#that kind of thing... well anyway if i do decide to stick with it i'll drop my friend code or smth

[every-sanji]

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

[godslino]

IN BLOOM | jisung first date series. second chance lovers.

pairing: jisung x fem!reader word count: 13.2k genre: childhood friends au, angst, fluff, songwriter!jisung, florist!reader warnings: swearing, minor character death, grief/loss (nothing to do with any of the members!) summary: it's february. the tulips are in bloom. jisung is back.

chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin · · · ♡ series masterlist · · · ♡ taglist · · · ♡

a/n: *taps mic* hello?? is this thing on?? oh good. yes. hi. hello! it's been a while, as most of you can tell. thank you all SO MUCH for sticking around. if you've been reading my asks you'll know that march and april were rough months for me personally. shout out to my anons and mutuals who kept my spirits high and made my days brighter. uhhh, this was originally supposed to be a stand alone fic but i figured hey, what the hell, and made it into jisung's first date chapter. it's pretty heavy stuff. lots of feelings, lots of love. i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it! again, thank you so much for waiting for me. i'll be back soon with more updates! all the love <3

also thank you kenzie for being such a light during all of this. i hope all my screaming in your messages was worth it!

“All of these had to be pulled.” Hyunjin huffs, dropping a few crates just past the doorway. 

“Again?” you ask, hands on your hips as you stare at yet another wasted supply. “I don’t understand, they sold so well last year.”

Hyunjin gives you a sad smile. “It’ll pick up eventually, don’t worry. I mean the holidays just finished and business usually slows down in the months after anyways.”

He’s being sincere, you know that. But there’s a part of you that also knows it’s a lot more than just the usual ebb and flow of sales. He’s being nice for your sake.

“Maybe we could try coming up with other ideas?” he suggests, because Hyunjin is nothing if not kind. Always willing, always finding a way.

He moves past you to grab a fresh pair of gloves. The ones he’s wearing are dirty, pollen-stained and ripped at the edges. 

“You’ve always been really good at basket arrangements. We could try to make some for Valentine's Day. Different sizes, maybe? The big ones will probably do well for online orders since they’re more optimal for things like office deliveries and stuff like that.”

You hum in approval. “True. I mean, I was kind of worried we would have to skip out on deliveries this year since we don’t have the manpower to handle all of that, but I think Jeongin’s been looking to pick up hours around here again. He said something about his program giving them a month of independent study, so he’ll be home for a bit.” you say, scribbling down a reminder in your notebook. “I could ask him to help with driving the truck in his free time?”

Hyunjin lights up– he always does when Jeongin is mentioned. 

It’s been a lot quieter ever since he left for college. There were so many tears and so many hugs that were met with countless 'you guys are dramatic's in return. But it’s hard to not feel sad when people leave town; when they decide the borders lined with apple trees and rice fields aren’t enough to stop their dreams from blooming into more than what’s capable of being pursued here.

That, unsurprisingly, is something you know all too well.

“Can’t believe he’s driving.” Hyunjin laments as he wipes his floral scissors with a rag. “I used to spend my days changing his diapers and spoon feeding him redbulls– but now? Driving? My baby is all grown up.” he fake sniffles. “By the way, I’m gonna take my fifteen after I’m done snipping these tulips.”

You snort, bending down to take the crates of wilted flowers to the back for disposal. Hyunjin moves to help but you shake him off.

“Sounds good. Also, don’t let Innie hear you say that. I’m about a thousand percent sure he has the strength needed to throw you into the dumpster with one arm now.”

“My baby would never do that to me!” Hyunjin calls out as you round the corner, bumping open the back door with your hip. 

February brings a lot of rain in Jeju. Today is no different; fat drops landing on your head as soon as you stumble out into the alley behind the shop. Footsteps heavy on wet brick, you curse under your breath as you run as fast as you can to the dumpster.

There’s still a few supply boxes from yesterday’s shipment laying around. You meant to bring them in, but you were so exhausted that it slipped your mind while you struggled to make sure everything inside the shop was figured out.

Scrambling, you haul them in one by one, shoes squeaking against the floor as you alternate in and out, soggy cardboard pressed against the front of your apron. 

Hyunjin’s on break. A necessary one at that. You can’t bother him, especially not when he’s done enough by taking on more responsibility both as a physical worker and a newly actualized business partner recently. A few stacks of boxes and wet hair seem like a fair trade off for what he’s had to sacrifice in the past year now.

“Idiot,” you mumble, cursing yourself for carelessness. Your slip ups have been more frequent lately, evident in the way you constantly forget things and can’t seem to push away the haziness clouding your mind. 

If it weren’t for the timing of it all, you’d blame it on the weather. The gloominess. The overcast skies probably have some sort of hand in your lack of clarity. Shrouded.

But it’s February. And in Jeju— it rains.

By the time you make it back inside, you’re drenched. 

“You look like you just got dunked in a pool.” 

You frown, ringing your hair out into the trash bin by the door. It’ll definitely take time to dry off, both your hair and your clothes are soaked through.

Hyunjin watches with an amused look, arms crossed as he leans his back against the counter.

“Might as well have. It’s insane out there.” you sigh. “How was your break?”

You look up to find that his face has gone unreadable.

“Yeah, about that…” Hyunjin trails off, voice suddenly smaller than before.

“Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah it’s just–” Hyunjin chews at his bottom lip.

You push past him into the supply room to switch out your apron just as he says, “Do you mind if I leave a little early today?”

You scoff, turning to face him. “Hwang Hyunjin,” you scold, lips twitching when he visibly startles at your tone, “You don’t have to ask me that. We’re partners now, remember? We run this place.” 

He shifts on his feet, still unsure.

“Besides,” you huff, tying a knot behind your back, “We were friends way before that, too. You don’t have to be all proper with me. Of course you can leave early. It’s slow today, I can take care of it.”

Hyunjin sighs after contemplating for a second. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, though?” 

When he stares at you for a moment too long, you know the real reason for his hesitation. It makes something twist deep in your gut.

Guilt, maybe, amongst other things.

“Of course.” you shrug, doing your best to seem nonchalant. 

Hyunjin’s ability to read people is kind of intense, a little scary at times. You happen to be one of his favorite subjects in that regard.

“Have fun. Tell Minah I said hi.”

He pales, sputtering around words as he struggles to say something. It’s cute, his plump lips opening and closing, eyes wild.

“I’m not going to see her! I’m–it’s just a movie! How did you—God, you’re so annoying. I should’ve made you trim the tulips. Hah!”

You giggle. “It’s funny that you think I wouldn’t know, especially with the way you love to actually make yourself look busy whenever she stops by to say hi.”

“I am busy.” he mumbles, looking away. “I just emphasize it a lot more when she’s here.”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes, “Let’s go with that.”

He whines a couple more times, trails after you around the shop and laughs when you swat him away with a rolled up newspaper that’s used for wrapping vases.

It’s loud. Easy. Hyunjin is a gentle reminder that normalcy still exists in your day to day, even if it’s hard to find. 

When he finally decides to leave, he lingers for a moment, triple checks that you’ll be okay. You roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time today, but deep down you’re grateful. 

“Love you,” he says, one foot out the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

You shake your head, ignoring him. “Love you too.” 

And then he’s gone, a skip in his step as he heads down the sidewalk, leaving you with nothing but freshly-trimmed tulips and the sound of rain. 

“Herb snips, shears, tape…” you mumble, scanning the supply shelf. 

There’s not much to do in-shop right now. Almost all the arrangements have been tended to by Hyunjin already, his specialty being his keen eye. That’s why he handles the appeal of the shop, leaving you to figure out all the logistics. Learning it all was easier said than done.

In reality, it was never your intention to take over the shop at all. 

“When I die,” your grandma would always say, ignoring the way you groaned and begged her to stop bringing it up, “Sell this place. Use the money for something worthwhile. A trip to Greece, maybe?”

“Nana,” you would scold, glaring at her where she stood next to you, trimming a batch of roses.

Wrinkled hands that still held all the skill of youth. Fingers moving at a speed others could only ever dream of having– you included.

Your grandma handled flowers with the same amount of care she did everything else. It’s no wonder that when they grew they would lean in her direction, drawn to her like they would be the sun. 

“I’m not selling this place. It’s too special, too important. A vacation only lasts so long, Nana. This is forever.”

She would smile, turn petals over in her hand. Sometimes the marigolds would match the glow in her eyes, a testament to the belief you harbored as a child that she had the ability to sprout blossoms from her fingertips.

“The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.”

You wish you hadn’t been so hard headed. Wish that you would’ve believed her, taken the time to listen, cherished the moment a little bit longer instead of relying on the promise of tomorrow.

I’m sorry for your loss.

Your grandmother was a wonderful woman.

She’ll be with you in your heart, forever.

Oh, what a lie forever is.

The shop stays empty for the rest of the day. There were a few passersby, all of whom simply stopped to scan the arrangements along the windows before giving a polite nod and carrying on their way. 

Realistically, the shop has no problem with attracting customers. It’s a sight to behold: mid-floor to ceiling windows with various displays, hanging baskets of winding greenery, countless arrangements that fill the shelves and add a pop of color, and a wide assortment of flowers for each season. 

The real issue lies in your inability to sell. Most people regard the place as being good for nothing more than window shopping and the usual photo-op.

Business has slowed since your Grandma passed; since you took over as the sole owner and were suddenly face to face with the task of making decisions in the shop’s best interest– both integrity wise and from a business standpoint.

“I know, I know,” you say around the pen cap between your teeth, “You used to be the brains around here, not me. I’m not creative enough for all of this, you know? No matter how much I try to be.”

You look up from where your notebook lays open, dozens of scribbles for arrangement ideas and planning. The picture on the wall stares at you, unmoving, eyes as bright as marigolds.

“Don’t give me that look.” 

She stares. A gaze that holds all the answers while also saying nothing at all.

“Ugh.” you groan, leaning your palms on the desk.

You allow your head to hang forward, defeated, exhaustion flooding your bones. 

Just as you’re about to speak again, to complain about yet another thing that probably has her rolling around in her grave, the bell at the front counter dings.

The clock on the desk reads 6:55pm, five minutes until close. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in.

“Be right there!” you call out, rushing to grab your apron from where you’d thrown it on one of the chairs. 

In your haste, the box of seed packets you’d been inventorying goes tumbling to the floor.

“Fuck,” you mutter, bending down to pick everything up. One more thing to add to the list today. 

Off-kilter. Disoriented. Exhausted. 

You sniffle a few times, blinking against the sting behind your eyes as you stand up to put the box back in its place.

One deep breath, a shake of your shoulders. Just enough to chase it all away until later. 

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily, pushing past the hanging beads that separate the front of the shop from the back. “How can I help you?”

There’s a stranger, his back turned, attention focused on a batch of tulips. Freshly cut. White, blue, purple.

You realize, belatedly, that you’d forgotten to grab your apron in your haste to clean up the seed packets. Another slip up. Nana always prided herself in her apron, wore it like a badge of honor, raised you to do the same.

Just as you spin around to grab it, the stranger says, “It’s okay. I just, um, I wanted to say hi.”

You freeze. There’s a long moment where his voice rings loud in your ears, reverberates against the walls of your brain until it travels through your blood, the feeling like wildfire in your veins until it settles deep in the pit of your stomach. 

Slowly, you turn, heart clamoring in your chest, threatening to stop altogether as soon as you come face to face with the one person you never thought you’d see again.

Because there, at the front of the store, is Jisung.

Jisung, with wide eyes and parted lips. Jisung, with hair that still curls at the ends and falls in shags around his face. Jisung, broader, more actualized, now grown into his features but still undeniably soft around the edges. Jisung, with thick framed glasses pushed up his nose and silver hoops dangling from his ears. 

A stranger. But undoubtedly Jisung. 

“You look…nice.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.

Three words is all it takes. Ice turns to fire. The blood that had drained from your face returns with the blaze of a thousand suns, anger burning your throat. 

You reach forward, grab the remote for the neon Open sign and click the power button. Jisung watches in confusion.

“The shop is closed.” you manage on a shaky breath.

Jisung sighs, something heavy. “Listen, I’m—”

“The shop–” you try again, louder, “–is closed.” 

Jisung stares. His eyes are still the same velvety brown; big and round and just as you remember. 

