my girlfriend.”

 Your face broke a little bit. “You have?”

 He nodded, and then his face broke, too. “Please say yes.” He held your face, looking deep into your eyes. “P-please, baby.”

 “Obviously yes,” you smiled, tears so close to spilling from your eyes. “Dummy.”

 “I love you,” he cried, kissing you again. “I love you so fucking much.”

 “Mingi,” you breathed, for no reason other than to say his name. 

 He kissed you and cried and you kissed him and cried, and he suddenly remembered what Yunho said. A nice way to show her I really care. 

 He kissed down your neck, across your chest, on your nipples, over your belly, until his shoulders were between your thighs.

 “W-what are you doing?” You asked, looking down at him a little too innocently.

 “I don’t really know,” he sighed, leaning forward and kissing your dewy pussy.

 “A-ah! Mingi!” Your legs instinctively closed around his head, and his big hands gently pried them open again. 

 “It’s okay…” he breathed, leaning forward again. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He sweetly kissed your inner thigh before spreading you with his tongue.

 You whimpered and squirmed, grabbing a fistful of his soft dark hair. 

 “You sound so pretty,” he mumbled, kissing your clit, “And you taste so good…”

 His thick, plump lips worked with his velvet tongue to worship your pussy. And it was loud, the room filled with wet sounds and Mingi’s groans, along with the pathetic little moans you were letting out. 

 You looked down at him. His ears and cheeks were dark red, his eyes closed, the sharp tip of his nose shiny and wet. 

 “T-that feels really good, Ming—“ You were interrupted by your own gasp as his tongue slipped into your entrance. 

 “You’re mine now…” His deep voice sounded gravelly and thick. “You’re all fucking mine…”

 “Mingi…” You whimpered, lacing your fingers through his hair as his lips sweetly sucked your clit. How did you learn how to do this? You wanted to ask. 

 But he was moaning against you again before the thought could finish. “I’m gonna do this every fuckin’ day…” He blinked slowly, a string of drool connecting his lips and your pussy. He used his broad shoulders to push your legs open even wider, taking a deep breath before diving back in. 

 This time, he slipped two fingers inside of you while he worked his tongue. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste of you while he passionately used his fingers and tongue. 

 “I’ve dreamed of this…” He paused to kiss your inner thighs. “Wanted this for so long… needed to know what you tasted like.”

 “Mingi…” You breathed, watching as his pink tongue drew circles around your clit. “I-I’m gonna cum again…”

 “Yes,” he groaned, never coming up for air. “Please, baby. Come in my mouth. I wanna taste all of it, please… wanna lick you clean.”

 Hearing those filthy words come from shy, sweet Mingi’s mouth made your stomach flutter. Your thighs clenched around his head as he gave you the most enthusiastic slurp of the night, the otherwise silent room filled with the sounds of his mouth devouring you. 

 You moaned so loud when you came that there was no doubt in your mind that your roommates heard. Mingi’s groans of enthusiasm were hardly muted, either. 

 Your thighs twitched, your body shook and your hips pressed against Mingi’s warm mouth as your orgasm consumed you, and you’d never felt more adored in your life.

 And then he didn’t stop. 

 “Mingi!” You cried out, trying to squirm away from his tongue. 

 But he looped his arm under one of your thighs, keeping you pried open. He used his other hand to spread your pussy, groaning as he licked it again. 

 “My girl…” He mumbled, and he seemed to be drunk off the taste of you, talking to himself. “Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy…” 

 Your eyes widened and you twitched as his tongue flicked inside of you again. You’d never seen this side of Mingi before; you’d never seen anything close to this side of Mingi before… and you really, really didn’t want it to stop. But—

 “I’m really sensitive, Ming…”

 That seemed to snap him out of his trance a bit. He looked up, moving his body up to sweetly kiss your lips again. “I’m sorry, baby. You j-just…” He sighed, catching his breath. “You taste so good.”

 You smiled. “I really like it when you call me baby.”

 He kissed your forehead then collapsed on the bed, laying next to you. You rolled onto your side, gently stroking his belly. 

 “Do you feel good?” He asked softly, his full cheeks blushing. “Was that enough?”

 “Enough?” You laughed in disbelief. “It was perfect.” You nodded. “Perfect.”

 “I’ll always make sure you’re satisfied, okay?” Your boyfriend looked you in the eye, his brow slightly furrowed. “A-and I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of. I’ll make sure your belly is always full and your shoes never get dirty.”

 A kiss on his chin, your face in his neck. “It’s just me, Mingi. Just you and me.”

 “Just us…” He mumbled, “Just like always.”

 You nodded and then sat in silence, touching and being touched. He stroked your thigh with his pinky, his eyes on your lips. 

 “In our own little world. Just the two of us.”

[choco-cherry-chunk]

If I could offer this random Destiel scenario…

Say that angels have a unique way of conceiving children—one that is not physical, but rather emotional. As higher beings, it is rare that any of them feel much of anything, much less something as vulnerable and unpredictable as love. And even more rare that that love is reciprocated. It has only ever happened between two angels, and only then every few millennia.

It takes a while, but eventually Cas is certain about his feelings. It sucks, and he sees why his brothers and sisters avoid it, but he would give anything to keep spending time with Dean, even if it was just as friends.

But something changes when Cas nearly dies saving Dean from some dangerous, hero complex-fueled impulse. Dean is angry at him and he doesn’t know why. He’s distant and irritable and overbearing until it almost hurts Cas more to stay than to leave. So when he discovers he’s pregnant… well, he’s more than a little confused. It has to be Dean’s—he’s the only one Cas has ever loved—but that had to mean that, for at least a moment, Dean had loved him too. Maybe it was the moment Dean knew Cas was willing to sacrifice himself to save him. Maybe it was when he’d brought burgers home for dinner the other night. As much as Cas understands humanity, individual humans are still something of a mystery to him.

As his human body succumbs to bouts of morning sickness and exhaustion, Dean’s hostility begins to sound an awful lot like concern because “angels don’t need sleep” and “angels don’t get sick”. Maybe Cas finally snaps—“well pregnant ones do!”—and tries to make his own dramatic exit but Dean insists that he canNOT just drop a bomb like that and then leave and Cas just word vomits everything and is just too damn tired to be tactful about any of it. Well Dean is only just beginning to sort out his own emotions and suddenly now there’s these unrequited feelings and a frggin’ half human half angel baby that was conceived without any of the fun bits and growing in a body that doesn’t even have the right equipment for that and it’s all happening in the wrong order, too fast for either of them to wrap their heads around it properly.

When will Dean stop being so afraid of losing something that he won’t let himself embrace what was always right in front of him? When will Cas let his guard down and accept that he wasn’t just loved once, but is still loved deeply and unconditionally?

Okay, I just adore this, thank you so much for sending it. And I think it is something that works so much for Dean and Cas - of course they would go into this so out of order and begin to build their relationship after Castiel ended up pregnant by Dean.

I think Dean would have to be the one to come to his conclusion of love first, since Castiel already knows he loves Dean, but just assumes it isn’t returned. There would probably be an instance of danger, a moment that is so severe compared to others in which Cas has almost died on him (I’m really thinking of the likes of “Stuck In The Middle (With You)” levels), that he finally gets that it would devastate him so much more to lose Cas and their baby without having them know of his love than to just impose that distance.

Meanwhile, he would have to finally tell Cas the truth and while it would take a little more time to get him to believe it, he would. Maybe once the baby was born, when he can see that Dean’s feelings aren’t just a one-off or a response to their child, but an actual connection to Cas himself that they can now build and explore knowingly. <3

[gh0stcav3]

“gonna add onto this bc fuck man i am feeling Emotions. i dont think Troy would ever say any of it out loud either, not to Lint, not to anyone. something something internalized homophobia and needing to keep up his image, even around the closest thing he’s got to a best friend. even if said best friend had already seen the image and mask he puts up crumble he cant let it fall away entirely. i love the idea of what lint feels being unrequited but i also love the idea of when troy says “sometimes i think about guys” he’s specifically thinking of lint when he says it”

GHOST I AM SHAKING YOU!!!!! YOU GET THEM SO WELL AUGHHH

Doubling down on Mayor Lougferd being a bad dad. One of these fights is about Lint and how hes a “bad influence” or whatever and thats when Troy snaps, he doesnt even know why he just does. Hes the type of person to say no homo unironically just because of what hes been raised on. Which leads to Lint. Lint would do anything for Troy, he’d accept as much as Troy is willing to give. Troy tries and tries to communicate his feelings even if he doesn’t want to put a label on it because hes afraid of losing the shred of respect his father has for him, it eats away at him because Lint is so full of love but Troy isn’t ready to accept it because he has to accept himself first. He beats himself up over it because “he shouldn’t be thinking those things about his friend, its wrong” but Lint is there for him and is so willing to make him happy and he finds himself falling but he cant put words to it because if he says it out loud itll be real and he cant escape it. And what would the press think? The mayors son, having a crush on a boy? Unheard of, unthinkable. His father would be even more disappointed in him.

Troy never says I love you back but he screams it with his actions, hoping to get them through. Hoping he never has to say the words. Because hes terrified to.

augh yeah dude ur so right. he cant say it, because what would happen if anyone else found it? how would that affect his image, the family image? he’ll absolutely try to show lint that he loves him and needs him, even if sometimes he falls short. putting up a front in public sometimes too, as even rumors can’t start up. you think he’d ever feel bad about it? not being able to show that he loves lint in the public eye? i dont think he’d ever apologize really, i don’t think he even knows how. but i do think he’d feel at least a little guilty. lint is practically the only person he cares about and yet unless its just the two of them he can’t show it. and even then its incredibly hard. and even though troy is shit at showing it i think lint would understand that troy needs him around. but to troy putting any sort of label on their relationship besides “friends” makes his feelings real, something he can’t run from anymore. so maybe he stands just a little closer to lint than necessary, maybe he always sits next to him when they’re in a group, things that would mean nothing and can prove nothing except to the two of them

[rastro-writes]

3 and 4 malink!

8 and 10 Wildlight!

Malink

3 By contrast, what was the moment that first made their ~heart~ Soft for the other person? Not necessarily a conscious realization of “I love this person,” but a moment that had them like “Oh…I adore them…”

For Time, it was seeing her endure under Ganondorfs rule in Hyrule and her selflessness to put her beloved animals before her own wants and needs.

For Malon, it was seeing her fairy boy, at this point a knight of Hyrule, hero of time, running away from a cross and pregnant Francine “the murder goat” (not to be confused with Frank “the murder goat”, son of Francine). And refuse to go near the cuccos. She thought he was this brave hero who could do anything, fight ganondorf if his story is believed, and win, and here he was, running away from a pregnant goat and refusing to enter the cucco coop.

4 Does this change over time? What will always reliably make them melt with how much they adore the other character?

Time still swoons a bit when Malon gets feisty and passionate about something. More often at him, when he’s doing something reckless or risky as a knight in the army, less swooning, then, but he loves her passion and her unwillingness to back down.

Malon loves how sweet Time is. Even as a soldier he’s finding time to help people with random and odd jobs just because he loves helping people. She still loves how caring he is. He wasn’t the knight she expected to take her away, but he is the knight that’s the reason she’s stayed.

The longer they spend together, the more they both realize that life isn’t the big dramas, it’s the little moments every day you spend with those you love.

Wildlight

8 What do they think about romantic love? Do they have baggage surrounding it? Do they idealize it? Is it an object of longing and wanting, or were they really not thinking about it until they started falling for the other character? What are their expectations like?

Do they have romantic baggage? *5 minutes of maniacal giggling* Ahem. Yes. Yes they do. Quite a bit.