There was once a time where the sight of Jisung in your Grandma’s shop made your heart sing. A soft tune, the thrum of a thousand harps, a song only for him.

His heart-shaped smile as he helped her hammer some of the shelves onto the wall. The sound of his laughter whenever you’d enter a sneezing fit from accidentally rubbing your face with a gloved hand. His rosy cheeks, burnt from the wind whipping past his face as he ran on foot to make sure you were okay the one time an angry customer smashed a vase on the floor and you called him crying.

But now, seeing him here, a stranger in a body you once knew like the back of your hand— it feels wrong. 

“I…” he trails off, registering the way your fists are clenched at your sides. 

“Okay,” he resigns, licking his lips. “I, uh– have a good night.”

He gives you one last look, bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, and then slips out the door. You watch his retreating figure through the glass panel, dark gray skies muting the sound of your rattling heart.

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is back.

And in Jeju– it rains.

There’s an apple tree in the middle of town where Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time. 

Off the corner, a few minutes down the road from where your houses stand a mere five hundred feet away from one another.

Your grandparents were farmers. Your grandma started her floral business a few years before you were born, a dream she always had that your grandpa urged her to pursue once he decided to sell the animals to a younger, more capable couple that could take care of them. 

Jisung’s parents, new residents on the island, looking to settle down and start a family. 

That’s how it happens. Yours and Jisung’s story, two authors of the same book, destined since the start.

Jisung was born on the same night your mother left you at your grandparents’ doorstep. One note, an apology, is all you’ve ever known about her. Your grandma never cared to indulge you. You’re glad in a way. She provided more than enough love to make sure you never felt an absence in her wake. 

The townspeople used to say you and Jisung were soulmates. Something about the heavens knowing he would need a friend, hence why you were delivered that night. From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable. 

Attached at the hip, you and Jisung grew up together. First steps, first birthdays, firsts for everything under the sun.

Jisung was there in the morning to walk with you to school and he was there at night when the two of you tucked into bed, sleepovers a regular occurrence, both of you counting the pale green stick-on stars dotting his ceiling until you fell asleep. 

Jisung was always around. He held your hand and walked with you to the nurse’s office the first time you got stung by a bee. He wiped your eyes when the boy you liked told you he only ever saw you as a friend, your first rejection. He sat with you under the stars the night your grandpa died, your face tucked into his neck as you stained the collar of his shirt with tears until you were too tired to cry. In the years that followed, he took care of you and your grandma like the two of you were his own. 

Jisung, for lack of a better word, was your first forever.

“You could come with me, you know.” 

Under the stars, real ones that time, Jisung had turned to you and offered the world. 

The air was cold. The apple tree was bare.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll be together, we’ll experience new things. I can do music and you can study all that history stuff you like to learn about. You know, nerdy things.”

“They’re not nerdy things, Ji. Don’t you know everything we have now is because of what’s happened before us?” you’d asked. “Doesn’t it make you wonder? Learning about the past helps us better understand the present, and ultimately the future.”

Jisung had hummed softly, an agreement. “I don’t care about the future, though.” he’d said. “I care about right now. You, me, this.” 

When you turned to look at him, he propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at you from above as the moon casted a halo around his head. 

“I love you,” he whispered, “And I want you to come with me.”

Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the ambition to make it his own. 

You, with all your hopes stuffed tight into a suitcase and chained to a boulder, thrown into the ocean. Sinking and sinking until it hit the bottom.

���I love you too,” you whispered back.

Images of marigolds flashed behind your eyes when you closed them, a tear rolling down your cheek. Jisung’s mouth was soft when he kissed it away, salt on his lips. Burning. 

“But I can’t.” you choked. 

Under the apple tree, Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time. He promised that the distance would be no match for him, that he would traverse oceans to find his way back. He promised forever.

It was February. The tulips were in bloom. Jisung left to pursue his dreams with a guitar on his back and your heart in his hands. Your understanding of forever was shot at point blank. The bullet passed clean through you. 

And in Jeju– it rained.

“I think you should talk to him.”

The sun is out today. Perfect weather for another field harvest. The distributor had called you early in the morning to ask if you’d be willing to accept a drop off even though it’s the weekend. You’d agreed, calling in your most reliable help for the job.

“And I think you’re not helping.” you huff, snipping the head off another hyacinth.

“Agreed,” Hyunjin parrots from beside you, currently in the middle of putting together an arrangement, “This guy sounds like a total dick.”

Chan sighs from behind the two of you, his knees knocking against the legs of the desk when he swivels back and forth in the chair. 

Besides Hyunjin and Jeongin, both of whom moved into town after you’d already graduated, and of course, Jisung– Chan is your oldest friend. 

Chan was also a neighbor of yours. Three years older than you and Jisung, he was the one who acted as a role model for the two of you when growing up. Nowadays he helps his parents run the largest orange grove on the island during the day and DJs one of the clubs in the tourism hub at night. 

“Jisung’s not a dick, he’s just–”

“An asshole.” you finish, smirking when Hyunjin cackles. 

Chan sighs. Again. “Yeah okay, I’ll give you that one.”

“Listen, I know I’ve never met him, but isn’t it weird that he just, like, showed up?” Hyunjin asks, setting down his scissors. You continue trimming the hyacinths, listening halfheartedly.

“I mean, think about it. Dude disappears to pursue music, right? He’s gone for what– three years?”

“Four.” you correct.

“God, even worse.” he grimaces.

“But yeah, okay, four years. And then boom! He just strolls in through the front door without so much as a word during the time he was gone? No letters, no phone calls, not even a damn visit. Nothing! All so he can pop up and go ‘oh, you look nice’? Come on.” he scoffs, crossing his arms.

You wince, caught off guard because you’ve never really heard it phrased as bluntly as Hyunjin put it just then. It’s no surprise that he’s annoyed, having only just heard the full story thirty minutes ago. He’d been shocked, partly because you never told him and also because he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Okay, yes, he was wrong for that. But isn’t part of you even just the least bit curious as to why?” 

You pause mid-snip, mulling Chan’s words over in your head.

The most frustrating part about it all is that you are curious. You wish you weren’t, though. Not when you’ve spent the past four years trying to convince yourself that you don’t need to know what Jisung’s been up to, don’t need to know if he’s been okay since he clearly held no concern for you in that regard anyways.

“What?” you ask when you realize that both boys are staring at you. 

“Well?” Hyunjin pushes. “Are you?”

You shrug. “No, not really.” 

There’s a total of five seconds that pass before Hyunjin is stomping over and hauling Chan up out of his chair, pushing him towards the front door as he protests.

“Out! Out, out, out, we have important business matters to discuss.”

“But we were supposed to get lunch—!”

“We’re taking a rain check!” Hyunjin fights back, shoving him out of the shop before he has a chance to answer. He drops the shade to cover the glass, Chan’s sad figure left alone on the other side.

You gape at him. “What was that for?”

Hyunjin scoffs. “You think you’re convincing? Think again.” 

He hops up on to the counter and gestures for you to do the same. When you do, he pulls you closer, grabs your hand in his, and pushes your head down until it’s resting on his shoulder. 

“Tell me the truth now,” he says, soft. “I know there’s more to it.”

Hyunjin’s warm to the touch. The heat seeps through the fabric of his shirt, igniting the skin of your cheek until you feel like you’re standing too close to the sun. A star. Hyunjin is a light in your tunnel.

“I am curious,” you start, “About him, I mean. I’ve– I don’t know. It’s been so long. I tried to pretend I didn’t care when I saw him, but the minute I looked into his eyes it was like I was eighteen again. Eighteen and happy and looking at someone that I always thought would be there, you know?” 

Hyunjin hums but doesn’t say anything. He squeezes your hand once, a signal to keep going. 

“I’m scared, though. Part of me doesn’t want to know.”

Hyunjin takes a deep breath. “What are you scared of?”

Through the gaps in the beads you can see into your office, the picture of your Grandma hanging on the wall. She stares at you, unblinking. 

“What if he tells me that it’s true?” you ask, lifting your head to look up at him. “What if he says that I was right, that he didn’t care? That he left and didn’t want to call because it no longer mattered to him? That he loves his life there and only came back to clear his own conscience?” 

“Oh honey,” Hyunjin soothes, pulling you into his chest. You hadn’t realized you were crying, that the anger and fear had bubbled over until there were tears falling down your cheeks, wetting the fabric of Hyunjin’s sweater. 

He lets you cry for a while. It’s nothing new; Hyunjin has seen you break down countless times. He’s been there through the worst of it, held your hand even in the aftermath. He’s picked you up off the floor more times than you can count, has grounded you when you felt like the world was gonna open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Salt of the earth, returning you to its core.

Once you’ve quieted into nothing more than shallow breaths and a few scattered hiccups, Hyunjin speaks again.

“Can you be honest with me?”

You nod, the hair stuck to your cheek with tears rubbing against his shoulder. 

“Do you love him?”

It nearly knocks the wind out of you. This concept, so foreign to you now, shoved to the back of your mind to make room for the things that matter most. Hospital visits, labor cuts, wage increases— none of it left any room for love, let alone the thought of someone else. Especially someone as all-consuming as Jisung.

Slowly, you inhale, breath shaking on the exhale. Hyunjin squeezes your hand to remind you that he’s there.

“I don’t think I ever stopped, Hyune.”

The silence stretches thin. The realization is dizzying. Years of suppressed emotions, of telling yourself and everyone around you that it wasn’t a big deal. The sad eyes of the townspeople whenever they’d see you sitting beneath the apple tree. The gentle touch of your grandma’s hand when she’d find you on the front steps alone, staring at the stars. The soft hum of the radio in the shop, set to a playlist of all the songs he’s written, the only reminder that somewhere out there he was doing well.

The final crack in the dam, its water pushing until it gives way.

“Then you owe it to yourself,” Hyunjin says. “You owe it to your heart to get an answer. Free yourself from this pain, love. Don’t let yourself suffer forever.”

Forever. That word again. No matter how many times you’ve tried to escape it, it always comes back.

“It’s gonna hurt.” he sighs, tightening his grip when you sniffle. “It’s gonna hurt so fucking bad, babe. But you can take it. You’ve got people who love you enough to stand in front of you and soften the blow from time to time. But you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

He hops down from the counter and moves to stand in front of you, right between your legs. Placing both hands on your shoulders, he pushes until you’re sitting with your back straight and lifts your chin. 

“You deserve an answer.” he says, with conviction this time. “Okay?”

He lets his thumb swipe beneath your eyes, smiles softly. Unconditional— that’s what he is. Hyunjin burns brighter than any star in your sky, the heat wrapping its arms around you like it’s too scared to let go, to watch you freeze and die out like so many others. 

“I don’t deserve you, though.” you say, laughing wetly when he rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” he chuckles, pulling you in for a hug, “You deserve everything and more.”

When Jisung comes into the shop two days later, you’re ready for it. 

Chan had talked to him. No surprise, really, not when he’s been letting him crash in his spare room ever since he figured out that he was holed up in one of the hotels out in the tourism hub. 

If there’s one thing about Chan, it’s that he’d rip the shirt off his back to clothe anyone in need. Housing a friend is nothing, especially when that friend is Jisung.

“I don’t know how much of a consolation this is,” he’d said nervously, watching as you regarded him with an expectant look, “But he’s pretty cut up about you not wanting to see him. Which, I know, is stupid. He is the one who fucked up. But I just– I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this, I guess.”

It’s not a consolation, not really. Knowing that Jisung is struggling is far from anything you want to hear. 

Sure, there’s anger present. Anyone would be stupid to not feel the least bit frustrated with what’s happened. Years lost, time stripped away. But you’ve long since come to terms with it, the anger turning to sadness in the meantime.

“Also, he leaves tomorrow.” Chan smiled sadly. “He really wants to talk to you before then.”

Hyunjin left early again today to give the two of you space. Not before making a show of his own though, threatening to incite violence with his arms that are supposedly ‘shredded’ from years of lifting boxes filled with petunias. 

The shop is slow again, not many sales nor a lot of foot traffic. Usually when the sun is out there’s more to do; people to see, smiles to give. But there’s nothing, just the chirping of birds and the sound of cars rolling by. 

Maybe the world knows that this is what you need. The calm before the storm. 

Five minutes until close. You’ve spent most of the day pacing back and forth. Waiting. Anticipating. 

Chan had said Jisung planned on stopping by, trying again. You’d told him that was okay, and his eyes lit up. Too much hope, maybe, that something might come of this. 

You’re seated in the back office, staring at marigold colored irises when the front door opens. You hear it this time, ears fine tuned, waiting. 

Slowly, you stand, make your way to the front. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you pull back the beaded curtain and Jisung’s figure comes into view. 

He looks the same as he did the other day: curled hair, thick glasses, parted lips. His sweater, fluffy and striped, hangs off of his shoulders in a way that boxes off his tapered waist, one that you know is hidden beneath all the layers. The sleeves are way too long judging by the way it curls over his fingers. 

“Hi.” he breathes out, watching as you step into full view.

You blink. “Hi, Jisung.”

His name feels weird on your tongue. Bitter. It’s been years since you uttered it, forbidding yourself from the luxury out of fear that it would make his absence more real. Talking about him in the past tense always scared you off before you could even get the chance. 

“How– How’ve you been?” he chews on the inside of his lip.

You want to scold him, tell him to stop the habit just like you always would in the past. He’d make a joke then, tell you to kiss him so that he had something else to do instead. You would laugh, feign disgust, but in the back of your mind you’d wanted it more than anything. 

You’d waited for it, the day you could kiss him without warning and melt into his touch as he kissed you back. Another stupid bet on forever; the belief that you had all the time in the world for things to get to that point.

“I’ve been better.” you say, taking a deep breath. “What about you?”

Good, you think. He’s been good. He looks good. He doesn’t need this place.

“Me too.” he says instead. “I’ve been better.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Silence fills the room, heavy on both your chests. The anticipation feels like it might kill you before anything else does. 

“I’m sorry that–”

“Is that all you came here to say?” you cut him off.

“What?” he asks, confused. “No, I– no.”

“What, then? What is it you want to say, Jisung?” your voice is firm. He winces when his name leaves your mouth. “Because, honestly, I’ve waited all this time to hear literally anything from you, and if all that comes out of this is that you’ve ‘been better’ I might actually lose my fucking mind.”

The words tumble out faster than you intend. You can’t help it, not with the way anxiety has been bubbling over in your chest since the moment you woke up this morning. You could barely sleep last night, not when you were playing out every possible scenario in your head, the anticipation of it all making your sheets feel scratchy against your skin and the lumps in your pillow more discernible. 

“No, no, of course I wouldn’t do that.” he says quickly. “It's just that I didn’t know where to start. I don’t know how much you’ll allow me to say, what the boundary is here. I didn’t want to just barge in and demand you listen to me. You don’t owe me that. You don’t owe me anything. Not after what I did.”

What I did, his voice rings loud in your ears. He’s aware of it, of the pain he caused. 

He takes a step forward, and then another, again and again until he’s right up against the front counter, an arm’s length away. 

Your breath catches then, when you see him up close for the first time in four years, see the way he’s grown and changed with your own eyes. 

Stubble dotting his chin, laugh lines around his mouth, the dip and curve of the bow above his lips that you always loved. Brown eyes, soil and stardust. 

“Tell me what your conditions are,” he says quietly, “And I’ll give you every explanation I have.”

The sincerity on his face is blinding. Your stomach twists at the thought of hearing what he has to say, that same fear brewing in the pit of it. You take a deep breath, feel the phantom ghost of a hand squeezing yours and a crescent moon eye smile. 

“I waited four years for you.” you say.

“I know.”

“I trusted that you’d be back. That you would keep in touch during the time you were gone.”

“I–” his voice cracks. “I know.”

“You lied to me.”

Jisung tips his head back then. Swallows down a lump in his throat. Blinks rapidly at the ceiling, veins of ivy crawling along the expanse of it.

“I know.”

“So you owe me everything. I deserve that. I deserve answers.”

When he brings his head down to look at you, it’s unreadable. A mix of emotions that you aren’t familiar enough with anymore to decipher. Fear, guilt, sorrow. Hope, too. Maybe.

You stare at him head on, fully letting your eyes meet for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He holds your gaze, unwavering. Determined. The sight makes your heart clench. 

“Okay,” he says after a beat of silence. “Okay. I can do that.”

Despite the ever-growing mountain of things to address, you decide that the first thing you want to hear from Jisung is about his time in Seoul. 

You’re only human, after all.

Best friends from the start– you can’t stop yourself from wondering what life has been like for him. Jisung’s always been good at storytelling, animated in his features and gestures to the point that you’d be rolling around and clutching your stomach from laughter. It’s one of the things you missed the most, just talking and being present in one another’s lives.

The two of you end up at one of the diners down the road. The owners, an elderly couple, coo as soon as they catch sight of you.

“My flower girl,” the old lady, Mrs. Kim, greets.

“Mrs. Kim,” you beam, moving in for a hug. When you pull away, Jisung is behind you, hands clasped behind his back and feet together like he has his tail between his legs.

“Halmeoni,” you say, gesturing at him, “Do you remember Jisungie?” 

His eyes go wide at the nickname, and you try to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, avoiding his gaze and instead watching as Mrs. Kim blinks in surprise.

“Oh! Oh my goodness, our Jisungie? Honey! Honey, look, Jisung is here! Oh you crazy boy,” she scolds, rushing forward to hit his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. “Where have you been? It’s been ages!” 

Jisung lets out an oof! as her body slams into him, all of his anxiousness dissolving into laughter as he hugs her back. 

“Hi Mrs. Kim, how have you been?” 

“Me?” she asks, pulling him away to hold at arm’s length, “Nevermind about me! I’m old! How have you been?”

Good, you think again, a mimic of earlier. Jisungs eyes flit over to yours for the smallest of moments before he answers.

“Better,” he says. “I’m doing better.”

Once both Mr. and Mrs. Kim are done doting over the both of you, they seat you by the window.

The island is always beautiful on sunny days: trees swaying, golden rays painting the rooftops in hues of pink and orange, the indigo shimmer of the ocean off in the distance.

“So,” you say, catching Jisung’s attention, “Tell me about Seoul.”

He hums. “It’s busy. Stinks. Lots of people.”

“Dream come true, yeah?” you joke, taking a sip of your water.

Jisung chuckles. “You could say that, I guess.”

“I mean, it was yours.”

“It was.” he sighs, looking down at the table. “I don’t know. It’s nice. I met good people, made even better connections. I live in this one bedroom studio apartment just outside of Itaewon, so I’m close to where all the foreigners hang out. I’ve learned a lot, gained a lot of inspiration for my music.”

You follow along, staring at him intently. His mouth, still heart-shaped, twitches when he catches you in the act.

You clear your throat, glancing away. “Yeah, I’ve– uh, I’ve heard some of your songs.”

He raises his eyebrows, almost like he hadn’t expected you to say that. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I hear them on the radio sometimes.” A lie. “It usually takes me a second to realize that it’s you.” Another lie. “But they’re good, you’re doing well.”

Pink dusts the tops of Jisung’s cheeks as he turns back to the window, clearing his throat.

He looks younger like this, like he’s still the same boy who would sit across from you all those years ago. Cherry-stained lips and a smile so bright it put the sun to shame.

He talks a bit more about his music, about how he’s with a good company that gives him creative freedom and enough support to pursue more if he desires.

His eyes light up when he tells you about his studio, a small room on the fifth floor of a building in the middle of the city where he does all of his writing. It’s equipped with an entire soundboard, full of instruments that he says he’s been able to get signed by artists that come in and out. Most notably, his guitar, the same one he left with. 

Slowly, like a flower blossoming, petals opening one by one, you feel yourself falling back into step with him.

Everything is so familiar: the curve of his smile, the tilt in his voice when he gets excited, the rumble of laughter when he recounts an embarrassing run-in with an A-list celebrity in the company’s cafeteria. He shares stories that fill your heart as the two of you fill your stomachs.

But with the ease comes something more, something you recognize as longing. You hadn’t realized how much you longed to be there through this part of his life, how you wished you’d been the one to answer a video call as he showed off his apartment the first day he moved in, his company badge when it was newly issued, every moment of happiness that you’d been absent for just as much as he was absent for yours.

He seems to share the same sentiment then, when he sets down his fork and stares at his empty plate. 

“You run the shop now,” he says, “How’s that been?”

You purse your lips, nodding your head slowly. You knew this conversation would happen, that it was coming.

“It’s good, I guess. Been almost a year now since, uh, it was left to me.” you shrug. “I’m not alone though, Hyunjin is a big help. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Jisung noticeably bristles. Eyebrows pulled together, staring more intently at a crumb on his plate. It looks like there’s a lot he wants to say, like he can’t find the words to say them.

So, naturally, you do it for him. 

“I assume Chan told you so I wouldn’t have to, by the way.”

He looks up then, as if he wasn’t expecting you to address the very obvious elephant in the room.

“He did, yes.” Jisung says after a while. His voice is quiet, gentle, like he’s walking on eggshells. “I– I didn’t know how to bring it up. I assume you’ve heard it all already but– I really, really am sorry to hear about Nana.”

The way her name sounds coming out of his mouth turns your mind to static.

Suddenly you’re in the hospital again, monitors beeping, hands as soft as petals cradled in your own and wishing that you could bury your face in a familiar neck as you cried and watched the marigolds wilt. 

“I don’t need an apology for that.” you croak, blinking back tears. Jisung is somewhere in your periphery, your vision blurry around the edges.

“It wasn’t sad. Her life, I mean. It was full. Of love. Of light. She left this place happy. That’s what she told me, at least.”

You take a deep breath. “So don’t be sorry about it.”

Jisung sniffles, and the sound shoots straight through your chest. 

“I know. I just– I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been. I had no idea that–”

“Nobody did, Jisung. Don’t punish yourself for that.”

He sees it then, when you finally meet his eyes, the acceptance. You’ve come to terms with things a long time ago, have fought tooth and nail to come out on the other side of all the guilt and resentment and grief alive. Scathed, but alive nonetheless.

“You’re right.” he sighs, wiping at his eyes quickly. “She’d probably yell at me for saying that.”

You laugh, suddenly, the noise startling him. Jisung looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I think she has a lot more to yell at you for than being sorry that she died.”

The bluntness punches a chuckle out of him, and you giggle at the thought.

Your grandmother was always such an outspoken person. She always said what was on her mind, speaking it loud. There’s no doubt that if she was here she’d be berating Jisung, smacking him upside the head before pulling him into a hug and cooking his favorite meal. Tough love, but still, love.

“She would’ve loved to be able to see you.” you say once your laughter dies out, the air a bit lighter between the two of you. “She always wondered if you’d grow your hair out without her around to nag you about keeping it short.” 

He reaches up to run a hand through his curls, the strands falling around his face in a way that has your heart stammering in your chest.

“Well, clearly I don’t know how to listen.”

“No, you don’t.”

Jisung smiles softly. “Maybe I’ll cut it now. You know, since I’m here. And because I know she’d want me to.”

You watch him carefully, searching his eyes. For what, you don’t know. All that’s in them are stars. 

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re here.”

By the time the two of you leave the diner, stomachs full and enough bags of extra side dishes hanging off of your arms to last you at least two weeks, courtesy of Mrs. Kim, the sun is almost fully set. 

The ocean is calm, the evening breeze just barely brushing the surface of the tide. Jisung walks in step with you down the street, one side of his face cast in a glow from the sun’s fading rays. 

“Do you think you’d maybe want to stop by the arcade that Old Man Park runs? Just for a little?”

You snort. “Why? So I can embarrass you?”

“Hey!” he puts a hand on his chest, offended. “I’ll have you know that I let you win all those times.”

“How do you let someone win after spending hours practicing while I worked at the shop?”

“I was being nice!”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t believe me?” he grins. You try not to look, afraid of how bad your blood pressure might spike from the sight. 

“I’ll have you know that I’m one of the best Kart Rider players in the PC Bang scene back in Seoul.”

“Jisung,” you scold, “That’s a computer game. These are coin-ops. There’s way more skill needed.”

“No there isn’t!”

He knocks his shoulder against yours, tucking his chin to his chest to hide his smile when you try to fight back.

It’s easy. Nice. There’s a soft melody echoing in the dust-covered chambers of your heart. You still know all the chords.

Old Man Park’s arcade is a few doors down from the shop. You stop there to drop off the food, spare a glance in the mirror hanging in your office to fix your hair.