Wilds experiences with love revolves around unrequited love, directed at him. First in his memories you have Mipha, what little we see it’s fairly obvious to us and to wild after the fact she cares for him very much, combined with the Zora armor she made him, Wild doesn’t know how to process the fact she loved the past him (do not get him started about if the him now is the him then, that’s a sore spot), and feels a bit guilty he doesn’t even know if he returned the feelings then. But he doesn’t, now. Then you have Zelda. He realizes she’s acting sometimes like Mipha did, and asks Purah, his de facto therapist, who agrees she probably does like Link romantically. But he doesn’t love her that way, he does love her, but platonically.

Then you have Twilight. Before, he was content with the idea of getting together with Ilia to start a family in sleepy Ordon. But his adventure upended that when the kids were taken and he partnered with Midna. The more he saw, the more he wanted to see. He realized that he’d never be content again in the tiny village, and that he’d never be able to make Ilia happy the way he wanted to. So he put the idea aside. As his adventure got on, he realized he was growing close with Midna. But then she left, shattering the Mirror of Twilight and saying goodbye forever.

When the two start getting closer romantically, they both have their hang ups that they want to be careful of running afoul of.

Of Wild, Twilight expects stability. That he won’t pull the rug out from under him and will still love him.

Of Twilight, Wild just expects that he returns his feelings and has a bit of patience with wild who is trying to figure out how to feeling.

They’re simple boys who just don’t want to be hurt.

10 What scares them about entering a relationship?

Wild is scared of not being able to return feelings. He is afraid his love won’t come across correctly. He needs to return the love he receives from twilight, but isn’t entirely sure how to do that. Wild feels guilt he won’t be able to return feelings, or if he does, that he can’t show it properly.

Twilight is scared of having the rug pulled out from under him again. He needs stability, he doesn’t want to be hurt again. Twilight is scared of being hurt again, even if it’s not anyone’s fault. Especially if it’s not anyone’s fault. (Glances at TotK)

And there are those answered! Thank you @lolabearwrites for the great picks, they were fun to write about! I welcome questions if something isn’t clear, if I missed something, or general comments on these or other questions.

And I’m sure none of this responses will ever be relevant in any work in the future. (They definitely will be kekeke)

[isauntervaguelydownwards]

solitude (in neat little boxes)

Rusty’s never been a fan of the dark, he’d assumed it was something about how in every shadow there can be anything hiding - but in this darkness, there aren’t any shadows. There’s no light to cast shadows by.

cw: sensory deprivation, solitude, hallucinations pairing: unrequited(?) Rusty/Danny

- fill for @febuwhump day 02: solitary confinement

The room - the box - the space he’s in is utterly dark, entirely silent and so small he can’t turn around or stand up. He wouldn’t be able to, anyway, considering how tightly his hands are bound behind his back. Rusty’s never been a fan of the dark, he’d assumed it was something about how in every shadow there can be anything hiding - but in this darkness, there aren’t any shadows. There’s no light to cast shadows by.

He’s not afraid of the dark, of course not - Rusty would admit to one fear in his life, and that was losing Danny - but he’d strongly prefer if the space he currently occupied was slightly more well-lit.

As if the darkness wasn’t enough, he’s also hungry.

He hadn’t been without food within easy reach since he left the streets, twenty years and countless heists ago - he had sworn to himself that never again would he go that hungry.

Danny had made sure of it. 

He’s self-aware enough to realise that every thought he’s having - especially the nonrelevant ones - is all in a vain hope to distract himself from the fact that he’s been bound, put in a dark and tiny space, all without any knowledge of it happening.

Rusty went to bed in a large, extremely comfortable hotel bed, in the room next to Danny’s, and woke up here. Wherever here may be. 

He had spent an enjoyable five (was it five? Was it more or was it less?) minutes trying to figure out who he had pissed off badly enough recently that they’d go to these lengths to get back at him, but the list was so long it didn’t exactly give him anything to go on.

He’s got high hopes that Danny will find him soon.

Unless Danny is in a similar predicament.

In which case… they’re screwed.

After a while, Rusty had started wondering if it was some kind of sensory deprivation tank he was in - there was no sound, no light, only what little of his surroundings he could physically feel - but he’s pretty certain those are supposed to be salt water? And he’s not in water.

The worst part, he thinks, besides the darkness, the hunger and the being tied up, is that he’s got no idea what time it is, or even day. How long has he been wherever it is he is? Outside, on heists and in general, he’s got a good grasp of the passage of time. The only thing he can do here is count heartbeats, and considering he’s on the verge of a panic attack constantly his heart rate isn’t all that steady.

He thinks he might have fallen asleep, for when he opens his eyes again it is to light so bright he can’t see anything.

Never pleased, his mental Danny-voice says, tone the kind of fond Rusty can only hope to hear from him.

The light, once he’s gotten used to it, reveals that he was right - he is inside a box. A plexiglass box. He can see that every side of the box - just the right size to not quite let him sit comfortably, because of course - is plexiglass, too, because the room the box is placed in seems to be made entirely of mirrors. The floors aren’t, as far as he can tell, but every wall and even the ceiling? Mirrored.

All he can see, no matter where he looks, is his own terrified eyes staring back at him from his pale face, all from a slightly hunched posture inside a plexiglass box. 

Suddenly, he has an entirely different view of zoos.

The room isn’t large, but the box he’s stuck in doesn’t occupy much of what space is available - if he weren’t tied up in a box, the room would be an ideal size to pace in. 

He thinks the mirrors might be one-way, and then considers what that means - somewhere, there is someone watching. Someone has put him in this box, in this mirrored room, for a reason.

It’s cleverly done, he gives them that - weren’t it for his hands being tied and him being stuffed in a box, there are no sensations to give anything away. There’s no draft, there’s no heat - everything is just the right temperature to give him no stimulation whatsoever. 

The only thing he has to look at is himself, and he’s never been that vain - and if he can see the despair creeping into his eyes, so can anyone.

He’s not sure how long it’s been when the lights suddenly go out and is replaced by the same impenetrable darkness he’d woken up in.

Again, he is floating in a nothingness unlike any he’s ever experienced before, and again, he’s as discomfited by it as he’s ever been.

There are several of the dark-then-light cycles, and at no point does he manage to figure out how long either period is - it might be hours, it might be days - he spends as much time as åpssoböe sleeping, because when he’s asleep at least he doesn’t see things. 

As far as he knows, there’s no history of delusion in his family, and he’s certainly never been one for hallucinations (except for one bad acid-trip in his mid-teens), so why he’s seeing shapes in the darkness that’s so complete he wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face… it might be the solitude, might be the hunger.

He’s got a feeling that at one point or another, he’s been drugged into unconsciousness rather than just falling asleep because while he is hungry and thirsty, it’s nothing like what he’d expect after the amount of time he’s spent in his plexiglass box,

The worst part, still, is how much he’s missing Danny.

He’s even started talking out loud to his internal Danny-voice, just to feel a bit of normalcy - as if he wasn’t pathetic enough already. 

Of course, it’s all hallucinatory, which is why he can swear he sees Danny lurking behind him the next time the lights go on. The Danny-visage doesn’t do anything, doesn’t speak, doesn’t raise a judgemental eyebrow, (doesn’t hand him a snack,) which is how Rusty knows it’s not actually Danny. 

He likes to think Danny wouldn’t leave him in the cramped plexiglass box, either, but then again - sometimes Rusty is a bother, he knows he is, so maybe sometimes Danny just wants to lock him up in a box so he knows where Rusty is. 

That thought nags at him for several more cycles, until suddenly - during one of the light-cycles - one of the mirrored walls bursts into thousands of shards, courtesy of a sledgehammer - and Rusty’s never been as glad to see Danny as he is then. 

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Little Talks

Here is the next fic in my old maniel gets it series or read it below

The recording equipment is just finished being set up when Louis speaks.  “Let's talk about Armand.”

They’re in the living room and Louis is wearing his trademark all black ensemble, his voice that emotionless tone Daniel has gotten used to.  There’s no clues in his expression what he could mean.

“What about him?” Daniel says, trying to keep his cool.  He tries not to think of anything at all.

“He tells me he's invited you to stay longer.”

Daniel had hoped to bring that up himself.  He forces a tone of nonchalance.  “There are a few details to hammer out for the story.”

“Daniel.”  His voice is flat, but his expression is knowing.

“You know,” Daniel says.  No point beating around the bush.  At least he’s had a good run.

“Armand and I don't keep secrets.”  

“So what now? I go missing and they never find the body?”

Louis’ head tilts slightly and he observes Daniel for a moment.  “You thought I didn't know.  Bold of you to carry on with him.  You must be quite taken with Armand.”

“This the part where you tell me to back off?”  Something about his calmness puts Daniel’s fears a little more at ease.  He knows what Louis sounds like before he attacks; this isn’t it.

“This is the part I ask your intentions.”

Daniel snorts.  “My intentions.  What is this, the shovel talk?”

“Nothing so crude.”

Daniel thinks about telling Armand he wants to be more than a side piece.  What does he even want, beyond that?  What does that even mean?  He just knows he wants to matter.  “I don't know. Ask him his intentions.  I'm just along for the ride.”

“But what do you want?”

Daniel sighs.  “He put you up to this?”

“You're avoiding the question.”

Daniel pulls off his glasses and leans back in the chair.  Fuck, he’s tired.  “I'd say it's none of your business, but he's your...whatever you two are.”

Louis eyes him for a few seconds.  “You care for him.  More than you'd like to admit.”

“Stay out of my head.”  He’s getting sick of having to say that.

“He cares for you as well.  More than you know.”

Something about that niggles at Daniel’s memory.  Hasn’t Armand acted overly familiar with him?  Is there something going on he doesn’t know?  Maybe it has to do with that night in San Francisco.   “About that–I can’t remember the night we met. Did something happen between us that night I don’t remember?  He catch some unrequited crush he’s just now getting to work out?”

Louis smiles slightly.  “Unrequited?  No.  You should ask him about it, Daniel.”

“Because he’s so fond of giving answers,” Daniel says sarcastically.  What does Louis mean by not unrequited?  Maybe they hooked up back in the seventies.  Daniel certainly would have been willing back then, with either of them.  But why doesn’t he remember?  Was he really that high that he’d forget Armand?  Armand, who has been the best lay of his life so far.  How could he forget that?

“He’s afraid of losing you,” Louis says simply.  

“What does that mean?” Daniel says.  Didn’t he and Armand just make up from fighting?  What is he afraid of?

“You should ask him,” Louis says.  He goes still and eyes Daniel for a few seconds.  “Take the day to talk to him.  We’ll continue the interview tomorrow.  If you still wish to continue.”

If he still wishes to continue.  What the hell does Louis think Armand is going to say to him? There’s only one way to find out.  “Yeah, I’ll uh, I’ll talk to him.”

Daniel stands.  Louis looks up at him.  “Try to remember, Daniel, that he does care for you.  Even if his ways of showing it are unorthodox.”

“Right,” Daniel says, worry beginning to settle in his gut.  It feels like he’s on the precipice of something, he just can’t figure out what.  

By the time he packs up his things and heads back to his room, his nerves have his stomach in knots.  Whatever happens, things will be fine.  What could he possibly not know that would change how he feels?  

He closes his eyes and settles back on the bed.  He reaches to Armand with his mind, trusting him to hear.

“Come to my room.  We need to talk.”

[sanjisprincesswifey]

CONGRATS ON 3000!!! :3 thats so exciting!! may you gain more in the near future, you deserve it! :D

Could i request song 2 for Law? GN!reader preferred?

deja vu (or unrequited love ft. trafalgar law)

notes: so much angst; law literally runs away from his feelings, unrequited law x gender-neutral reader (i’m like 90% sure there are no gendered terms), 1,000+ words, sfw content but tw for angst, so read at your own discretion. thank u for participating <3

regret was all that law was feeling right now. as his hands brushed against your soft skin, able to feel your passive, calm breathing against his chest, he knew he only had himself to blame. 

propped up on his elbow, he watches your delicate features twitch ever so slightly as he can only hope that you’re dreaming of him. 

it’s selfish, though. of which that he knows. 

regardless of the fact that you had consumed his every waking thought, not even freed by sleep as you danced through his dreamscapes, it would not be enough for you. 

brushing through your hair, down your cheek, and over your hip, law’s fingers glided across your skin with an ease he thought to be perfect. the way his hand rested in the crux of your waist, body so plaint against his touch, it could’ve been meant to be. 

as a thick blanket of snow decorated the ground outside of the small cabin, law knew his time was up. he leans over, lips to your shoulder, pressing gently against you as he tightly clenches his eyes. 

he murmurs those three words that you’d never say back, a bitter taste burning in his throat. 

with a slight creak of the bed, law slips his clothes back on and gathers his things together before turning to the door. he reaches for the brassy doorknob, but hesitates, heart collapsing in his chest when a shift in the mattress sounds once again. 

“where are you going?” you shallowly whisper, afraid of scaring him off. 

law knows he can’t dare face you again, knowing he was far too weak to your pleas. the vulnerability he had shown to you is what got him in this mess in the first place. 

“you’re leaving me here, aren’t you?” your voice trembles. 

he only turns his head half way, but he can see out of his peripherals that you’re wrapped up in a solitude of warm cotton that surely seems icy cold by now. 

“i think it’s best for both of us if you stay here, y/n-ya,” he mutters, a harsh, hoarse grit caught in his throat. 

law winces when he finally manages to capture your face, sad eyes already spilling tears. with haste, law turns back to the door allowing the painful heartbreak to fuel him to do so. 

“please don’t leave me, law,” you mumble. a sniffle and a light bed creak indicate that you’re now to your feet, which is just what law wanted to avoid. 

your hand brushes his shoulder and he can’t help but succumb to your touch, allowing you to pull him towards you and away from the door. 

he faces you now as you cup his cheek, his eyes glaze over at your touch, leaning into it with a sad smile. “i don’t want to,” he admits, holding onto your hand. 

as a last resort, you tug him down to attach your lips to his. they’re rushed, desperate to prove something they could not, but law continues to enjoy every second of it. he kisses you back, eager to show you just how deep his love runs as he pulls you against him. 

he knows it’s the last time he’d ever get the chance to do this and he doesn’t care if he’s being selfish. 

“i love you, y/n,” he breathes as he presses his forehead against yours.

your lips quiver, unable to return his affection. and law knew rhis, that’s why as soon as he said it, the door swings open and invites the cold, snowy wind into the small room. 

the abrasive condition causes you to reach for anything more to cover your exposed flesh and with that diversion, law has already bolted through the door. 

“law, please! wait!” you shout, using the fabric of your blanket as protection, wrapping it around your body. 

by observation, you knew he had been preparing to depart by the long, black overcoat he was wearing as he continues off into the distance. 

the harsh conditions make it impossible to move even a step or two, but you try anyway. 

“law!” you cry out once again, socks dampening upon impact against the cold ground. your whole body envelopes in a nipped pain as the elements fare too brutal for you to endure. 

“go back inside, y/n,” he says sternly as he turns back to face you. he’s only a few feet from you, but in this moment it feels like an entire sea stands between you. “don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

amongst all the emotions that whirl through your head, heartbreak begins to climb its way up your throat. 

“i can love you back, i swear,” you sob, gripping onto the edges of the blankets so tightly it turns your knuckles white. “you don’t have to do this!” 

law seethes where he stands; it was bitter reminder that he was a fool to ever let himself be caught up in something so trivial and an empty promise all the same. 

“i don’t think so,” he sputters, voice cracking before he speaks again. “i love you, but i can’t keep you tied to me. now, room.” 

a light blue hue surrounds him as your legs shake as they try to run, but before you have him in your reach, his body zips away. a pebble from the edge of town replaces him, only faintly making out his silhouette near the yellow submarine that bounces against the waves. 

it was so close, you could see it from where you stood, but with the thick snow slowly piling on top of you, it was an impossible feat.  

still, you try to run, tripping over your own feet as the rough terrain collided with your skin. “law, don’t do this!” you yell, hoping your plea would reach him and plead to his sense of humanity. 

as law harshly bites his lip, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, he pulls down his hat to cover up any tears that might’ve fallen. 

as he continues the walk to his ship, he’s reminded of the only other person he’s ever loved; how he had to leave him behind too, all due to his own fault. 

celebrate 3,000 followers with me!

[gregmarriage]

on a tomgreg betrayal, i honestly don’t think it will actually happen. the chances of it genuinely happening seem very slim. i think there’s probably gonna be the possibility offered to one or both of them, one or both of them will get scared the other will actually go through with it (most likely, tom will be worried that greg will turn against him somehow) honestly? i just imagine a boar on the floor style situation where it’s tense and there’s a moment where you think one of them will betray the other, but they don’t. this later solidifies their relationship and could perhaps lead into the meaty stuff, i.e, the romantic side of things.

[strayed-quokka]

his last song || pt 5 || hwang hyunjin

» summary: it was your last year wherein a stroke of luck determined whether or not you could be sent to your likely death. and of course, the last year is when fate tries to play the cruellest game. for not only is it you, but your best friend’s name is caught in the hands of the woman selecting who’s to face their death. and not only that, but a certain career has his eyes set on you, and you doubt that’s a good thing.

» pairing: career hyunjin x district 10 reader ft. district 10 jisung & mentor minho (platonically)

» rating: 16+ for depictions of violence

» genre: hunger games au, fluff, angst, weak enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, unrequited love

» warnings: mentions of violence, reader has a breakdown, minho is moody still, this chapter is mostly free of anything bad though

» words: 4,374

» previous chapter

» a/n: i swear I thought it had only been a week since i posted chapter 4 and then i looked today and it had been a whole 18 days fml. there’s somewhat more hyunjin in this and he’s not just a dick either (well... somewhat). i wanna say we’ll be in the games officially in chapter 7, for those of you sick of the build up (man they were meant to be in there by now i apologise i got sidetracked). 

“You threw a knife at him?! Have you lost your mind?!”

Nerium was pacing as if she’d heard about the end of the world, when in reality you’d simply shared your brief encounter with one of the careers. You’d debated if you should mention it, but in the end your pride won out and you decided it was simply too good to keep to yourself. 

And well, you’d expected Minho to be the most furious, but all he does is laugh instead, shaking his head at you, “you really have a death wish, huh?”

“But what if it did the opposite? What if it’ll help her?” Jisung offers, though you can tell he’s unnerved just as much as he’s proud.

“How the hell would throwing a knife at Hyunjin of all people, help her?” Minho asks, and you understand quickly that his amusement is hiding genuine concern. He’s not angry at you for standing up for yourself, but he’s worried because of who you stood up against. 

“There’s no way he sees us as a worthy opponent. But maybe now he will.”

“Don’t kid yourself. She throws one knife at him, it ain’t gonna do much. Though it is… interesting I guess,” he’s scared. You recognise it better now, when Minho is afraid. Even with the smile hidden in the corner of his lips, you know he’s contemplating all the possible scenarios in his head of where you went terribly wrong. 

“Minho,” he looks up at you, his eyes dark and cold but it doesn’t overwhelm you. It doesn’t do much of anything really, as he does his best to hide how he feels from you, “I’m sorry for worrying you.” 

His demeanour changes. All eyes in the room are on him awaiting a response but he’s let his mask slip just a little and you make him notice. You’d surprised him, and it was enough to see that he’s still very human. He’s still Minho, somewhere, that you’d once known and had a faraway distant crush on, and he’s still, somewhere, an old friend to Jisung, “I’m not worried.”

“So I can do it again-”

“No!” Everyone’s voice shouts in unison and you chuckle, nodding. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Minho gets up, standing right in front of you as your eyes lock, “I’m serious. Don’t risk your life before you have to, dumbass.” 

There’s a fondness there, as he surprises everyone in reaching for you, ruffling your hair in a way similarly to how an older brother would. He wants you to listen to him and you know you should, for Minho had survived the games when no one else did. 

It was just a little unfortunate that Hyunjin had peaked your interest just as much as he’d frustrated you. 

You learned quicker than he would’ve expected. Hyunjin saw you as easy prey first and he mostly still did, but he also saw you as adaptable and able to pick up on training skills far more swiftly than he’d seen anyone else do. It didn’t worry him, but it did make him want to know more of who you were. 

Though you were also smart and he cursed it, for you never gave enough away. Even from afar as he watched you, it’s like you’d caught on that someone’s eyes were on you. You’d become more alert to your surroundings and he wasn’t sure why that was.

But Hyunjin wasn’t dumb, he knew you messed things up on purpose, that sometimes you threw things off center, that you didn’t hit the punching bag as hard as you could’ve, or that you memorised berries wrong when in fact you knew the right answer. 

You became a very amusing riddle to him on the second day of training and onwards, and he decided to talk to you when the opportunity struck just right a few days later, for you made little sense to him anymore.

You were currently looking through the different terrains that you may be presented with in the arena and how to adapt to each and every one of them. Trying your best, you’d attempted to memorise and note down how to survive in every scenario, in a completely different world as the long haired boy sat right above you, crouched over a net as he chuckled. 

His usual knife was in his hand, twisting between his fingers and he wondered if he should throw it. If maybe he should catch your attention the same way you did his. 

Though the risk was too high, there were too many people around, so he opted for the safer and far more boring option of jumping down, landing right behind you yet so silently, you would’ve barely noticed if you didn’t feel how someone was standing with his chest practically flushed up against your back. He was like a cat, delicate and malleable as he fell from a greater height. 

“Hello,” he whispers, and you can tell there’s a smirk on his face. It bothers you, so you choose to ignore any of his advances and continue reading, “you shouldn’t ignore me. That’s not a very nice thing to do.”

“Don’t you want to kill me? I wouldn’t call that a very nice thing to do either.” 

“It’s a game, sweetheart,” you hate how you react to his taunt, how you shiver at the nickname that sounds twisted yet sweet on his tongue. He must know exactly what he’s doing, yet you’re not so sure how you��ll play it back yet. 

“and you want to win. Don’t we all?” 

“You don’t,” he stops you in your tracks the second he says it. He’s leaning against the table now, eyes staring straight at yours though you won’t glance at him for even a second. You don’t dare to. Hyunjin’s seen right through you and you didn’t want to admit how easily it scared you, “I know you don’t plan to win this. So why does it matter, if it’s me who kills you?” 

“How do you know that?” 

“I observe,” he’s mocking you and it’s working. Hyunjin is good at getting under your skin, even if you don’t want to let it. Maybe that’s what made him so fascinating, amongst other things, just as it made him your greatest threat. 

Turning to him, you stand from the way you’d been hovering over the table, looking back into his eyes that seem almost young and carefree, though equally as calculating and malicious, “fine. I may have planned to not make it. But it won’t be you who does.”

You pause, eyes finding the knife in his hand briefly though he notices almost too quickly. 

He’s good.

Hyunjin calculates where you’ll look, what you’ll do, the millisecond you go to move. You know that comes from years of practice, a good decade spent on watching humans and the way they respond to every little thing. Whilst it would take you longer, he’s steps ahead because he knows what you’ll be thinking or doing before it’s fully crossed your own mind. 

He was in your head, whether you wanted him to be or not. 