Your grandma’s picture stares at you from the other wall, eyes bright.

“Love you,” you say, kissing the skin of your fingertips and pressing it gently against the frame.

Jisung is toeing at a few rocks on the sidewalk when you walk back out. He doesn’t see you, too busy with his eyes casted down at the concrete, hands shoved into his pockets. 

It’s still hard to believe that he’s here. Flesh and bone. For a long time it felt like he was nothing but a distant dream, someone who only existed in the memories that you kept locked deep within your heart, the key somewhere on the streets of Seoul.

“Ready?” you ask.

He looks up, his glasses moving when his cheeks round into a smile.

Something passes across his face– a myriad of emotions in just a fraction of a second. Hesitantly, he holds out his hand. Long, delicate fingers.

You stare at it, swallowing roughly around the butterfly wings flapping inside your throat. 

The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.

Forever isn’t promised. But even then, there are things you know for sure:

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is here. Living, breathing, in the flesh. 

So you take his hand, watch as relief floods his features, and let yourself feel.

The wind in your hair, the calluses on Jisung’s palms, and the warmth radiating out of the smile that threatens to split his face into two.

And with that certainty, the two of you start walking. A silent agreement to focus on the now.

You. Him. This.

“God, I can’t believe everything is only one coin.”

You laugh, watching as the multi-colored lights cast a glow on Jisung’s face. 

“Stop acting like you don’t remember this place.”

“I don’t!” he argues, smiling. “We stopped coming here, what, in middle school? Once Chan hyung started driving? We would always ask him to take us to the other one out in the big town!”

Chan’s first car was an old Camry with leather seats and enough room for the three of you to pile into after school. Used, but still with enough juice to satisfy three young kids who felt like they were on top of the world.

You used to sit in the back, the wind whipping your hair every which way while yours and Jisung’s hands lay side by side in the middle seat, pinkies brushing but neither of you willing to take it further. 

“Oh, shit!” Jisung gasps, letting go of your hand as he runs up to the space invaders machine. 

“Here we go,” you sigh, following after him. He’s like a kid in a candy store, face filled with innocent wonder and joy.

“Aren’t there, like, I don’t know– things better than this in Seoul?” you ask as he shoves a coin into the game.

Jisung turns to look at you with a devilish grin. “Obviously,” he says, “But I can’t beat anyone’s high score over there. Here though? Ha! This place is ancient. I can finally be at the top of the leaderboard in something.”

“We’ll see about that.” you mumble, the noise of the game booting up drowning you out. 

Jisung sticks his tongue out when he focuses really hard on things. It’s cute, the way the end of it sits between his lips, spit-slick and parted just a little bit.

He’s glowing, probably because of the lights, hues of red and green and blue flashing across his face. But then again, Jisung has always shined brighter than anything. 

The game beeps to signal that he has one life left. He grunts a few times, his fingers tapping the buttons madly as his other hand handles the joystick in a frenzy of movements.

When it ends, he groans, throws his hands up in defeat.. 

You shake your own head knowingly, watching his eyes bug out of their sockets as soon as the leaderboard appears on the screen, the 8-bit letters blinking at him. 

“You’re joking.” he laughs in disbelief, turning to stare at you. “Please tell me you’re joking.” 

There, on the screen, is your name. The highest score. Jeongin and Hyunjin’s names sit just below you, respectively.

“What was that again about finally being able to be at the top?” you mock him, smirking.

“Since when did you get good at this?”

You shrug. “Had to find something to do in my free time.”

“No,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Nuh-uh. No way. This is not happening. I will beat you.” he holds out his hand for another coin, to which you roll your eyes and place one in his palm. 

“You might as well give up now. We’ll be here all night.”

“In your dreams.” he scoffs, assuming his position as another round loads onto the screen.  

Jisung has always been competitive. It’s one of his more hidden characteristics. 

It persists still, you realize, as you watch him burn through the styrofoam cup of coins that Old Man Park had given the two of you. Free of charge for old time’s sake.

Fort-five minutes. All he’s managed to do is bump Hyunjin down to fourth.

“Ugh!” he groans, kicking the machine lightly with his foot. 

“Look at you throwing a tantrum.”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” he pouts. You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay fine. I’m throwing a tantrum.” 

“Thought so.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks. “This is, like, our first date. And I’m sucking. Hard.”

“Our–” you stop, eyes wide. Jisung mimics you, almost like he didn’t mean to say what he did. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. But the world doesn’t end. Time keeps moving. Jisung is still here.

“I didn’t–”

“I like the sound of that.” you say quickly. “Of this being our first date, I mean.’

He smiles. Slow and sweet like molasses. Blinding.

“And the fact that you suck.”

The moment is shattered, his resulting whine echoing throughout the arcade.

“Come on you big baby,” you laugh, grabbing his hand. “I know a game you can beat me at.”

He lets himself be pulled, pretending that he’s upset, but you can see the smile tugging at his lips when you lace your fingers together.

The feeling is still new, this ease you have with him. The wounds you sported all those years are still healing, some more fresh than others. But with each laugh that comes out of Jisung’s mouth and shared glance, every note that your heart sings, you can feel them beginning to fade. A balm to soothe the burn.

The Pac-Man game is situated in the back corner of the arcade, right next to the jukebox. It used to be your favorite, because Jisung would always use his own coins to play songs for you while you tried to score higher than twenty-five thousand points. 

When you get there, he frowns. “The only game you think I can beat you at is Pac-Man?” 

“I don’t think,” you say, grabbing a coin before shoving the cup into his chest. “I know.”

The game boots up instantly, and you smile softly to yourself when Jisung moves wordlessly behind you, slips a coin into the jukebox.

“Play something good, Jisungie.”

He freezes. Out of the corner of your eye you watch him stare at you for a long moment. And then he smiles. Stardust.

“You got it.”

In a matter of seconds, Lovers In A Dangerous Time by Bruce Cockburn rings throughout the arcade, the speakers on the ceiling fighting past the static.

An old song. The same one your grandparents would dance to in the mornings, eggs on the stove and love in the air.

Your grandma used to say it was written for them, because when they fell in love the war was at its peak and she didn’t know if he’d ever come home. 

After he passed, she still played it, except those times it was Jisung who twirled her around and painted a smile on her face as you watched from the same spot you grew up in. Always there.

Jisung, Jisung, Jisung. 

When the game starts, you try your best. It’s hard. You’ve always been terrible at anything involving quick decisions. Focusing on everything at once isn’t easy for you, that much is still true. 

“Shit.” you mumble, the top right corner of the screen reading ten thousand points as the ghosts run into you.

Jisung lets out a low whistle. “Harsh.”

“You wanna go back to space invaders and waste the last of our money?” you raise an eyebrow. 

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.” he says, holding the cup out for you to take another coin. 

You try a couple more times, failing each and every one. You can tell that Jisung is growing more and more amused with every attempt, and the smugness radiating off of him is starting to rub you the wrong way.

“If you’re so good,” you say after a particularly sad attempt, turning to glare at him. Jisung has his lips pulled tight to stop himself from laughing. “Then why don’t you try?”

He chuckles then. “I’d rather help you, if you’ll let me.”

“How are you supposed to do that? We only have one coin left.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything. He puts the cup down, the last coin held between his fingers. You watch as he slips it into the machine, move to get out of his way once he’s done, but he stops you by grabbing your hand and spinning you back around, his fingers placed over yours on the joystick. 

With your back flush against his front, caged in by his arms on either side, Jisung takes a deep breath.

“This okay?” he asks right next to your ear, the curls on the side of his head brushing your cheek when he leans down to get a better look at the screen.

Warm. He’s so warm. The material of his sweater only worsens the heat, and the faint scent of vanilla makes your head swim.

It’s more than okay. Great, even. It’s Jisung. Everything and more.

“Yeah,” you say, letting him control your hands as he flicks the joystick. “It’s okay.”

The hair against your cheek moves when he smiles. “Good.” he says, and then hits the start button.

The game begins but you’re barely processing what’s happening, too aware of the feeling of his body pressed against yours. 

A firm chest, different from what’s observable on the outside, what with the fluffiness of his sweater and soft features. His arms too, encasing you, the bulge and flex of his biceps every time he moves.

It’s all so intoxicating, so much so that you don’t even realize you’ve beaten the highest score in the system by the time he loses his last life. 

“What?” you blink. “What the hell?!”

You laugh, spinning to face Jisung who’s grinning from ear to ear. In your excitement, you jump, flinging your arms around his neck. He’s surprised, but catches you nonetheless, circling his arms around your waist.

“Holy shit how’d you do that!” you squeal while he swings you around, feet off the ground.

“Magic, I guess.” he chuckles. 

The closeness of his voice brings you crashing back down, suddenly aware of what position you’re both in. You pull back quickly, clear your throat, and watch as his face falls from the loss of contact.

It’s been a long time since you hugged Jisung. The thought transports you to that day four years ago, standing under the apple tree, the future uncertain. Forever promised.

Things are different now.

“Sorry,” he backtracks. “I didn’t– um, I wasn’t trying to–”

You cut him off by throwing yourself at him for a second time. Intentional. Breathless. Tired of running and acting like it’s not the thing you want most in the entire world.

Jisung doesn’t react until he feels your face against the skin of his neck. On instinct, he hugs tight, hands around your waist, breathing in the smell of your hair.

“Hi.” you whisper against him. 

One word. Simple. However the weight of it sends a chill down his spine. It feels like home. 

He tightens his hold. A silent understanding. The two of you never had much of a need for words anyways. 

“Hi.” he whispers back.

The apple tree is much bigger now.

Long, thick branches, a wide trunk, a slight tilt in its shape.

It’s bare. The season is long gone. But it’s okay, because it means that the view of the stars isn’t blocked when you and Jisung lay beneath it.

It’s the same but it isn’t. There’s gaps– periods of time where the two of you grew separately. There are moments and memories tucked away that neither of you know about, whole lives to discover. 

But even so, it feels right. His arm wrapped around you, your head on his chest. The stars and the moon. You and Jisung.

It’s nice. Perfect, even. But there’s a conversation that needs to be had. One that can’t be put off any longer.

“Ji.”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Jisung shifts beneath you, tightening his hold. The grass is damp. Neither of you care, too caught up in each other to stress about whether or not it’ll stain.

“Of course.”

“Am I ever gonna see you again?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

“You said that last time.”

“I know.”

“So what makes this different?” you ask, sitting up. He watches you carefully, eyes trained on every movement like he’s scared you’ll get up and run away.

When he realizes you’re waiting for an answer, he sits up too, pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. 

He doesn’t say anything, just wordlessly reaches into his pocket. Silently, he hands whatever he grabbed to you. A guitar pick.

It’s white, a marbled design. Golden flecks infused into the lines. There, on the front, is a singular marigold. When you flip it over, you’re met with a tulip. 

“Do you remember that one time, when you called me crying at midnight because Nana told you that she didn’t know if she’d be able to afford school in the city?”

You nod silently, still turning the guitar pick over in your hand. 

It was one of those nights where the rain was relentless. Monsoon season always tagged on to the tail end of the school year, bringing with it a more intense gloominess than usual. 

You’d been angry. Stressed. Irritated that other kids at school were making plans to go to the mainland for college and you were stuck helping your grandmother trim foliage and wrap vases in newspaper.

“You told me that you couldn’t do it anymore.” Jisung whispered, staring up at the sky. “That you were tired of being here. That you needed to get out.”

You remember. Jisung had walked through the rain to show up at your window. Had climbed in with muddy shoes and sat on the floor of your room with you until the downpour stopped and your tears dried.

“And I said that I would make it happen, that I would invent a way to live amongst the stars so you could be as far from here as possible.”

“So what?” you ask, looking at him. “Did you finally do it, then? Is that why you came back?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“No, Jisung, I’m gonna fucking be like that.” you scoff, rising to your feet. 

There’s a fire in your veins, stoked until the embers are burning hot against your throat. Too good to be true. You should’ve known that there was no explanation left for him to give.

Jisung scrambles to his feet. “It wasn’t like I wanted to–”

“Oh like hell you did.” you say, turning to face him. “Four years, Jisung. I waited four years and you just– you come back and decide to tell me about some make-believe bullshit to save yourself and feel less guilty about the fact that you left.”