“I’ll make sure you die. Even if it’s me who kills you,” because Jisung has to win. No matter the cost to you or anyone else. 

“Are you saying you want to kill me, angel?” Hyunjin is testing you again and it reminds you just a little of your mentor. They both want you to react emotionally, and Hyunjin seems to know that sweet nicknames and a mocking tone implying you must be incredibly dumb are the way to do it when it comes to him. He’s not wrong either, it does rile you up, and it does anger you. 

You can tell he’s caught off guard, genuinely, for the first time, when you lean closer to him, moving into his personal space in a way that makes him stop thinking. He wants to ask what you’re doing or push you away, but neither does he manage. 

You’re becoming a little less predictable and a lot less boring, and Hyunjin doesn’t know what to make of that.

“I don’t want to kill you. But I will if you don’t give me any other option.” 

It takes him longer to react, but when he does it’s with the tip of his knife pointed up to the bottom of your jaw. He’s not pushing the blade, but you feel the metal just touch you and it’s like he’s instilled the fear that went away, back into you all over again. When it really came down to it, you’re scared of the man before you, and no matter what you do or tell him that seems to say or imply otherwise, you know he’s not going to believe anything less. 

Hyunjin knows you’re afraid. 

“You’re cute, you know? Thinking you’ll manage that. It’s a bit pathetic-”

There’s a slapping sound before the clatter of metal hitting the floor interrupts you both, a figure in-between you two, your best friend pulling you behind him before you’ve noticed he’s standing there. 

Not only that, but he’s indirectly threatened Hyunjin for being close to you, catching him off guard with a sharp sting to his wrist and his knife on the floor. The taller man shakes his head, his black hair falling out of where the strands are pulled up at the back of his head, picking the blade up off the floor. 

“And who might you be?” 

“Don’t,” you push Jisung back, not letting him say a word, “he’s not worth it.”

Besides, just like Hyunjin can predict you well, you know he’s not actually wondering. He knows every tribute in here off by heart, their weaknesses and strengths, and he can play to all of them well. 

“Hmm, your district isn’t the friendliest, I presume? Where are your manners?” Hyunjin doesn’t care to hear your answer, laughing as he walks away like he’s gone insane, and maybe he has. 

“What did he want from you?” 

“No idea,” but Minho may be right. Maybe you do have a death wish. Because maybe, you think Hyunjin could actually help you. 

“Remember, you only have one shot at this,” you were in the living room with Minho, your two stylists and Jisung, Daehyeon adjusting your shirt that sat way too tight for your liking. It wasn’t up to you though, the clothes for assessments and training provided by the capitol. 

“Score too low and you could be an easy target to get rid of fast and sponsors won’t give you anything. Score too high and the careers will be on your back.”

“So you want us somewhere in the middle?” Jisung asks, frowning just as you do. 

“I want you to be average, maybe one point above at best. It’ll give you a chance with sponsors but not make you too much of a threat to others,” Minho says, watching you both with determination and something that tells you that you better listen to him. You’d caused him enough frustrations, the least you could do was listen to him with this and behave. 

“Show your skills that you hid during training,” Seokhwa comments, looking straight into your eyes when he does, “if there’s something you didn’t want other tributes to see, show it now.”

“And if you score higher than Minho wants-”

“They won’t,” Minho scoffs, leaning his elbow on the chair he’s sitting in, chewing his lower lip nervously. He’s not saying it because he doesn’t believe you could (even if it’s a stretch), but because he really doesn’t want you to, for your own sake.

“If you do, then you do. Don’t take him too seriously,” Daehyeon interjects, interrupting both Seokhwa and Minho, earning neither of their approval and rather frustrated gazes.

“Yes, get yourself killed. See if I care,” he gets up, pushing past you and Jisung as the two of you blindly follow him to the lift, waving goodbye to your stylists. It’s silent as you go down to the training centre, but there’s an unmatched tension that you can’t get rid of. 

“Minho,” you start, though you’re not even sure yourself where you’re going with this. His emotions are always unpredictable, usually angry or frustrated even if they mean something different, “nevermind.”

You step out of the lift with your best friend next to you, turning back to face your mentor.

“Just do your best. Play it smart and don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” he’s pleading with you both. He’d never admit that he’s connected to you emotionally, that he knows losing even just one of you may bring him to a place he’d barely made it out of last time, but it’s written on his face and hidden in the words he says. 

“Don’t be dumb. Got it,” you hear the words leave your best friends’ lips, and it saddens you to see that the reality of the game you’re going to play has already altered his playful personality. Even just a few short days ago, he’d been so carefree. When you’d first come here, he’d still smiled through it, if only for your benefit. 

And that light was fading into something far more serious. It wasn’t quite him but it still looked exactly like your best friend, and you realised that even if by a small chance, he won, the chances of him returning home the way he was, were next to none. 

He’d likely return as Minho had, an empty shell that had lost too much and would never get it all back. 

So you take his hand, lead him to the other tributes and don’t say a single thing when Hyunjin’s eyes find yours, watching you in a way that you can’t make out if it’s a threat or something else. 

When it’s finally your turn, you don’t know what to do. The gamemakers have lost interest by now, having seen eighteen other tributes before you and it’s obvious that they’d much rather be doing something else. 

“Hello?” god, you sound ridiculous. 

They hear you, but their interest still isn’t with you. You couldn’t blame them. The tributes who stood a chance had all since passed, and you wondered briefly what Hyunjin had done. You found it hard to believe that the only skillset he’d show on display were his ability to throw knives and climbing the tight nets above you, but you also realised you’d never really seen him do much else. 

You’d have to ask, next time you saw him, given that there’d be just two more sessions to train after this. 

The reality of that hadn’t quite sunk in yet.

And then the thought of even asking Hyunjin anything hit you, that you were actually curious to know something about him despite his cocky nature and dripping arrogance in his skills. 

“Do you plan to stand there and do nothing?” it’s a man, a gamemaker you don’t know but his cockiness pisses you off. It’s similar to Hyunjin’s, but not quite, for where Hyunjin has some character and charm in the way he moves (no matter how frustrating), this man holds nothing, an empty shell lacking any sort of depth that isn’t the attitude he exudes. 

And it makes you angry. Angry enough to forget that being impulsive is never a good idea. Keeping a level head and not being led by emotion was likely how you’d get Jisung to win, if you even could. But a switch is flipped, one you had felt boiling over in recent days since the capitol as a whole and Hyunjin had mocked you and implied you stood no chance. 

Even if you didn’t, you refused to let them dictate those odds. 

You decided then how you’d play these games. Whether Minho would like it or not, regardless of how terrified you really were, you were reminded of the first and really the only person in the capitol you’d met that had given you the right answer this whole time. 

You do everything you can to keep yourself alive. Anything.

Daehyeon was right. The games were meant to be played with strategy and exuding confidence whether you had it or not. You have to be willing to risk your life just to have a chance of winning at all. If you played it safe and afraid, you’d already lost.

It didn’t take you another second to find the knives, feeling the handles and their weight the way Hyunjin had told you to do. It was amusing, really, and you wondered what he’d do if you were the one to take his life using the few things he’d taught you to look out for and do. 

You found one you like, a bent blade curved like a claw with a black leather handle, a grip at the top to loop your finger through and hold it in place against your palm. It was similar to one you’d seen the career always with, as if it was his prized possession. 

Running out of time, you quit wasting it and make your way back to stand before the platform where everyone was busy drinking and eating. If you wanted to be seen as a threat, you’d have to threaten someone. 

Minho may kill you before the games even begin. 

Think of where you want it to go.

You were hallucinating. You knew it when you felt Hyunjin’s hands over your shoulder, as if to change your stance and speak into your ear. He’d taken over your mind in a short period of time, but in a way it was helping you now. 

You’d done this before. You’d thrown a knife near Hyunjin’s head with next to no prior knowledge or practice on how these things worked. You could do it. The question was if it would be worth the risk. 

But the man you decided you hate most goes to speak in frustration at your taking of his time, and you don’t wait another second to release the blade with all the force you can manage to throw with. 

Throw it. 

The knife lodges itself in the back of the man's seat just above his shoulder near his head to the shock of everyone. There’s not a word said, no whispers, nothing. They’re all staring at you, not sure if you’re brave or just incredibly stupid. Maybe you were both.

“I’m sorry sir,” you put on a dazzling smile, none of which you mean, looking straight at him, “my fingers must’ve slipped.”

You leave without another word, head held high as Jisung comes in to take your place. You wish him luck, meaning it genuinely, before you run away. It’s when you’re alone that your confidence comes crashing down in waves of terror and complete fear, wondering what this could mean for you as you forcefully push the button to your floor in the lift. 

How could you be this stupid? You’re going to get yourself killed before you ever step foot into the arena. If you were dead, who would make sure Jisung was living?

“Oh, it’s you.” Hyunjin seems unbothered, still in his training uniform as he presses his own floor to go up. He’d come from the ground floor, conversing with the careers before deciding to go off and have his dinner when he ends up in the same place as you. 

You try to at least greet him, but instead you whimper pathetically and sink to the floor in tears when everything comes crashing down on you. It doesn’t matter to you, that someone who wants you dead is right in front of you, seeing you in a fragile state. None of it matters, for the reality of everything hits you all over again.

Hyunjin seeing you cry shouldn’t mean anything, for he already found you weak and knew you to be dead. It made no difference. None of it did in the end.

“What’s up with you?” 

He doesn’t sound that concerned, but he doesn’t sound like he’s mocking you either. Hyunjin just seems genuinely curious and mildly unsure himself on what to do. The black haired man didn’t handle emotion well at all, but that also meant he would do what he could to change it to avoid a situation he found uncomfortable. 

“I’m speaking to you,” he nudges your shoes with his own boots, your arms wrapped around your knees as you sit there crouched. Hyunjin misses his floor, unbothered as the two of you move up to the tenth level. 

“I-I know,” you stammer, pushing past him as the lift stops, but he’s grabbed your wrist to stop you from leaving. 

“So, what’s wrong with you?” 

It could be considered admirable, that a part of him really is trying, but he’s absolutely terrible at it and it almost makes you laugh. At the very least, it causes you to smile slightly, looking to the floor. 

“Ah, you’re smiling. Can’t be that bad then,” there’s a silence that takes over you two, a good minute of no words spoken until you break it.

“I think I’ll be dead before I’m even in the games,” you sigh, feeling his grip on your wrist loosen and you use it as a chance to slip out of his grasp, sinking down against the wall in the hallway right before your massive kitchen and living room. You’re relieved that it’s empty though you aren’t sure for how long, and you know having Hyunjin of all people here, is surely going to get you into trouble, “you should go before someone sees you.”

“There’s no rule that says I can’t be here,” he crouches in front of you, eye level with you as curiosity gets the better of him. He wants to know what you mean, what you may have done that’s got you in such a state and assuming you’ll be dead soon. Not that you were entirely wrong, but seeing your willingness to give up so quickly bothered him greatly.

“I don’t need Minho angry at me too if he sees you-”

You stop speaking when Hyunjin tenses up, and you realise what that name means to him. What that person means to Hyunjin and the reason why he’s so adamant on having you lying dead before anyone else even comes into question. You’d seen why with your own eyes.

“Sorry, tough subject,” there’s a silence that repeats between you two as he fully sits down next to you, a distance between you both that’s noticeable, but still close enough to see him from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t say anything at first and neither do you, and the risk of getting caught turns greater with time. 

“What did you do that’s got you crying pathetically?” 

“I threw a knife,” Hyunjin laughs, a multitude of insults already set on his tongue to speak before you shut him up completely, “at a gamekeeper's head.”