“It wasn’t make-believe to me,” he argues. “It was real. Everything I said was real. I left and I tried for years to make something of myself so I could come back here and get you.”

“Oh so it’s my fault? I made you leave, is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“So then say something else!” you yell. The stars rumble, threatening to fall out of the sky. “Say something else, then, Jisung. Why didn’t you call? Huh?”

“Because I–” he stops, licks his lips. “God. Fuck. I couldn’t face you if I had nothing to show for myself, okay? It wasn’t fair to you for me to leave you behind just so I could fail.”

“Ha!” you laugh, running a hand through your hair in disbelief. “So you decided to go radio silent instead? Decided to not only leave me alone but let me suffer and wonder about where you were because that’s so much better than telling me that you were struggling, right? Great choice, Jisung. Really.”

He blinks a few times, watching as you pace back and forth in the grass. 

Anger bubbles deep in your gut. This whole time, he knew. It was a conscious decision. Jisung deliberately didn’t contact you because he chose not to.

“Did you ever even love me?”

The words tumble out before you can stop them. Jisung’s entire body goes rigid, his face falling and eyes hardening within a fraction of a second.

“Watch what you say.” he says, his voice low in his chest.

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just be honest.”

“I’m trying.” he pleads. His eyes are glossy. Big and round behind his glasses. Illuminated by the moon. 

“I fucked up, okay? I prioritized myself and the way I felt over you and fucked everything up. But I tried. I tried so fucking hard. And I’m sorry it took me so long but I wanted– no–  I needed to make sure that I had everything figured out before I came back. I promised I would.”

“No, Jisung, you promised me that��”

“I’m not talking about you.” he says then, taking a deep breath. “You weren’t the only one I made promises to back then.”

Before you have a chance to speak, Jisung says, “I promised her. I told her I’d get you out of here. That I’d give you a life that you deserved, because she knew she couldn’t.”

You drop to your knees when the first sob hits, the force of it racking your body so hard you feel like you’re drowning. Jisung catches you on the fall, holds you up, lets you bury your face into his neck like he had so many times before.

“She told me you believed in forever. She wanted me to give that to you. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Jisung lets you cry. He holds you through the storm, your wails as loud as thunder and tears as heavy as rain. Four years in the making; the sky and the earth colliding until the dirt and layers of sediment give way to the molten core that’s been hiding beneath the surface all along.

Pain. Grief. All of it pent up and leading to this moment. 

“You should’ve told me.” you cry, beating a fist into Jisung’s chest. “You idiot. You fucking idiot. You should’ve told me.” 

Jisung pulls you in closer, takes each hit as long as it means that it’ll soften the blow on your heart. He whispers apologies in your ear, runs a hand through your hair. 

When it quiets again, the worst of the storm gone, he shifts so that your head is in his lap, his legs crossed and tucked beneath him. A few stray tears wet the fabric of his jeans, your eyes focused on the field of flowers across the street.

“I won’t ask you to come with me.” he says after a long while, when your breathing has evened out. “I know that things are different. You have a life here that you’ve made for yourself, responsibilities to bear as well.”

He pauses to push a few strands of hair out of your face. His fingers are gentle against the skin of your cheek.

“But I promise it’ll be different. I spent too long away from you, was too selfish for my own good. I won’t disappear again. I’ll call every day. I’ll visit. You’ll get every part of me that I kept away from you all this time, and I’ll get every part of you in return.”

Your heart thrums. The thought of having what you’ve wanted for so long. Of having Jisung.

“And when you’re ready, when you feel like you can’t do it anymore, there’ll be a place for you.”

His voice is firm. Confident. More sure than he’s ever sounded before in his life.

When you turn to face him, he’s already staring back. Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the offer to make it yours.

Under the apple tree, Jisung leans down and kisses you for the first time. Twenty four years in the making, soft and slow, his lips a perfect fit against yours. A starboy and his flower girl. His glow is so bright it makes blossoms sprout from her fingertips.

Soft curls tickle your eyelids when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. You reach up to run a hand through them, smiling softly when he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. 

“I love you.” you say first this time. 

He reaches out a hand, closes it over your fist that’s still clutching the guitar pick. A marigold and a tulip, both working together to make a perfect harmony. 

“I love you, too.” Jisung whispers back. “Forever.”

Jisung stops by the shop early to say goodbye.

There’s less tears this time, less of a reason to be sad. But still, when he wraps his arms around you, vanilla filling your nose and curls against your face, you feel your composure crumble.

“Every day.” he says, repeating the same thing he did all night. “I promise. Morning and night. Also at lunch. Oh, and on your days off. Matter of fact, you can call when you’re on the toilet too.”

The last part earns him an elbow to the ribs, his laughter bubbling up and out of his throat as he tries to dodge any and all subsequent attacks.

He kisses you stupid before he goes, Chan rolling his eyes from his car out front. You flip him off blindly, Jisung’s lips still attached to yours, earning a loud honk in response.

When he leaves, the shop is quiet, the only sound being the buzzing of your phone as Jisung blows it up with text messages the second the car pulls away.

You’re too busy replying, giggling to yourself when a slew of cute emoticons start appearing one by one, that you nearly fall over out of your chair when Hyunjin bursts through the door.

“Jesus Christ Hyune, did you have to–”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, breathless. 

“Uh,” you blink, glancing round. “Working?”

“Is Jisung not on a damn plane right now?”

“I mean he’s on his way to the airport. Chan is–”

“Chan hyung told me that Jisung wanted you to go with him.” Hyunjin says, brow furrowed.

You sigh. “He didn’t want me to go with him. Well, okay, he did. But I told him I can’t just pick up and leave. He knows that. Nana left this place to me and–”

“You are so stupid.” Hyunjin sighs. 

“Excuse me?” you ask. You stand up, crossing your arms as you walk closer to the counter. 

“Come on. We have to go.”

“Go where, Hyunjin? I’m not leaving to–”

He cuts you off, places an envelope on the wooden surface. “And I am not letting you stay here and pretend that this is what you want.”

“What is that?” 

“A plane ticket.” he says, pushing it towards you. “To Seoul.”

Your mouth opens and closes, lost for words. Hyunjin is already moving around the counter, pushing past you with an expression the most serious you’ve ever seen on him.

“Hyunjin I– I can’t– where did you even…?”

“Chan hyung has a friend.” he mumbles as he begins pulling stuff out of the office. Your planning notebook, your apron, the picture of your grandma off the wall. All of it thrown into a small box he managed to snag from somewhere off to the side.

“His name is Seungmin or something. Met him out in the tourist hub. Dude’s super rich with tons of miles and apparently owed Chan for a drunken night where he needed to be escorted to his hotel. So thanks to him, you’re leaving.” he explains as he grabs the box with both hands and starts walking towards the door.

“Wait.” you stop him, watching as he turns to regard you with a look that says his patience is running thin. 

“I told you I can’t leave, Hyunjin. This place is where I need to be.”

He huffs, places the box on the ground in front of him. His hair falls in waves around his face, a shimmery dark brown beneath the rays of the sun poking into the room. 

“Can you be honest with me?” he asks. 

You nod, slowly. 

“Do you love him?”

Hyunjin watches you with careful eyes. Reads you like a book, something he’s always been good at. You don’t doubt that it’s written on your face. Star-kissed cheeks and eyes as bright as marigolds. 

“So much that it hurts, Hyune.”

Hyunjin smiles, eyes watery. “Then you deserve to go. You deserve your chance to be free. Don’t worry about this place, I’ll take care of it.”

The familiar sting of tears sits behind your eyes. Your heart swells full of love for this friend, this light, this beacon of unconditional love in the shape of your best friend.

“I don’t have clothes.” you manage to say around the lump in your throat.

Hyunjin shakes his head, tears spilling down the bridge of his nose. 

“I’ll send them to you.”

“There’s a lot to do around here for just one person. What if you need me?”

“I’ll manage.” 

You round the corner quickly, throwing yourself into his chest. He catches you with ease, wraps his arms around your body as the both of you cry into each other.

“I’ll miss you.” you say weakly.

Hyunjin’s throat bobs against the top of your head. “I’ll always be here in our little corner of the world.”

The two of you stay like that for a while. Hyunjin’s warmth seeps into your skin, lights you ablaze. By the time he pulls away, his hands on your shoulders, you feel like you’re floating. Unreal.

“I don’t have a way to get there.” you say quickly, glancing at the clock. 

Jisung’s plane leaves soon. The airport, the only one on the island, is a thirty minute drive. You’re at a disadvantage the more time you spend not moving. 

“Don’t worry,” Hyunjin chuckles. “I’ve got that taken care of.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he means when you’re cut off by the sound of honking from outside. Confused, you run to the door, your jaw dropping as soon as you realize who’s waiting for you.

“Hurry up people we don’t have all day!” Jeongin calls, his upper body hanging out of the window. He’s parked outside in a beat-up truck, arms waving wildly when he spots you.

“Innie!” you scream, pushing through the door to run at him. He jumps out of the truck just in time for you to barrel into his chest, laughter loud in your ears as he spins you around. 

“You’re here! Oh my god I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.” you say in disbelief once he puts you down.

He looks older, more sophisticated. His hair is rusted and falls past his ears, the ends just barely touching his shoulders. 

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “I figured I’d show up earlier. You know, see you before you leave, catch up with my parents, help Hyunjin break into your house. The usual.”

“Help Hyunjin break into my what–” you say, but you stop when your eyes fall on the small suitcase in the backseat. Your own bag, the one that’s been sitting in your closet untouched for years now.

“For the last time,” Hyunjin says from behind you, carrying the box in his arms. “It’s not breaking and entering if I have a key. Which, by the way, I told you would come in handy one day.”

He sets the box down next to the luggage and dusts his hands on his pants. When he turns to face you, he’s smiling, eyes disappearing into crescent moons.

With tears threatening to spill once again, you stare at the both of them, your heart bursting at the seams. “I love you guys.”

Jeongin grimaces, opts for getting back in the driver’s seat as you laugh. Hyunjin rolls his eyes and ushers you inside of the truck.

“Yeah, yeah. Save it.” he says. “Right now, you have a plane to catch.”

The airport is crowded. 

There are tons of people everywhere, some saying hello and some saying goodbye. Hyunjin explained the gate system to you before you left him and Jeongin on the curb, and you keep glancing down at your ticket to make sure none of the information has changed in the past thirty seconds since you last looked. 

Thankfully, your gate isn’t far. With twenty minutes to go until boarding, you can feel the sweat building up beneath the hand that’s curled around your suitcase handle. 

It’s scary thinking about the fact that this is it. That you’re finally leaving. 

It’s bittersweet, too. There’s an excitement in the pit of your stomach as well as a feeling of dread in your chest, both of them meeting in the middle somewhere. 

You let your eyes scan the crowd, searching for wavy hair and thick-rimmed glasses. However, the first thing you see is the familiar neck of a guitar, strapped right on to a back that you would know and recognize anywhere without warning.

Jisung is seated near the gate, his eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a pout as he glares down at his phone. You realize that he’s probably wondering why you won’t answer, why all of his emoticons are going ignored. 

Quietly, you come up behind him, reach into your pocket, and say, “Excuse me? I think you dropped this.”

Jisung startles, his eyes falling on to the guitar pick being held out in your hand. Slowly, he lets his gaze follow upwards, wide-eyed and shocked.

“What– what are you doing here?” he asks. 

You place the pick in his hand. “I'm on my way to Seoul. There’s a guy there that I’ve been trying to find for a while.” you say. 

Jisung catches on quickly. “Oh, really?” he asks, moving over so you can sit beside him. “This guy must be pretty great if you’re leaving for the mainland.”

The rain starts hitting the tarmac outside right as you sit down. “Hm, yeah. He is. He really likes the stars. He says that he found a way for me to live in them, too.” 

He laughs, the sound making your stomach flip. “Sounds like you’re excited.”

You nod. “I am. He promised me that we’d do a lot together, experience new things. Apparently he’s gonna write songs and I’m gonna be a nerd.”

Jisung snorts and reaches across to link his hand with yours.

“He’s really lucky.” he says, leaning over to plant a kiss on your lips.

You smile into it. “So am I.” you whisper into his mouth, your heart stuffed to the brim with flower petals. 

And when Jisung smiles back, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek and give you another kiss with the force of a thousand suns, you feel the key you’d been searching for finally click into place. 