It was the last thing he would’ve expected from you. You’d had guts with him, sure, but he’d seen your unease at the aftermath of realising what you’d done and he figured you wouldn’t be doing it again. At least not for a while if you had the choice.

“Wow, look at you. Couldn’t even throw a knife two days ago,” you force a smile, one he holds with far more ease in return.

“Still wouldn’t say I can,” the little I know, I know from you. That’s what you would say, if Hyunjin was kind. If you considered him a friend, you’d even thank him for the little he’d shown you to survive. It was ironic, really.

Hyunjin was not your friend, as much as it would make things easier. He was incredibly easy on the eyes, unfairly so, and you were reminded of it even more up close. Though not only was he beautiful, but he was smart and knew how to kill without letting his emotions overwhelm him. At least from what you could tell. He was dangerous and an asset, and the very, very few times he’d said things to you genuinely, it had made you smile. 

All of it made you wish once again, that things were very different from what they were. If your reality could change, you’d do anything for it to shift. And maybe then Hyunjin’s beauty and skillset wouldn’t be so lethal and cruelly unfair.

“I’m not going to go easy on you in the games you know,” his voice is gentle, surprising even you as you turn your head and look at him. His eyes are watching yours, the beautiful brown colour reflecting your expression as you stare back at him. He’s calculating something, you see that even in this hallway where nothing is against either of you, he’s figuring out how to win. 

Every thing he does goes into what he’s going to do next. Never once does he have his guard down. It scares you. 

It makes you afraid of him. 

“I know you can fight if you need to. You’re not great-”

“Gee, thanks,” he chuckles, looking away briefly before leaning slightly closer, voice a delicate whisper. It makes you briefly lose the ability to breathe, seeing the intensity of his gaze and the way he looks at you. 

“But you’re determined enough to put up a fight. I may have to admit that I was wrong.”

“About what exactly?” 

“You don’t have very many skills. And you’re not physically strong,” you glare at him, ready to go into the kitchen and stab him with something from in there, but it’s the genuine expression he holds, even in the way he’s teasing you, that makes you wait for what he’s going to say. 

“But you’re not weak either,” he gets up, missing the surprised expression you carry as he brushes his pants off from being sat on the floor.

“I think you’ll be very interesting to play against,” he enters the lift, waiting just a beat and preventing the doors from closing with his foot when they go to shut. You’re unmoving, mesmerised by how he casually leans against the opening, relaxed and at ease. 

“May the odds be in your favour, sweetheart.”

istg only hyunjin could call me sweetheart.

anyway since i last updated this, i’ve officially made a masterlist for all my skz writing so here it is if you wanna have a look || masterlist ||

any comments or feedback i’ll be happy to hear it x i think i’ll be able to update this one more time, maybe two, before i go on holiday :) i’ll do my best to anyway. also i don’t know who you are, but shoutout to the anonymous ask i got about this story that made me so happy to get back to this chapter and get it out for you guys who read it 💜

taglist: @crispy-chan, @hyunjinspark, @geniejunn, @she-wintersoldat, @a-person-with-void​

next chapter

[hello-nichya-here]

How NOT to write romance - How I Met Your Mother edition

Warning: long-ass post and lots of bitterness over a TV show that ended nearly eight years ago.

Basics for story-telling

If the romance you want to write is dysfunctional, fucking embrace it and have fun with the concept instead of pretending the bad shit the characters do is okay because “it’s true love”

Acknowledgde that your main character has flaws instead of acting like he is a saint who can do no wrong for no reason other than “he is the main character. Definitively don’t make him do, of his own free will, the exact exact same things the supposedly “selfish and cruel” womanizer does and then excuse it as him having “succumbed to/been tricked by a bad influece” like he’s child who doesn’t know any better instead of being a grown ass adult.

Don’t make your characters be annoying, entitled fuckers who think they have the right to judge others for wanting different things out of a relationship/not wanting a relationship at all. Don’t act like monogamy, double dates with other couples, marriage and children are something EVERYONE secretly wants deep down.

Don’t demonize the “evil” character of the group and act like the “heroes” being appalled by the shit he does is anything other than hypocricy. There’s literally nothing forcing them to be friends with him, so they’re obviously not as horrified at bad shit he does as they say they are, otherwise they would have ditched him a long time ago.

Don’t have the “heartless womanizer”,  who we later find out is the ex-husband of the girl the lead wanted for himself, be shown to us exclusively through the eyes of the an unreliable narrator who had motivation to make him see worse than he is likely to be (get his kids to want him to get the girl instead of the “douchebag”). Also, don’t make his schemes to trick women into sleeping with them so completely absurd and ridiculous that the audience is pretty sure that 70% of the women he banged were completely aware he just wanted a quick fuck and went along with it anyway because they wanted some dick (and because the character is played by Neil Patric Harris, who is incapable of not being charismatic)

Fucking let you characters (especially the supposed hero we’re supposed to think is the best boyfriend ever) grow instead of making them constantly repeat the same mistakes

Lily and Marshall

Don’t make one of the characters hide something very important from their partner, and then have the audacity to be mad at them for “just not understanding” as if they were given any reason to understand what the problem even is

Don’t act like someone being heartbroken that their partner lied to them and practically made a plan to “escape” being married to them means they’re not being “supportive” of said partners dream - you should especially not do that after we were shown that they took a job they didn’t like just to make sure they’d have a secure future that would allow said partner to follow their dream.

Don’t have the character who was obviously in the wrong need to be convinced to get their shit together and apologize to their ex.

If a character forgave the ex who wronged them and even got back together with them, don’t have them constantly hold their past mistakes over their head like it that problem has not already been solved - you especially not make them do that on what was supposed to be their wedding day. They can either forgive their partner or not, they can’t keep going back and forth.

Don’t have them constantly hide important shit from each other (having a huge financial debt, getting a job, etc)

DO NOT have the character who fucked up years prior suddenly be willing to do the same shit again for the EXACT same reason (”I think our relationship is in the way of my dreams and I’m now completely isolated because I refuse to talk things out with you”) and then expect the audience to sympathize with them.

Ted and Robin 

Unless you’re writing a Disney/Disney-esque romance, don’t have your lead just look at someone across the room, decide they’re “The one”, imagine their life together and full on say “I’m love with you” AND “I love you” on the first goddamn date.

Don’t have the lead stalk his love interest, and throw three parties in a row just to have an excuse to get close to her now that she made it clear she is not interested in having a relationship with him.

Don’t have the “hero” lie about having broken up with his girlfriend so the girl he wants to be with will sleep with him, and then have him blame his actions on time. “Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.” Grow a pair of balls, Ted!

If one of the characters says “You’re going too fast on the whole ‘love’ thing. Can’t we just go on a few dates and see what happens instead of already starting to plan our lives together?” and the others throws a fit, that is called “being incompatible” and “damn, this dude doesn’t respect boundaries”, not “Wow, she’s so afraid of commitment”

If you want the audience to believe the main character’s feelings are not one-sided, don’t make the fact that said feelings ARE unrequited a running joke, and don’t have the girl only accept giving him a chance after having to deal with the fucker whining “But I love you” for months and/or after going through bad break ups. Also, if you have to retcon half the fucking show to “proove” that “she DOES love him”, that pairing fucking sucks.

Don’t compare the couple you want the audience to root for to the main character’s divorced, dysfunctional parents, and don’t have flashbacks showing that the lead had no clue what his girlfriend actually liked in bed AND that she literally covered up his face so she could pretend she was fucking someone else.

DON’T MAKE HER GET RID OF HER DOGS, YOU FUCKING MONSTER!

If your lead character is still jealous/possessive of his ex, thinks he still has a chance even after she told him to his face that she didn’t love him, and acts like she and her fiance (who he says is his friend) being happy is somehow them being selfish and cruel, your lead character is a loser AND an asshole.

Don’t throw away the entire premise of the show (Ted finding the REAL love of his life) just to force a bad pairing down the audience’s throat

Ted Mosby in general

Don’t have your “romantic, sensitive hero” break up with a girl on her birthday through an answering machine, come back into her life without warning years later because he’s afraid he’ll die alone, and find out that she never heard the message but was actually told about it by her friends and family who were at her apartment preparing a surprise party for her. You should especially not make his first reaction to this new be being mad that he was not invited to the party, and for the love of God, don’t make him break up with her on her birthday AGAIN.

Don’t have the “hero” cheat on his girlfriend and excuse it with bullshit like “Nothing good happens 2 a.m.” and “But I genuinely love Robin so it’s okay that I’m lying to both of them”. Do not, I repeat, do NOT have him blame it on his girlfriend being distant when she didn’t pick up the phone one night and then called back the second she was free to do so, while he was enjoying the gifts she sent him and LIED to her about having sent her some as well.

Don’t fucking make an entire episode with the premise of him turning a no into a yes - and telling that story to his children like it’s romantic.

Don’t have his fiance, who he knows has a rocky relationship with the father of her daughter, tell him she is uncomfortable with him inviting his ex to their wedding and then have him decide “This means I should invite her ex as well”. Also don’t expect me to feel bad for him when she runs off with said ex.

Don’t have him spend YEARS waiting for one of the hundreds of girls he thinks is “the one” to be single and even ask her neighbour to spy on her and let him know when/if she breaks up with her boyfriend - again, for YEARS.

Don’t have the lead say he’s gonna tell their kids about his love story with their DECEASED mother, only for it to secretly be an excuse for him to go “By the way, I’m still in love with aunt Robin despite her having rejected me for 25 years, can I go screw her?”

Don’t act like making the characters reverse back into who they were at the beginning at the story means they’re gonna make things work this time when the whole point of their break up in the beginning on the story was the fact that they’re just not right for each other.

Robin and Kevin

A therapist who was supposed to help their patient move on after a bad break up that messed them up, dating said patient is a major red flag. It is also a bad sign that, when she cheats on him and wants to break up, he realized what she was doing to used his job as “evidence” that he knew better and that she should NOT tell her partner how she felt/what she actually wanted.

Do NOT have said therapist date yet ANOTHER patient that asked him help to move on from a bad break up. Seriously, Kevin was a creep, stop acting like he was some angel who “deserved better than Robin.”

BONUS: How NOT to break up a couple - Barney and Robin edition

Don’t act like their relationship falling appart after their friends kept meddling, and even kept them locked in a room against their will until they labeled their relationship as something they aproved of, is somehow “proof” that they’re not good for each other.

Don’t retcon their relationship to force a break up (seriously, Barney was super supportive of Robin long before he even fell in love with her, but I’m supposed to believe he’d be a bad boyfriend who is never there for her? And he loved advantures and always said “challenge accepted”, but was suddenly miserable travelling the world with her and couldn’t deal with not having wi-fi at the hotel? Fuck off)

Don’t spend an entire season focusing on their wedding, have them get married and then divorce THE NEXT FUCKING EPISODE! Why do you hate your audience? Even people who don’t want them together can see this a terrible idea.

And most important of all, when people question what the fuck were you thinking, don’t have a meltdown on twitter and say that people who think Barney can change are responsible for Donald Trump being elected, you fucking weirdo, go see a therapist (that isn’t like Kevin)

[liarchive]

✦ uh, oh.. they've fallen for the wrong person.

:: FEATURING ─ gender neutral! reader, modern! au diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, childe, xiao, kaedehara kazuha.

:: FLAVOR ─ angst.

:: WARNING ─ unrequited love. that's it.

:: TYPE ─ short ficlets.

natalia's note: go blast unrequited love-themed songs, bestie. <3. ALSO I HOPE XIAO AND DILUC'S PART DON'T SEEM STEREOTYPICAL,, <//3.