Salt of the earth. Soil and stardust. A boy who glows so bright that his girl sprouts blossoms from her fingertips. 

Forever isn’t promised. But then again, with Jisung by your side, there are things you know for certain:

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. In Jeju– it rains.

And no matter what, despite all odds, you and Jisung will always find your way back to each other in the place where marigolds grow.

[tags: @skzstarnet @snowyquokka @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @drhsthl @strwbrrychannie @shays-library @giuliadesu @iknowyouknowminho @linocz @pynchkilledme @jisunglyricist @itsgghowitsgg @alician87 @skzms @meloncremesoda @ilychee08 @allaboutsan @legally-lixs @stayceebs97 @candyquokka @chans1aptop @liknws @realrintaro @beeracha @vxllxnsworld @feelikecinderella @caitxx1 @lilac13 @sebastianswhore13 @classiclitandmemes @hyunverse @linosazuna @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @bubbly-moon @cookiesandcreammy ]

[impactedfates]

Letters Unsent - Genshin + HSR Boys x GN! Reader

★ Summary: After their death, you find a letter. A letter he wrote. A letter he wrote for you, a letter he wished he could’ve given to you personally. A letter describing his feelings.

☆ Characters Included (Separate): Diluc, Wriothesley, Cyno, Argenti, Jing Yuan + Gepard

★ Genre/Trope: Angst + Hurt/No Comfort

☆ Warnings: Major Character Death (Not the Readers)

★ Extra: Angst is fun, angst is nice :)) // Might make another part with different characters if this does well // Not fully proof read // Motivation came back cuz of sad tunes/hj

He said he'd be back, that it'll be quick. Despite your worry, you knew he was strong, so he'd be able to protect himself right? So you trusted him. Trusted him so much that when his co-worker showed up to your door with an expression you couldn't exactly read, you were confused. It was about him but...he was fine right? Then why were they telling you he had passed? The injuries he sustained was...to much for his body to handle? The healers couldn't help him? But...he said he'd be back...you were snapped out of your thoughts when they handed you a letter with your name on it. "I think he knew he wouldn't be able to make it...so...he wanted you to have this...even if he couldn't hear your answer"

"To My Dearest,

If I'd ever be lucky to even call you that. Although this isn't ideally how I wanted to do this. I believe I can only get these things on paper, it's much too difficult otherwise. I was never good with words so I hope this alternative is alright for you.

Ever since the day I first laid eyes on you, I knew you were different. Not in a bad way. It took me way too long to figure out the reason for this was due to the fact I loved you.

I loved seeing your smile.

Hearing your laugh.

Loved the small talk we had that would end up with me taking you home. You made me feel something I didn't think I would ever feel, and I'm unsure if I even deserve it.

If I even deserve you.

Whether or not you feel the same way, I hope we can stick together as long as time allows us.

Sincerely

Diluc."

"To Y/N

Hope you're doing well, life in Meropide is still as dull as ever. Well, unless you decide to visit, you really do light up the room when you come by don't you? Or maybe that's just for me.

Anyways, preferably I would be telling you this in person, but more work has piled up. That's also why our little tea sessions have to be put on hold for now. Don't worry, as soon as this all clears up and I investigate this one area, then we can go back to the usual.

I have this one blend I think you'd really like!

Anyways, enough beating around the bush.

I like you.

Like like you.

I love you.

So much.

I can't even begin to describe how much I love you, and even if I did I feel you'd be gagging at how cheesy I was being haha!

But really, I love you so much. I want to be with you, of course I understand if you don't feel the same. But Sigwinnie would have my head if I postponed this confession any longer.

I hope to see you again after my work.

Yours Truly

Wriothesley"

"Hello Y/N

I never thought I'd be writing this kind of letter in my free time. Unfortunately for me, it seems as though fate likes making things harder for me and whenever I want to even try to talk to you about this, it's much more difficult than it was when I practised in the mirror.

Or...

Well...

Practised to Tighnari.

We can ignore that for now though as I'm still trying to put this all together in words.

I would let you borrow my TCG set, you can use it as you please and I'd even let you touch my limited edition cards.

If that's not making any sense then how about a joke?

How does a fruit confess?

They say "Olive You"

.

.

.

Get it, because an olive is a type of fruit, and olive sounds like "I love"

.

.

.

I love you"

"My beloved rose

As much as I'd love to tell you all these words in person, my search for Idrila is still ongoing and I am unsure when I'll be able to see your beautiful face once again.

Ever since my eyes laid on your beauty, I thought I had found Idrila herself, but once I got to know you. Even if you weren't the Goddess, you could almost rival her.

The sparkle in your eyes.

The pretty little smile.

Your wonderful personality.

All those things you think are flaws? I love each and everyone of them. They are not flaws to me and it pains me knowing you think of yourself like that.

Once we meet again, I want to make sure you know how deserving you are of these words, how your 'flaws' aren't flaws and how much I love every bit of you.

Though I am aware I find many things worthy of praise. I want to let you know that you're different.

I don't just want to praise you, compliment you. I wish to love you, hold your hands and protect you with my life, no matter what it takes.

I love you so much, and if I could be so lucky to call you mine. Well, I think I'd be the happiest man alive.

I will return soon,

Signed

Argenti"

"Morning, Afternoon or Night

I'm not too sure when the Cloud Knight will give this to you, or when I'll give this to them. Whatever the case, I won't beat around the bush too much.

I love you.

Nothing could compare the feeling in my heart when I see you.

The smile that will never fade as long as you're there by my side.

You are just amazing. In all my years of living, never would I have thought to have met someone as perfect as you.

Even Fu Xuan herself can see just how enamoured I am for you, although for her. She's been using it as an advantage to do work.

'If you finish now you can see them quicker'

'How would they feel knowing that you're not working?'

'Stop dozing off or they won't come to see you ever again!'

I must admit, they all do work. Even if in hindsight, not only would I still see you even with work uncomplete, I'll see you plenty of times and more to come but I don't think you care all too much about my sleep.

But I digress.

I hope this letter finds you well, take as much time as you need to consider my words and think about your own feelings.

I'll be waiting where I always am.

Jing Yuan"

"Dear Y/N

Aeons this is embarrassing. But it would be even more embarrassing if Serval kept teasing me about this. I've been putting this off for so long, worried about how you'd react.

Your answer.

And if this would change your view on me...but you're not that kind of person. I know you're not. And after a bit of thinking, to save me from stumbling on my words. I decided to write a letter.

Serval should be the one giving this to you, so I hope she didn't say anything to you, I would nearly die of embarrassment if she did. Anyways!

So...I know it's probably not much hoping Serval wouldn't say something actually, knowing her, she gave it away with one sentence but...

I like you, a lot. More than you could ever know.

And I'm more than happy to talk to you about this in full once I'm back from my mission.

I can only pray you feel the same, but even if you don't.

I hope we stay friends.

Until next time,

Gepard"

WOOO FINALLY GOT THIS DONE AFTER FOREVER.

Sorry if any characters are OOC, I tried my best with writing what I think they'd write in a confession letter, but I hope you enjoyed this anyways!

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

The green eyed monster

Shen Qingqiu gets a kitten. Luo Binghe isn't very happy about it.

Luo Binghe is angry. Bitter. Miffed. Pissed off. Displeased. Inconvenienced.

Jealous.

This is ridiculous!

He is the Demon Realm's Emperor, he is- he defeated the Abyss!

He is the best husband anyone could ever have, Shizun has never even seen the laundry basin once! Let alone the kitchen! The brooms neither!

So why isn't he that is being cuddled and kissed on the head and receiving pats?! Where is his affection?!

It's all the fault of that stupid, useless furry animal, that pathetic kitten Shizun found meowing its head off in the bamboo forest a few weeks ago, a palm sized black creature with wide, scared eyes and a voice loud enough to echo in the whole Cang Qiong Mountain!

Of course, Shizun is so kind and loving, he couldn't have left that screaming beast to die there, especially since it was so small, so he scooped it up, placed it in his lapels (in his lapels! On his chest!) and brought it back to the bamboo house.

The terrible beast lapped up all the food it could get amd purred loud enough to drown out any conversation, cuddling up to Shen Qingqiu obsessively, sticking its face against his as if demanding kisses.

And Shen Qingqiu gave them to it! Willingly! Smiling!

Luo Binghe was going to die of rage.

The beast had even nestled in their bed - "Binghe, she's too small to sleep alone!" - and in order "not to jostle it", Shen Qingqiu had apologetically told his husband they could have sex later, the kitten needed a "safe, warm place to sleep".

The audacity of that ball of pathetic black fluff to curl up on Shen Qingqiu's chest after made Luo Binghe burn inside with rage. That was his spot!

Ever since that night, the beast had become a part of their daily lives, and Luo Binghe hated it. Shen Qingqiu was doing everything with it, keeping it in his lapels or on his lap, playing with it with his brush handles and kissing it constantly.

Kissing!

Only Binghe should get Shizun's attention, anyway, but kisses?!

He decided that the animal had to go.

Keyword: he.

Because Shen Qingqiu had visibly recoiled at the idea of sending the kitten back outside or building her a shelter in the bamboo forest, no matter how pathetically Binghe suggested it.

In fact, the way Shizun looked, so protective but so heartbroken at the thought of being separated from his pet filled Binghe with so much guilt he wished to jump into the Abyss again.

Which brings us to the present.

Shen Qingqiu is attending some peak lord meeting the details of which Luo Binghe forgot because he's been too busy staring at Shizun's lips as he spoke about it to pay attention - and he has left the beast into Binghe's care for the day.

"Make sure you give her some food by mid-day, okay?" Shen Qingqiu had said, picking up the animal to kiss its small, inky nose. The thing purred. PURRED! "And play with her lots, she's so active!"

"Yes, Shizun, please don't worry, I'll do my best..."

"If anything happens, just come get me, okay? She's so small, so I worry..."

Binghe has to fight the impulse to roll his eyes at the memory. The beast is doing quite well running around, wreacking havoc. Why does it have so much energy? Binghe is sick of cleaning up after it. And it meows so much, the noise is hurting his ears.

Could it be so bad if he accidentally left a window open...?

He immediately squashes the thought. Shizun would be devastated!

So what was he to do now?

He just watched the ball of black fluff flurry around the bamboo house like it's possessed by demons. What a terrible thing. Why does Shizun love it so much? It's just a pathetic little thing without a family or a purpose, abandoned by its kind, that fell in love with the first person that gave it a modicum of affection!

Binghe resolutely refuses to think who that reminds him of.

But the little beast is not easily swayed. It seems to know Binghe dislikes it, so it sticks to his side constantly. It sleeps on his face sometimes, or attacks his ankles when he cooks, even licks his hand when it wants pets.

Binghe hates it.

But he does it anyway - for Shizun's sake! He couldn't care less about this puny creature!

...so, you may wonder, why is he playing with it now that Shizun is not here?

That is because Shizun might realize the kitten hasn't been entertained properly and scold Binghe of course! Sure, he did laugh a bit when the kitten tumbled on its tail as it tried to catch the feather Binghe dangled in front of it, and he found it funny how it reached for his hands to bite at his wiggling fingers - but that doesn't mean anything.

Binghe flicks a finger in the little kitten's face, and instead of flinching, it sniffs his finger pad curiously before rubbing its face against it.

Disgusting.

Binghe scratches beneath its chin with a long nail and catches himself smiling as the kitten purrs and closes its eyes contently.

Terrible.

The kitten ducks its head beneath Binghe's finger and he rolls his eyes. "So needy, does Shizun spend all his days spoiling you?"

"Mrow."

He huffs, but runs his hand over the kitten's head indulgently. "You always hog all his attention, how much do you even need, huh?"

The kitten purrs loudly in response as it rubs up against Binghe's gentle hand, and he can't help caressing down the kitten's small body.

"You're too small. Why don't you grow up, hm? You're making Shizun worry."

The kitten chirps, then continues to purr, pleased, climbing up Luo Binghe's chest from his lap. But the travel up is treacherous and the kitten nearly slips - Binghe's quick reflexes catch it though.

"Be careful. How clumsy. If you get hurt, Shizun won't forgive me."

The kitten continues its journey undettered and finally nestles into the junction between Binghe's neck and shoulder. Its small body is warm and vibrating with loud purrs, and it occasionally turns to sniff at Binghe's face and lick it.

"Stop that." He says, without any bite, and scratches between the kitten's ears with two of his fingers. The animal seems to take that as encouragement and pushes its head against Luo Binghe's cheek.

He turns his head to meet small, green eyes and a purring, black nose.

He cannot resist the impulse to lay a kiss over the kitten's forehead.

Maybe she isn't so bad, after all.

--

"Binghe, I'm-"

When Shen Qingqiu walks into the room, his mouth closes and his eyes soften with fondness. Sat on the bamboo couch, clearly waiting for him, Luo Binghe's head is angled to a side, the small, black kitten tucked into his shoulder and serving as the tiniest pillow in the world. They are both asleep, wearing matching expressions of content and relaxation.

Shen Qingqiu wished he had his camera right now.

[cheesycatz]

The Making of: Life-Size Malworm Plush

(Wormton AU)

STATS

16 ft 3 in (495 cm) long

Total time: 150 hours

Material Cost: $124

Theoretical minimum cost (based on seamstress wage): $2,524

(Progress photos and commentary below)

I'll be referring to my life-size wormton plush as "malworm" for convenience sake.

Unlike my Spamton NEO, Caine, and Fake Peppino plushies, I didn't spend a lot of time on concept art. Since I planned to make the malworm plush as close as possible to its 2D design, I didn't have to add much stylization, other than simplifying some details (no way in hell was I going to make 104 separate embroidered stitches for the segments of his toes, sorry). I mainly used the planning stage to calculate how wide the body pieces needed to be, plotting it out in 1/4 in : 3 in scale and using circumference formula to find the values I needed. I planned to make it around 10 feet long, the length of a young adult malworm. A lot of this project was improv, but, I mean, it wasn't my first or second or third time making a spamton centipede.

The head was quite a complicated shape, so I carved a tiny model out of craft foam, covered one half of it in masking tape, then cut the masking tape mask (hah) into flat pieces. I then traced the pieces onto graph paper and manually scaled them up by using the fact that I wanted the nose to be 1 ft long as reference. The rest of the pattern pieces were very simple, as wormton's teeth, body, legs, etc were very easy to translate into 2D shapes. I used old school notes as paper for the body, as I needed a lot of it. It was entertaining cutting exerpts of Moby Dick and English Renaissance biographies into body parts. I ended up making the body significantly longer; I had to spend $100 dollars on fur anyways, so why not make a maximum size one?

Making the pattern pieces took around 8 hours. While waiting for the fur to ship, I started cutting out the teeth, legs, and eyes. By the time the fur arrived, I had already sewn 36 worm teeth. I did an 11hr all-nighter to cut all the fur in one sitting the day it arrived. After a long vacuuming session and an uptake in the amount of polyester fiber in my lungs, I finished cutting the pieces, taking about 18 hours and 40 minutes.

As usual, the head was the first thing I worked on. It was...kind of wonky once I flipped it inside out. I trimmed some of the fur so that I could actually see what was happening. The main issues were the lack of any forehead, the nose being way too wide, and the cheeks being too flat. I did some ladder stitching as well as modifying the thing from the inside, and eventually made the head look much better. The cheeks still don't stick out that much still, but I'm happy with how the head looks now. I think it conquered the sopping wet owl resemblance. I inserted wire into the nose and jaws to help them keep their shape.

When I started this project, I wasn't sure whether to make it based off of Wormton or just a copyright-free malworm; I decided to do both. I went with red for the non-Spamton version, as I think it really fits the cartoony fly/mothman-style cryptid look malworms are supposed to have.

I sewed a square pouch into the throat and put in all those teeth. I used hot glue to wrap blue squares around a wire for the proboscis, because I think I would've gone bonkers cuckoo bananas if I had to hand sew that entire thing. The throat pouch holds the proboscis when it's not extended, as well as anything else I wanted to shove in there. I never measured it, but it's around 4-5 ft long. I finally made the Spamton... eye patches(?) and a pair of eyelids, though I didn't end up using them in the photo shoot. I also made a new pair of nostrils, as the old ones kind of got swallowed up from all the plastic surgery I was giving him

Now that the head was finished, I got to work on the body. I sewed the white belly and segments of the body together. I left most of the tail open, as the fur was too thick for me to flip it out at a certain point. I worked on the legs, next. After living out my cosplay dreams by putting the claws on my fingers like bugles chips, I grouped the claws together and sewed most of each leg and foot together, leaving me with many pairs of charred drumsticks (did not taste good)

I attached an extra long wire structure into each set of claws, then threaded the wire through each respective leg and stuffed them. I ladder stitched the claws to each foot, then stuffed each with some plastic beans in order to give the feet weight. I then finished sewing each foot shut. I now had a pile of disembodied limbs and one very long scarf.

I wound many long pieces of wire together to create an armature for the body. While the plush's body is way too heavy to be properly posable, the wire does still give some structure. I wrapped the extra long ends of the legs' wires to the metal spine, using the body's leg holes for reference. I then pulled the body up the metal armature like a sock.

I pulled the legs through their respective holes and stuffed the body. It was the first time the malworm was huggable! It's sort of like an oversized body pillow, in a way. I had to ladder-stich all the limbs, the head, and the rest of the tail, as it would've been completely impossible to flip inside out. It was quite difficult to do on furry fabric, and my thread frequently broke from the force I had to pull with to keep the stitches tight. Eventually, I got everything attached to some degree.

The last details I worked on were the mane, tail tufts, and scopula pads. The mane and tail tufts were ladder stitched onto the body, but I decided to use glue to attach the pads to the feet. I think the extra blue details make his proboscis fit much better, and who doesn't love spider paw pads? I also glued some velcro to the eye patches so that they stay attached better. They slide under the black eye rings.

My malworm was finally finished! I tried to put a lot of effort into the photo shoot so that people who don't know about the AU can enjoy it. I wanted to make it seem like some weird entity whose only goal is obtaining more Spamton brainrot. Hence it making Spamton on Mario Kart DS under the bed, obsessing over the Spamton Plush, inspecting the Spamton Shrine, and just generally harassing the photographer (me, I guess?). I wanted to capture the silliness, creepiness, and lack of respect for personal space that Spamton is known for. I thought about giving him a bag of doritos under the bed like that one image of the isopods eating them, but went with the DS instead. I thought it would be funny to see this thing playing Super Mario 64 DS (or Super Spamton 64) and here the "buh bye!" sound effect when it closes the DSi XL.

That's all from me, for now. I have other Wormton related matter to attend to.

Don't let the parasitic Spamton larvae bite

[descendant-of-truth]

Ohhh this scene. This one's a doozy

Nine is right to call this out about Sonic, of course. While he's definitely grown since the start of the show, he's never really been able to move past his tunnel vision and tendency to project onto the others.

He never thought to ask Nine what he wanted not because he doesn't care, but because he didn't think he needed to. He inherently assumes that the people he's working with are on the same page as him until told otherwise - in fact, it wasn't too long ago that he was similarly thrown off by Shadow in that very room.

(Love Shadow being used as a sort of "test run" for these kinds of conflicts by the way)

But here's the thing. While it's true that Sonic didn't really think about what Nine wanted and just assumed they were going to stick together no matter what... the same is true of Nine.

Look at how confused Nine looks when Sonic talks about coming back to Green Hill and restoring it:

Nine didn't ask what Sonic was wanting to do by repairing the Prism because he thought it was obvious that they were going back to the Grim together. I don't think it occurred to him that fixing Green Hill was even an option, or at least not one that he considered in favor of his original plans.

And just like Sonic, it's not that he only cares about himself - he went out of his way to engineer coconuts and (presumably) palm trees because he knew how much Sonic missed them. It was really sweet!

But, in what's becoming a pattern in this show, he doesn't understand why those trees matter to Sonic. They're not just cool plants, they're a reminder of home. And as Sonic aptly puts it at the start of the show, home is where your friends are.

I love that the conflict here is that both of them were convinced they knew what the other person wanted/would be okay with, because they think it'll naturally be the same thing they want, and then were both completely unprepared to handle a conflict of interest. It feels so natural and makes perfect sense with how they've been written up to this point.

But see, while I think it's pretty clear that Sonic and Nine fell into the exact same communication trap, I think it's going to take longer for Nine to realize his own fault in any of this.

Sonic spent the entire second half of that conversation looking devastated, and he's made it clear throughout the show that he's quick to feel remorse when he realizes he's hurt someone. In all likelihood, he's going to put all of the blame for that argument on himself, decide that Nine was right about everything, and leave it at that.

Nine, likewise, doesn't strike me as a particularly self-reflective type. He'd probably try to justify not needing Sonic to himself before anything else, and with that in mind, who else is there to make him see the situation with more nuance?

If I had to pick, I'd guess Shadow - our resident "smacking people in the face with their own flaws" extraordinaire.

Why would he bother with any sort of mediating between the two? Well, the funniest reason would be that he finds Sonic's self-pitying and Nine's self-righteousness equally annoying, but I'm inclined to assume any sort of confrontation between him and Nine would be a little more dramatic than that. (He might still use that reasoning as justification though)

Anyway I gotta cut this post short before I go too far into speculation territory or else I'll be here for another hour and this took long enough to write as is, case in point I love me a well-written and believable conflict

[jellieland]

It's just like them, thinks Martyn, miserably, To want to make these things stick.

He's always been an "act first, weasel your way out of any potential consequences later," kind of guy, so immediate, painful and permanent consequences to his recklessness strike him as unfair, unwarranted, and quite possibly a personal attack.

But, well. Here he still is anyway. What's he going to do about it?

His ankle burns where the baby zombie clawed at it. His legs ache from the dripstone, and the dripstone, and, yes, the dripstone again, and also walking off Mumbo's house and perhaps slightly misjudging his landing.

His ear keeps ringing and most of his right side stings from the creeper that decided, quite rudely, to sneak up on him and then blow up directly in his face about half a second before he could raise his shield. And the gravel later on, that he'd seen falling but still not managed to avoid, hadn't helped with any of that either.

He can feel blood dripping down his back in no less then five separate places, along with his arm, his shoulder, and the side of his head—that last one bled a lot and got onto his bandanna which was pretty annoying, actually—all from his many encounters with what he thinks were probably, at a conservative estimate, about a billion skeletons.

He doesn't quite glare up at the Secret Keeper. The healing they'd given him had been too much of a relief for that; his vision had stopped swimming, that head wound had stopped bleeding so much, and it was significantly less painful to walk. But the look he gives them is certainly glare-adjacent.

"You do know injuries aren't supposed to stick around like this, don't you?" he mutters, bitterly. "I know you like twisting stuff, but this is ridiculous. It's unnatural, is what it is!"

Someone snorts behind him.

He turns, and he sees Cleo. Neat, meticulous stitches are visible across their skin. Martyn hasn't met many people with scars before, but she's one of them.

The only new one is what looks, ironically enough, like a zombie bite on their arm, entirely healed over.

"It's really not that hard to deal with if you're just patient," she says.

"Ah," he says. "Well. That's my problem right there, then, isn't it?"

"It certainly looks like it," they say, amused. They're laughing at him again. He can't even be mad, since all in all, he totally deserves it.

"Yeah, alright," he says, a bit indignant just for the sake of what remains of his pride. "No need to rub it in! I hope you realize that if healing just worked normally, I'd be doing really well, actually."

"Hmm. Right, you do tend to throw yourself off of cliffs, and then try and work out how you'll save yourself on the way down, don't you?" She gives him a knowing look. "But look on the bright side—when you do die, you'll get to be perfectly healthy again for... I give it ten seconds. After that, you'll start making decisions."

"Hey, I'll have you know I went to the Nether for ages, and got out without a scratch on me that I didn't have when I arrived!" he retorts.

"Oh, so you can be careful, you just choose not to be?" They raise a judgemental eyebrow.

"Well... I mean." He half-shrugs, then winces. "I mean. Yeah. Yes. You know this about me."

There is a brief pause. She gives him an unreadable look, eyes catching on the blood seeping through his shirt. "...Yeah. I guess I do."

He glances over at the Secret Keeper again, bold and unmoving against the unnaturally darkened sky.

When he looks back, Cleo is still watching him. "You didn't even bandage those, did you?" they ask, with a touch of what most people would think was disdain. "Let alone stitch them up."