:: DILUC RAGNVINDR.

he may or may not realize his feelings somewhat late. there’s this weird feeling, whenever he sees you with your crush. now, diluc isn’t the type to be jealous. why would he be jealous of you staring at someone else with such warmth? you’re not even his. you’re only his dear friend, and he’s not your lover, or someone you have a crush on.

minutes turn to hours, hours turn to days. diluc hates the feeling. he wants it to go away, why wouldn’t it go away? why does it feel like the feeling only worsens each time he sees you with them? diluc thought, maybe he’s sick. right, maybe he is. what other logical explanation would fit? that is until kaeya told him about love.

.. ah. ouch. so this is how love feels like. why didn’t he realize it sooner? if he had, maybe he could discard such a nuisance earlier. maybe he could’ve watched you with them without wanting to tear you apart from them. maybe he didn’t need to suffer for so long. maybe.. maybe, he could’ve confessed to you.

:: KAEYA ALBERICH.

he had known. he always knew. he always had known his little.. big crush on you. yet, he never made a move. he never says anything about it. he’s afraid. he’s afraid by getting you into a relationship with a person like him with only bring destruction to you.

kaeya lets you go. it’s better this way, right? he could watch you be happy with someone who is worthy of an angel like you. he could suffer alone, and that is okay. the feeling isn’t eternal, yeah? it’ll disappear as time goes by.

you may be drifting away from him, but that’s okay. he can always watch you from afar. as long as the darkness within him doesn’t touch you, he’s content. he is satisfied. as long as you live a happily-ever-after-ending, he’s happy. kaeya will always be.

:: CHILDE.

rejection isn’t something childe would be satisfied with. for all his life, there is barely any rejection at all. he knows he’s a good-looking guy, one who would fit many people’s types. he could get almost any person he’d want to go out with, but maybe he’s wrong. maybe he couldn’t. did his pride get him too high?

nonetheless, that doesn’t quite matter anymore. thinking about it wouldn’t change the fact that you love someone that is clearly isn’t him. childe isn’t able to do anything, other than watching you reaching the love of your life. the funny thing is, he hasn’t even confessed. but, maybe, it is for the better. who would’ve thought that one day, you’d come up to him asking for love advice?

oh, how it hurts. you’re slowly drifting away from him. he is slowly losing his grasp on you. would there be a day, where he’ll see you in your wedding outfit, staring with full of love.. to him? no, no. that’s just a mere imagination. if he slowly losing grasp on you, how can he reach you out in the future?

:: XIAO.

he’s mad, upset at himself for even dare to feel such a feeling. it’s not like you aren’t good enough, you are more than enough. but, look at him. such a loser like him? no, he couldn’t even imagine him being in a relationship with an amazing person like you. he shouldn’t have held this feeling. he should have only feel friendly-platonic-love-feeling to you. he shouldn’t have seen you more than a friend.

it hurts. why does it hurt so much? xiao never was the one to care about cliche things such as love, and never did he think of wasting his time in “love”. but, with your presence in his life.. it changed. now, he is falling in love. maybe he began to care a bit. xiao reassures it’s just a small little crush. it’ll disappear soon.

it never disappeared. and thus, xiao subtly began to keep a distance from you. “until the feeling is gone, i’ll keep a distance.” ah, it seems like you won't be able to meet him for a long while.

:: KAEDEHARA KAZUHA.

has the wind misguided him? how did he end up standing in this position? kazuha never thought he’d get an unrequited love, not with you. kazuha tries his best to accept reality. he knew he couldn’t get everything he wants. while he’s trying to accept everything, he also tries to support you.

what else can he possibly do? the smile that kazuha sees each time you’re with them is worth the agony. kazuha wishes you would see him, but there’s no way you would. not when your eyes have always been fixated on that one person.

kazuha wishes the wind would let you to your happy ending. perhaps, could the wind lead him to his own happy ending too?

[superhero--imagines]

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here!/ Playlist Here!

* Alright so here are the facts as you know them

* Gojo’s a goddamn player and a homewrecker

* The boy probably has half of Tokyo after him

* Not that you can blame them, that pretty face had you fooled at first too

* The second fact, it that for whatever reason, Gojo Satoru has chosen to play house with a future hopeful sorcerer named Megumi Fushiguro

* Which, through forces outside your control, you have become involved with as well

* And the last fact, was that as soon as this no longer interested him or benefited him in any way, Gojo Satoru would abandon the situation entirely and act like it never happened

* So-

* “(Y/N/N), you look nice today, did you do something new with your hair?” Gojo sings

* - pray tell, why is the school prince is currently sitting on top of your desk, looking at you with those heart eyes

* “Oi what do you think you’re doing?” You ask, a vein threatening to pop on your forehead

* “I’m flirting with you~” he sings, only leaning closer with that all-too-pleased smile

* “I’m pretty sure this is bullying” you reply

* Ever since you’ve started pseudo-parenting Megumi and Tsumiki, Gojo’s been doing crap like this,

* Sometimes he tries to feed you at lunch,

* “Open wide (Y/N/N)~” He’ll sing as he holds out a piece of sushi towards you on some chopsticks

* Only for Megumi to eat it instead

* “Why do you look so sad papa, I thought you said I was your pride and joy”

* other times he’s holding doors open for you

* “Ah here let me-“

* You watch as he walks across from you and opens the door to a random void shrine

* You look at him before sighing and opening your own door to the library

* The other day you mentioned how you didn’t get to try the limited edition Sakura Pepsi and came back to your dorm with a bottle on your desk

* Which would be cute- if the bottle wasn’t half-empty with a note that he’d that said

* “Sorry, I got thirsty on the way back”

* Seriously he’s the worst- and yet,

* You turned away from Megumi and Gojo bickering, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered you were,

* you hid your laugh behind your hand as Gojo jogs to catch up with you, saying he was just trying to predict your needs-

* And you held the half-full bottle of Sakura Pepsi to your chest, keeping it on your window sill

* Because you love him-

* Even though you know he’s just doing all these things to entertain himself instead of out of genuine affection

* Even though these feeling will do nothing but hurt you

* You still love him

* He makes your life feel exciting and fun

* And more than that, underneath that moronic playboy exterior, is a gentle, lonely heart

* A heart that will run away as soon as it knows how you feel about it

* So you mask your budding feelings as best as you can

* Because the only thing you imagine is more painful than knowing your feelings won’t be returned-

* Is not having Gojo Satoru in your life at all

* So you do your best to pretend like nothing has changed

* You act just as indifferent as you always have-

* “Here-“ you push your dessert in Gojo’s direction. “You like sweets right?”

* His smile is so radiant you almost have to shield your eyes

* Well, mostly indifferent anyway

* Not that the self-absorbed moronic prince has seemed to notice anyway

* Too busy focusing on the scrumptious piece of cake in front of him

* Still Gojo isn’t one to be underestimated, he looks to you with a twinkle in his eyes

* “Let’s share it!”

* So far he’s tried twice to have an indirect kiss with you, and he’s missed twice

* He even threw away those chopsticks when Megumi ate that piece of sushi in frustration

* But you know what they say, third times the charm

* You look at Gojo with a raised eyebrow, gaze flicking between the cake and his face

* What, did he imbue some cursed energy so it would explode when you tried to take a bite

* “No thanks”

* Cue Gojo crying as he eats his cake

* He’s really been doing his best lately to earnestly pursue you

* But for some reason, you just don’t get it

* “I like you,” Gojo says as you’re walking side by side on your way back to the dorm after visiting Megumi

* You look back at him, and Gojo feels a blush start to fan across his face

* He finally did it! He finally confessed to you

* And his heart is drumming away in his chest

* You don’t seem to understand the monumental significance of what just occurred because what your mind heard was

* “I {really} like {teasing} you”

* You sigh, your heart skipped a beat, for a second you almost got your hopes up

* There’s no way lady killer Gojo Satoru would ever pick you to be one of his lovers, and if he did it would just be so you could be apart of his personal harem

* “Ok”

* And then you turn around and walk away

* Gojo can’t help but feel like this is retribution for all the times one of his romantic partners has said ‘I love you’

* And he responded with:

* “Why would you do that to yourself?”

* Or

* “Cool”

* At first he thinks it’s a straight-up rejection, but he figures out pretty fast that you just didn’t get it when you keep acting the same as you always have around him

* But don’t get it wrong babe, none of this deters Gojo in the slightest

* “Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask

* You’re both in the library, but only one of you is actually studying

* Gojo’s been staring at you with an oddly fixated gaze

* Honestly it’s got you feeling an uncomfortable heat spreading from your face to your neck

* “I’m not giving up you know”

* Giving up on what?!?

* What’s going on right now!!?

* But Gojo doesn’t offer any more insight choosing instead to finally bother reading the book in his hands

* What a weird guy

* You look down to your own book

* You feel the heat linger on your face and neck

* It’s because he’s always saying crap like that, that you’ve caught feelings for him

* Well whatever, everything fades right? Eventually, Gojo will probably lose interest in you-

* He’s part of a clan do you imagine they’ll find a nice girl from a respectable family for him to marry

* They’ll probably have a few kids who’ll be next in line to succeed him

* And by then he’ll be in such a prominent position that you’ll never see him again

* He’ll just be a memory

* Some boy you had a youthful unrequited love with

* The thought makes your heart clench but-

* “It’s for the best,” you tell yourself

* You’re going in completely opposite directions in life, you couldn’t possibly home for anything more than what you have

* After all your luck probably ran out the second you saw his face

* The most beautiful man you’ll ever see

* “I bet he would be one of those handsome grandpas when he gets older” you snort

* The kind that charms and flirts with young men and women just because he knows the effect he has on them.

* You still can’t believe you fell in love with someone like that

* “What a pain” you mumble to yourself, falling back on your bed

* You feel uncertain, afraid of the future even.

* Maybe a snack will help

* It’s the middle of the night, way past the time you were supposed to go to bed when you see him in the kitchen

* Great the last person you wanted to run into

* He’s just standing there in front of the fridge with the door open

* He hasn’t even turned around to say hi or anything

* “Oi Baka prince if you leave the door open like that every-“

* You stop mid-word, you only need one look at his face to know something is wrong

* It’s not all that uncommon for him to do something like this-

* See the thing is, Gojo knows he’s strong enough that he will get to choose when he dies- he’s not bound by the same pain the other sorcerers are, but-

* Well, he’s still going to die

* No matter how much he thinks he’s like god, no matter how powerful he is,

* He’s still going to die

* And growing up with the power he’s had and the mindset that he’s the strongest

* The realization can be pretty crippling

* He so afraid of the uncertainty that brings that most times he can’t move

* The worst part is it’s never when he’s actively thinking about death, or even when he’s on the job

* It’s always at times like this when he’s just woken up and is oddly hungry and he’ll remember

* “Oh, I’m going to die aren’t I?”

* And then it’s like he’s frozen solid

* What is it he usually tells the victims that enter his domain?

* “Funny how when you can do everything, you find you can’t do anything”

* Usually he manages to unfreeze after some unspecified amount of time, getting through it on his own

* But this time, when he finally escapes from the domain of his inner mind he’s covered in a layer of sweat just like always-

* But he’s not sure why he sprawled across the floor

* Not until his head shifts a little, only to see your face looming over him

* Omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg

* He’s resting his head in your lap!!!

* Honestly this has been a fantasy of his for a while, to have his head in your lap while looking at the cherry blossoms, and you feed him chocolates and a gentle wind caresses your face

* BUT NOT LIKE THIS

* “Feeling better?” You ask

* Gojo thinks he might combust, he moves to sit up but winces

* He’s got the worst headache, these little episodes of his do typically end with a migraine

* Your hand feels nice and cold as it rests against his forehead

* “Rest a little longer, we’re not in any hurry”

* Aaaaand now he’s screaming on the inside again

* “Sorry about this” he mumbles, and you can’t help but smile

* It’s oddly endearing to see a shy Gojo Satoru

* “I bet your lovers would kill me if they saw knew you were showing me such a cute side” you’re half-joking when you say it, but you’re also half-serious

* It gives your Ego a little boost to know you’ve seen a side of him that most of his lovers probably haven’t

* You doubt the mighty Gojo Satoru ever allows himself to be this vulnerable, not even while he’s in the throes of passion

* So that same earnest look on his face startles you

* “I don’t have any other lovers”

* You snort

* “Sure, and I definitely didn’t steal Geto’s pudding that he was saving”

* “I’m being serious”

* Gojo sighs, here he is feeling awfully vulnerable and you still seem denser than a rock

* Do you think he would let anyone other than you see him like this

* “When are you going to realize that if it’s not you then it’s just no good?”

* Your heart is drumming in your ears, and you wonder if he can hear it

* Your mind is telling you to pull back, that this is way too good to be true, that this will only hurt you,

* You should get away while you still have a chance

* But instead something in you persists and you say:

* “Why do you think that is”

* Gojo’s hand reaches up, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, those clear blue eyes looking straight into yours

* Your breath stutters in your chest

* You always have been weak for those eyes

* His pink lips curl up into a smile

* “Because I love you”

* And before you know what you’re doing your bending down, pressing your lips against his

* “I love you too”

Bonus:

* “You can see through it right?” You ask

* Gojo fidgets with the blindfold, honestly he was hoping for a much kinkier reason than replacing his scuffed sunglasses when you gave him the blindfold

* “It’s a little darker, but that’s not a bad thing.”

* His hair is out of his face too which is nice

* But-

* “What’s with the sudden gift?”

* It’s not exactly out of character for you to get the people you care about something, but this seems a little outside of your usual MO

* “I just felt like it” You mumble

* Now that his eyes are covered up you think he might attract a little less attention, and all his former flings probably won’t be able to recognize him

* Your eyes drift to his uniform, even in the gross pantsuit you can still tell he’s got a pretty nice body,

* But you’ll have to adjust

* Gojo sees right through your nonchalant answer, smiling that wolfish grin

* “Aw was my sweetie scared I was going to leave them?” He coos, moving ever so close

* You only turn away your face

* Gojo only grins wider

* “Honey~ you should know by now if it’s not you then I’m not interested” he sings in your ear

[stardusttrashed]

I need you - Jean Kirstein

Day 20 of Ficmas

Ficmas Masterlist

Pairing: FWB!Jean x reader

CW: Angst, slightly unrequited love

AN: Was thinking about Mika every time I mentioned 'her' but thought it'd leave it up to y'all

You stared at Jean’s bleary form, fighting back the overwhelming choking feeling in your throat. Everything he was saying was going in one ear and out the other, drowned out by your thoughts. Was he even really even saying anything? His lips were moving, sure, but all you could hear was the shouting thoughts in your head.

“It hurts Jean,” you blurted out, your weak voice cutting him off. “It hurts seeing you constantly give her your all! You’re always ready to give her the world, and what does she give you?” You ignored the way your voice cracked as the tears became harder and harder to fight back. “She ignores you, Jean! And I’m- I just,” you trailed off with a defeated sigh.

“I can’t have more of you,” Jean’s voice wavered. “But I… I also can’t live with any less of you. I like where we are, Y/n. I like the openness. I like knowing you’re there. I like having you in my life. I like-.”

“Being a coward! Just say it, Jean,” you snapped, the tears finally streaming down your cheeks. “You like being a coward! You like keeping me around just in case she never-.”

“That’s not true.” You couldn’t tell if he was hurt or annoyed as he dragged his hands down his face. “Y/n.” He hated to see you cry. Even worse, he hated knowing he made you cry. He could feel his heart shattering slowly with every tear that rolled down your face. Jean rose from his seat with a shaky breath and closed the space between you. Would I feel the same if it was her crying? “I need you,” Jean whispered as he cupped your cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

You shook your head as your eyes met his. “You don’t.” Did he always look so broken when you mentioned her? Was she the reason or was it something else? His breath fanning over your lips was making it hard to focus. He was always so warm, like a cup of tea after a long, rainy day. You relished in his warmth found yourself seeking it more and more as days of being by his side turned to months. “You don’t need me,” you repeated yourself in a broken whisper.

Jean chuckled bitterly, wiping the tears off your cheek with his thumb. “I do. I need you, Y/n. I need you by my side.” He brushed his nose against yours as he closed his eyes. It’d be easier to talk if he didn’t have to watch you break. “I don’t need her- but that doesn’t stop me from wanting her. But you-.” It was getting harder to speak, the words getting stuck in his throat like a fly in a trap. She never makes me feel this way. Only you do. Maybe- maybe I am a coward. “I need you in my life, and it scares me to think of going a single day without you. I’m scared to lose you, so I hold onto what we have now. Saying that out loud does sound pretty shitty, huh?”

“Told you you’re a coward.” You leaned into his touch hesitantly.

“See, you know me better than I know me sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “And that means knowing no matter what you do next, you’re still going to go chase her tomorrow, and the day after.”

Jean pressed his lips against yours gently as if he were scared he might break you. No. It was more like he was afraid he’d break. He held you as if his life depended on it, pulling you flush against him. And yet, his lips were so soft and hesitant against yours. He was sure you could feel him trembling against you. “Maybe this time will be different.”

“Yeah, you breathed against his lips as you made space for him on your bed. “And maybe one day I’ll stop falling for that idiotic smile of yours.”

[keepingupwithpotters]

“Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you still love me.”

This is slightly longer than usual and it doesn't even have a happy ending, oops? I presume you knew what you were doing when you sent me an angsty prompt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And a happy birthday to @mppmaraudergirl !!! Hope you'll enjoy this unrequited pining dumpster fire queen :) I only wish it was set in 6th year to complete the set 🔥🗑❤️‍🔥

The dim light from the embers was trying to illuminate the Heads’ Office as he feasted his eyes on her. He thought about rekindling the fire to see her more clearly. Would she believe him if he said he was cold in April?

Just the fact they needed more light to see —her face in his case and the parchment in front of her for Lily’s— was enough proof that they’d been here for hours now, paying the price for not doing this in the last two weeks.

He tried not to think about why they were unable to do so, the first weeks of April a black blur in his mind he’d rather not visit.

Lily’s silhouette was a good distraction from his unwanted thoughts, he turned his focus back to it. He was just about to suggest adding more logs to the fireplace, weather be damned, when he realized Lily had been talking to him for a while now.

“—tried putting her with Bones last month but he said he will land himself in the hospital wing on patrol days if we ever pair them again, so we need a new partner for her.”

“How about Selwyn?”

“No, she's a half-blood, we can’t risk it.

“Fenwick?”

Lily looked thoughtful for a moment. “Fenwick could work.”

Happy that he had thwarted the danger, he went back to his favorite pastime.

“You know, this would finish a lot faster if you were helping me instead of gawking at me from afar.”

“I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?”

“You’re disturbing my concentration, Potter. Either close your eyes or come here.”

Never one to reject an offer like this, he hurried beside her. She had another thing coming if she actually expected this to stop him from drinking her in though. He could see the shadows of her eyelashes now.

“I can help you with that performance anxiety, Evans. I heard imagining me naked should do the trick.” He swallowed the words not that you’d have any problem with it back, afraid even this was pushing the limits.

“Thank you for that mental image.”

They were still pretending nothing had happened then. Fine by him.

She did look a little flustered though, he just hoped it wasn’t in anger. He decided not to risk it anymore, taking advantage of his new proximity to the redheaded witch to follow the freckles on her cheeks. Even he couldn’t fuck this up if he never opened his mouth, could he?

Guess not.

“C’mon Potter, work with me here.”

He’d be worried if he couldn’t hear the smile in her voice. “I am. I came over here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, to go over the patrol schedule with me,” the smile spread from her voice to her lips now, “not to continue your ogling beside my face now.”

He relented after that; still deathly afraid he could offend her unexpectedly. They went through the rest of the pairs slowly, easy laughter filling the air after a while. Lily was tapping the quill against her cheek, pondering about who to give Abbot as a partner, when he slipped up again.

It wasn’t his fault that the light hit her eyes just the right way when she was pursing her lips deep in thought. He was only human after all.

Still sprawled on her seat, it was proof of just how relaxed she was when she only laughed upon noticing, “Don’t look at me like that.”

A smart James, a James who wasn’t drunk on Lily’s laugh, would’ve never said what he said next.

“Like what?”

But he was far from that smart James now, the knowledge of what he probably looked like slipping through his foggy mind.

Her laughter hadn’t died fully yet when she said, “Like you still love me.”

Ah… Well, he brought that onto himself.

That was the hardest part about being friends with her probably. But it was okay, he had done worse things for Lily Evans than pretending he didn’t love her.

“You serenade your heart out to a girl one time…”

He didn’t bring up the other time the very same words were breathed tenderly in the dark. He wasn’t sure what was allowed yet, their newfound friendship still so fragile, so delicate.

When he realized he couldn’t have her in his life anymore unless he buried his feelings, that’s what he did, the opposite choice looking so unbearable that he hadn’t wasted a second thinking about it. So what if he sometimes felt like a tight fist was mangling his heart? He was listening to her laugh now, wasn’t he?

And he remembered what it was like, in that brief period, where he didn’t even have that in his life. Prefect meetings left abruptly, conversations ending quickly when he entered the room, gaze solely directed to people who could never appreciate them the way he would… He had been starved for her eyes, her voice, her touch. He thought he didn’t have her before, but there was never a time he didn’t have Lily Evans so completely than that damn week.

Which is why he fixed it, really, she left him no other choice. He promised her friendship, swore his feelings for her were gone, vowed to never try anything again. And as a reward, he got her back.

He kept all his promises so far, their past not-relationship (never a relationship) a taboo neither of them touched… until now. Once again Lily was steering the wheel and he was helpless but to follow her lead wherever she took him. Control had never been in his hands, and he was back to looking at her to figure out how he would be hurt next.

He wondered if this was a test when Lily looked satisfied with his answer. Was there a wrong answer to give here? Did he pass?

Lily stretched in her seat unaware of his musings, his wound still too fresh, he kept his eyes away from her this time. “I think we’re almost done here. Look it over one last time and we should be good to go.”

He took the parchment over from her distractedly, giving the schedule a lazy once-over when something caught his eye.

“You’ve put me with Remus.”

Her face stayed impassive but he could see she was fidgeting with her quill. “Uh, yes. Does that work for you?”

Suspicion arousing because of her skittish behavior, he turned his eyes to the schedule to locate her name.

There.

Lily Evans & Dirk Cresswell

“I thought you hated patrolling with Cresswell, isn’t that what you said before?”

She was unable to hide her apprehension now, her face flaming up rapidly before his eyes. “Not–not exactly.” She averted her eyes. “He asked to patrol with me at the last Slug meeting, said his current partner was causing some problems.”

He tried to relax his jaw, knowing it’d make everything worse for him if he proved her discomfort right.

“The schedule looks perfect, Evans. I think we can wrap it up for the night.”

Her relief choked up the room. “Yeah, let’s just close up the office and leave this bloody room at last.”

“Actually, you know what, why don’t you leave closing up to me?” He continued without paying attention to her halfhearted protests, “No, no, you earned it. Let me deal with the aftermath, it’s the least I can do.”

She gave him a relieved smile. “Thanks, Potter.” She was already halfway to the door when she said her goodnights.

He didn’t get up from his armchair right away, eyes stuck on the door she just left.

Pretending he didn’t love her may not be the worst thing he’d done for Lily Evans, but it was surely turning out to be the worst one for himself.

[marshmallow-phd]

Gravity

Genre: Angst, Unrequited Love

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

A/N: This was basically just a therapy write. 

**

What is worth? It is neither tangible nor seeable. It doesn’t have a body or a shell. Yet, the endless chase to catch it, to hold it captive, is a never ending disease that eats away at the brain and tears apart the heart. It’s only descriptor is feeling. A judgement. Something either is or isn’t. When it's an object in question, the call for worth is passive, innocent. It’s wanted or it's not. The deterioration comes into play when the worth is applied to a person. 

Kim Junmyeon was worth the world. 

With a smile that could chase away a storm and a heart too good and pure for the human populace, he was truly worth more than the world. He was worth more than you deserved. 

Not only was his face kind, but it was handsome. Beautiful, even. Candid photos were museum worthy masterpieces. There was a gentleness, a softness to his eyes and cheeks that contradicted the sharpness of his jaw and the strength of his body. His laugh was infectious and his mind as vast and deep as the ocean. The sum of his whole was worth so much. 

But you were not worthy of such a person. You weren’t as stunning as a sunset over the mountains or as extraordinary as a new discovery. You were simply… you. Staring from afar, admiring but never touching. 

You wished you could be worthy. You wished you could be special enough - good enough to be with him. Pretty enough would be something decent to settle for. But you were invisible. A person on the sidelines. Out of the spotlight. You were an admirer - not one to be admired. 

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked, your attention torn away from the spot where Junmyeon was standing, laughing and chatting with a few of his seniors. Kyungsoo, who sat to your left at the small table in the entertainment building’s cafe, didn’t even look up from the script he was currently reviewing. He’d only been given it the day before and was still considering if he wanted the part that was being offered to him. 

Your gaze dropped to the opened yet untouched notebook lying in front of you on the somewhat sticky surface. Someone must have spilled their syprup-y coffee and didn’t do the best job at cleaning it up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Without moving his head, Kyungsoo looked at you over the rim of his glasses. Even though you were sure you were nothing more than a blur to his eyes at the moment, he could always see right through you. “If you keep staring at him like that, you’re going to give yourself away.”

The ultimate nightmare. The humiliation of being found out. The sweet but awkward rejection that you knew would follow. With his laugh still ringing in your ears, you forced yourself to tune Junmyeon out. 

Pushing his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, Kyungsoo straightened and closed the script. “We can go somewhere else, if that would help.”

You wanted to argue no. That you weren’t a coward. That you weren’t going to run and hide simply because you looked at him like he was the night sky while you were stuck on the ground. You used to have better control of yourself. You used to be able to hide it better. But lately, it had only gotten worse. 

And you were a coward. 

“Yeah. Maybe one of the practice rooms is empty.”

“There’s usually one.”

After gathering up your things, you followed Kyungsoo out of the cafe, stealing a final glance. Junmyeon didn’t so much as twitch in your direction. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he hadn’t even realized that you were there in the cafe for the past half hour. 

Kyungsoo settled into one corner of the worn navy blue couch while you squeezed into the other. Not speaking a word, he went back to reading the script. That was a nicety of your friendship. Comfortable silence was more than readily available when needed. He didn’t push or give unasked for advice. He was an ear to listen and a presence to take in when you didn’t want to be alone. 

You stared down at the notebook in your lap where your next story ideas were supposed to be filling the pages. But nothing was coming out. Not even the vague pictures you’d had earlier this morning. The only things being called to the paper were the sentences held in the invisible tears you refused to shed. Words of wishes and frustrations swirled around inside the tiny droplets, every letter as heavy as lead. Your cruel mind kept echoing at you the conversation that had constricted the air in your lungs. 

Two days ago, you’d accidentally overheard a drama staff worker jokingly say that Junmyeon and his current co-star seemed awfully close, more than merely friends. Stomach lurching, you ran to the nearest bathroom. Nothing came out but almost fifteen minutes of deliberate breathing had gone by before you emerged again. Kyungsoo was quick to dismiss the comment after barely three words from you. The effect, however, still lingered. 

Despite the history of your intrusive thoughts, you wanted to believe that you could be good enough. That you were worthy of being beside someone like Junmyeon. His co-costar was stunning, even in real life. Someone who didn’t need photoshop to draw out gasps of awe and astonishment. Someone you most certainly couldn’t compete with in any race. 

You weren’t asking for much. Just to be able to hold his hand, your fingers interlaced between his own. The fantasy you allowed yourself to indulge in at times wasn’t a grand gesture or a modern fairytale. You wanted simplicity. The smaller moments that could mean so much. Mundane, to some eyes. 

Warm sun rays leaked through the closed blinds over the living room windows. A clock on the wall ticked away the meaningless minutes. Sometimes soft music hummed in the background, sometimes there was nothing but silence. Junmyeon would lay across the length of the couch with you wrapped around his side. His fingers would absentmindedly caress your shoulder or arm. In his other hand was a book, held open by his thumb and pinky. Your own hand drifted through his hair while he read aloud. 

The two of you had dozens of endless conversations about books. About the ones you loved and the ones you hated. About deeper meanings and the reflections of life. His love of literature - from the celebrated classics to the obscure unknown - had been what initially drew you in. Everything else was what made you stay.

A muscle in your hand cramped. The peaceful scene faded from your eyes. The page was now filled with barely legible, ink-smeared words. You’d written the entire scenario out, along with your heart, without even realizing it. 

In a panic, you ripped the paper from its spiral hold, crumpled it up, and tossed it to the trash can across the room. It missed. 

“I doubt whatever you wrote was that bad,” Kyungsoo murmured. He read the final few lines of the script and closed it. 

“It wasn’t,” you admitted bitterly. “But I shouldn’t have written it.” You described the scene to him while your eyes stayed trained on the loose thread twirling between your fingers. 

He sighed. “You’re never going to tell him, are you?”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You’re just stopping yourself.”

You scoffed. “Why would I deliberately set myself up like that? Break me the rest of the way?”

Kyungsoo stared at you, long and hard, his expression blank to those who couldn’t read the tell-tale signs that his thoughts were in overdrive. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”

You sniffed, though no tears were yet forcing their way to the surface. “Most days.”

“Then walk away.”

“I can’t.” Your voice broke - just like your heart. The world blurred when you shook your head. “I can’t… simplify it. But-- It’s like I was this stupid lump of rock drifting aimlessly through space, content with my life. Then suddenly, I came across this brilliant star that shined so brightly and… we collided. And now I’m stuck in his orbit. But he just keeps on spinning while my whole world had changed completely. He’s… my gravity. I don’t know anything else anymore.”

“Maybe it’s time to find your own orbit.”

Afraid it might crack again, your voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know how.”

The door creaked open and your heart leapt. Junmyeon stuck his head inside. Had he overheard everything?

“There you are! I turned away for a second and suddenly you two weren’t in the cafe anymore.”

He’d… He’d seen you? In the cafe?

“It was too loud,” Kyungsoo lied, covering up for you like he always did. 

“It’s always too loud for you,” Junmyeon teased. Then his face morphed into that leader-esque expression. “We need to head to rehearsal. You’re welcome to join us,” he nodded to you.

“No, that’s okay,” you said quickly in response. “I have a writer’s meeting.” No, you didn’t, but space felt like the right choice at the moment. You tried not to focus on the lack of disappointment coming from the direction of the door. 

“Maybe next time.” Junmyeon slapped the side of the door. “Let’s go, Soo.”

You were actually the first one on your feet, muttering goodbyes to both of them and then walking down the hall perhaps a little too fast. 

You didn’t allow your mind to think the whole way home. Every action was done in automatic mode. Only the minimal amount of awareness was used. But when the apartment door clicked behind you, when the near darkness wrapped you up, when the silence crept in and the empty couch mocked you… you broke. 

Knees buckling from under you, the cold hard floor came closer and you didn’t leave that spot just inside the room as the tears and sobs crashed out in waves. 

This was what you hated the most. The breakdowns that came with no excuse. They were built up by your own mind, by your intrusive thoughts. You tortured yourself with what you could never have. The attacks were random and it was only recently that you had learned to hold them in long enough until you were safe within your own walls. One time, you hadn’t made it. Kyungsoo had been there to pat your shoulder. 

Kyungsoo. He was right. 

That clarity was coming through as the tears dried and your breathing evened out again. You needed space. You needed to separate yourself from what wasn’t good for you and not see him. Not even have the temptation to. 

This was going to hurt like hell. 

**

The office somehow looked smaller with the bare walls. Since the day you moved in, you tried to liven it up, give it character, make it reflect the interests you loved. How were you supposed to write if this place felt like a stifling corporate desert, dry of any creativity?

Not that you ever actually wrote in this twelve by eight space. This place had been reserved for meetings and other usually boring necessities. You didn’t know the next time a budget meeting or an email check would be conducted here. You could be back in a few months and move back in as if you never left. Or someone else could take over. Only time would tell. 

The box that currently had your attention was nearly full. You’d have to come back for the rest. There wasn’t much left, anyway. You took another look around to see if there was anything else you could do at the moment. The monitors were black, the tower underneath - so much smaller than the one you’d had as a kid - was powered off, and the chair that was aligned just so to your favored adjustments was pushed into the gray desk. Saying goodbye to this place really did hurt. 

But you needed to do this. 

And yet, you felt like you were drowning, being dragged deeper into the black water. Your lungs were screaming for relief. 

“You’re really leaving?”

Your shoulders stiffened. At first, you didn’t look up at him. You weren’t sure what to say to him. Being here… it was the last place you expected him to be today. Kyungsoo would have told him, but you wouldn’t have waited around for him to appear. 

“Hi, Junmyeon.” You folded up the top of the box, overlapping the pieces so it would stay shut in transport. 

“I thought you liked it here?”

“I love it,” you confessed. “But I- I need to go home for a little while.”

“Are you homesick?”

“Something like that.” Definitely some version of sick. 

He nodded. “Will you be gone long?” His eyes drifted over the holes in the walls leftover from the frames that used to hang in front of them. 

“I don’t know.” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This was…. You should go. Pushing your fingers under the box, you started to lift it to take it home. 

“Do you have to go?”

The question stalled you. Confused, the box went back down on the desk. “Why are you here, Junmyeon?”

He shrugged, though it didn’t shake off the stiffness in his shoulders. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his arms all the way to his wrists covered up by the sleeves of his shirt. Lately he had been rolling them up. You wondered what had changed today. “You’re our friend.”

Friend. 

Friend. Friend. Friend. 

The word rang over and over like a declaration of war. Our friend. 

The smart thing to do would have been to nod, say goodbye, and leave. But - instead - you opened your mouth. 

“I will always be your friend.”

That didn't make him smile like you would have thought. “So, then why do you have to leave?”

You rubbed your eyebrow, fighting within yourself. You lost. 

“Have you ever had a friend so head over heels for someone that won’t even look at them twice? But they don’t care? Because as long as the person they’re looking at is happy, then they’re happy. Even if your friend is completely miserable in the process. Because they no longer care about their own self. They just keep looking at the other person, doing anything that entails that they’re still happy.” You swallowed thickly to try and keep your voice steady. By your sides, your hands were trembling at this roundabout confession. “And you want to shake them. You want to tell them to get out. Because as long as they stick around, they won’t look at one else. No one else exists. Well, this is me. Getting out.”

The frown on Junmyeon’s face deepened as he let your words sink in. “Who is it? Will you tell me?”

No. Because this was enough of an admittance. Because it was time to find your own sense of gravity. 

So, without a word, you picked up the box and left the office. 

Waiting for you when you came back was the scene you had written in the practice room that day, flattened out but still wrinkled as it laid on the desk.