"I mean, no? It's not like it'll do anything, is it?" he asks, taken aback. "The good old 'Powers That Be' want us to bleed, and they want us to keep bleeding! Who am I to argue?"

She narrows her eyes as though she doesn't quite understand his point. "I'm not saying that would fix it. I don't think any of us are going to live long enough for that method of healing to work." They shrug. "Would make it hurt less, though."

Now it's his turn to narrow his eyes. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she says. "At least, so I've heard. For me, it's mostly about making sure I don't start physically falling apart, because it's really inconvenient when that does start happening."

He nods in acknowledgement. "Well, maybe I'll give it a go if I have the time." It all sounds a bit far-fetched to him. Much better to spend time working towards completing the next secret task he gets, or persuading people to give him the healing they have to spare, rather than losing hours on something that wouldn't actually help him in the long run.

(Maybe it's an echo, maybe it's just who he is, but Martyn's time is precious, and he is not giving it up for something so monotonous. Who would find that interesting?)

"Alright," they say. "If you're sure. But no one else is going to do it for you, you know."

He snorts. "Cleo," he says. "You're funny." She, of all people, should know he's already well aware of that.

"Right," they say, dryly. "Well, unless you want anything else I think I'm done here."

"Nah, not really." he says, then pauses. Frowns.

As unconvinced as he is, she really didn't have to say that to him. She deserves at least something in return.

"I will say," he says delicately, "if that advice really does help. You should probably keep it to yourself. You know. Death game, and all that."

All at once, their expression turns cold. "I think it's my business what I choose to give up, actually," she snaps.

Martyn's eyes briefly flick over to the Secret Keeper. "I mean..."

"No. I meant what I said." They cross their arms. "It's up to other people what they choose to do with it. But what I give them is up to me." She glances at the Secret Keeper, and then back to him. "No one's ever been able to tell me what I owe, or don't owe, to anyone." They smirk, and give him a piercing look. "You know this about me."

"...Yeah," he says. "I guess I do."

There is a short silence.

"Well!" He claps abruptly. "I won't keep you!"

"No, you won't," she says. "I'd best be off. This might come as a surprise, but I do actually have better things to do than hang out around Grian's creepy rock all day."

"Fair, fair." He chuckles, and raises a hand in farewell as they leave. "See you around."

Once she's out of sight, he goes back to staring at the Secret Keeper.

It's quiet.

"They're doing pretty well this time, huh?" he says. "If she keeps going like this, she probably won't get another happy ending, will she."

The air is very still, here. It's as though the place is trapped in night, even when he can see the sun in the sky.

The Secret Keeper does not answer him.

"I know you, though," he says. "You won't let it be all about being careful. That would be boring."

The thought nags at him that Cleo hasn't sounded as though they'd found any of this boring. Surely there had to be more to it than what she'd said? There had to be.

If there wasn't, then what was the point of all this pain?

He shifts, and his shoulder twinges, and he hisses quietly with frustration.

"Things already stuck," he says, unhappily. "They already stayed. I thought that was obvious."

The rock just stands there.

Judgemental. Impartial. It's impressive how it can manage to be both.

Martyn sighs heavily, and winces, and turns away. He looks towards his extremely small, entirely copied base, and a place where the sky is capable of letting in the light.

He pokes gingerly at his head wound. It's shallow, but painful.

"Maybe just this one," he mutters. "Could repurpose my bandanna. Although I guess I should probably wash it first. That would be smart." He wipes at his face. "If I don't then blood's going to start getting in my eyes. But not in a cool way, just in a way where I'll fall in a ravine by accident or something."

Nobody responds. That's ok. He hasn't exactly endeared himself to anyone, recently.

In a game that's even more about trust than usual, there's a part of him that doesn't mind being a lone wolf, as it were. At least for now. Harder to stab someone in the back if you don't let them get behind you, right?

He can make this work. He'll just have to adapt. He's good at that, usually! He just has to find the angle.

After all, he may not be patient, but he is persistent.

And he suspects being a liar will come in handy, for this one.

[automaticllamacycle]

I’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)

Summary: You don't have much experience. Matty, however, does. A coffee shop AU.

Part one of two

Content: 18+, fingering, praise kink, hand jobs, first time, smut with plot

Word count: 11,059

It's not like you wanted to be a virgin in your mid-twenties. That was definitely not the goal. However, years went by, and no boyfriend was in sight. That is, until Matty entered the picture.

You met him at a coffee shop, the one you worked at. He caught your eye the moment he walked in during one of your shifts. It was cold and dreary, a typical December day in London, but you could still spot chocolate curls sticking out of a worn beanie. Wrapped in a thick knit sweater layered under a jacket, he placed his order.

"Hello, can I get a medium dark roast with a splash of soy milk?"

His thick Manchester accent piqued your curiosity, and so did his warm brown eyes. You tried not to stumble over your next words, sticking to your usual script.

"You got it. Can I get a name for the order?"

"Matty." He responded.

From then on, you saw him often. There wasn't a week that went by that you didn't see Matty at least once. Every time was the same. He would walk in with his gorgeous curls and pretty face and order the exact same thing, a medium dark roast with a splash of soy milk. His order became like second nature to you. When he walked in, almost a month after the first encounter, you were quick to speak.

"Still a medium dark roast with a splash of soy milk?" you asked, probably a little more nervous than you should have been. He had that effect on you every time he stepped through the doors. One glance with those brown eyes was all it took to make you shy.

"Oh, yeah that's it, thank you," he responded, with a quick smile. A smile you hadn't seen yet. A very cute smile.

Once you finished making the coffee, you called out the order, and he walked to the counter.

"Here's that coffee for you, Matty."

You'd thought that would be the end of the conversation, and he would walk right back out with a "thanks" like he always did. However, this time, he had something else to say.

"Thanks. You know, you already know my name, but I still don't know yours. That's bad manners on my part," he added with a chuckle.

A little caught off guard, you breathed out your name, sounding less than confident. It had been so long since someone took away your breath like that, and he seemed to be doing it every time he spoke.

"That's a lovely name. I'll see you around." he said with that same grin, and then strolled off with his coffee before you had the chance to say anything else.

—

It's fair enough to say after the most recent exchange, he took up way too many of your thoughts. You tried to convince yourself it was just a work crush, a normal work crush. He was a super cute so that's only a normal response, right? It's not like you would try to get anywhere else with him, anyway. Probably wouldn't work out even if you did try.

Well, the crush became ten times worse on open mic night at the coffee shop. Your coworker, Penny, begged you to switch shifts with her, some kind of emergency, so there you were. Typically, open mic nights were filled with out of tune guitars, pitchy voices, and slam poetry. Everyone at the shop avoided working on open mic nights.

Now, what you didn't expect was for Matty to walk in the doors with a guitar case in hand. His hair was more styled than usual. His normal curls were a bit frizzy and all over the place, but tonight his curls were well defined. He had on a knit patterned sweater, which was typical for him, and a black pair of trousers accompanied by black combat boots.

Oh God, this is about to be either really good or really bad for the state of my crush on this man, you thought to yourself. Nothing better than a man with curly brown hair that could sing and play the guitar.

He didn't approach the counter this time. Instead, deciding to sit at one of the tables and listen to the other acts. You watched him for a moment, but then went back to work. Before you could hear what Matty prepared for open mic night, you had to endure the other performers.

You weren't one to judge others for their creative expression, but they were so horrid. There were some decent ones in the bunch, thankfully. One guy played a cover song on piano, and it wasn't half bad. Most of the night was filled with a cappella covers and shallow slam poetry, though.

The moment you were eagerly waiting for finally arrived, and Matty grabbed his guitar case and took the stage. Waiting for it to be his turn was the longest hour of your life. He sat the case down on the small stage set up and opened it up. He fumbled with the guitar a bit while he sat down on the stool in front of the microphone. Nerves flashed through his eyes. They were evident by his hands slightly shaking as he adjusted the microphone closer to his lips. You were the only one watching his hands close enough to notice, anyway.

"Hello, I'm Matty," he spoke into the microphone, voice confident and smooth despite the nerves. "I'm a part of a band called The 1975, and I will be singing one of our songs called ‘Chocolate’.”

When he started to sing, what struck you first was the heaviness of his accent on the words he spoke. Even for a Manchester accent, it was thick on every syllable he sang, close to unintelligible at times. What struck you next was the fact that he was genuinely a great singer. His vocals and guitar skills were far too good for him to be playing in a random coffee shop among the mediocre slam poets and cover artists. Yep, this was only going to make your work crush worse.

Your eyes locked with his brown ones multiple times while he sang. With his eyes shining in the lights, a smile stretched across his face, and you returned it. He completely captured your attention for the entire duration of the song without trying. It was like you couldn't look away, even if you wanted to. When he finished singing, his performance elicited far more applause than open mic acts usually do. It wasn't typical for someone with serious talent to play at open mic, and the coffee shop patrons could spot the talent, too. Tearing your eyes from him, you went back to work. You didn't expect him to approach you at the counter after putting his guitar back into its case and leaving the stage, but Matty seemed to be surprising you a lot these days.

"Hey there," you said, beating him to the conversation, just as he reached the counter. "Your song was great. It's not every day that someone actually good plays here. I had no idea you were in a band."

"You can say it was shit, I won't be offended. I'm terrible at guitar," he states, rather bluntly. "But yeah, I've been in a band with a few of my mates for quite a few years now."

"Oh, if it was shit I would be sure to let you know," you added with a laugh. "Seriously, it was good. Now, can I get your usual started for you?"

"Actually no, not this time. I think it's a bit too late for me to be drinking coffee or I'll be too wired to sleep."

He had a point; it was around nine at this point. The shop would be closing within the hour. You continued, even though talking is not a strong suit of yours.

"So then, what can I do for you, Matty?"

"Since you asked, I do have a question for you," he responded promptly like he had been waiting for the moment to ask.

You quipped back, "And what might that be?" He seemed jittery, almost like how he was on the stage.

"I was wondering if I could get your number and take you out sometime. Maybe meet for coffee right here if you'd like?" His hands fidgeted on the counter as he asked.

Oh, he's asking you out, act natural, you thought to yourself. While it was common for customers to try and get your number, the interest was never reciprocated on your end. This time, the interest was definitely mutual.

"Yeah sure, that sounds like a lovely idea," you responded with a grin, reading off your number to him while he put it in his phone.

"I'll be texting you," he says while putting his phone back into the pocket of his pants. "See you soon."

Once again, he walked away, guitar case in hand. However, this time, the smile on his face was a little bigger than before, and so was the smile on yours.

—

After cleaning all the equipment and making sure everything was in order for the morning shift, you closed up the shop for the night. You resisted the urge to check your phone every single moment on the walk back to your apartment. The walk was already a short one, but the pep in your step made it even faster. When you walked through the door of your apartment, your dog Socks ran up to greet you. After you got her food bowl and fed her, it wasn't long before a text from an unmarked number buzzed on your phone.

Hey, it's Matty. You free anytime this week to meet for coffee?

You weighed the options of waiting a few minutes to not seem too eager or responding immediately, and the latter option won by a long shot.

Yeah I'm free Wednesday around 11:00 if that works for you?

He responded pretty quickly, too. Good to know it wasn't just you being eager.

That works well for me! I'll see you then :)

You responded once more.

See you then :))

You put down your phone on the coffee table with a huge grin across your face. You went ahead and finished your nighttime routine, washing your face and brushing your teeth. When you laid your head down on the pillow you couldn't get your mind off of Matty. The thought of his voice, his face, his mouth, and his hands slowly drifted you off to sleep.

—

The days went by entirely too fast and entirely too slow all at the same time. Before you knew it, it was Tuesday night. By 10:00pm, you had already ransacked your closet for something to wear, pulling out every article of clothing you owned. The pre-date anxiety wasn't helping you make up your mind. When 1:00am rolled around, you finally settled on an outfit, your favorite pair of jeans and a turtleneck sweater. Way too simple of an outfit for how long it took to pick out, but oh well. Finally, you crawled into bed, glaring at the clock on your nightstand. The numbers mocked your decision of staying up so late. You had an early shift tomorrow that would end a few minutes before the time you were meeting Matty. You had rationalized this choice in the moment before texting him. It would be better for you to already be there, and would probably lessen your anxiety, if only a little bit.

The alarm clock rang, and you hated everything. Still, you got up, put on your outfit, and finished getting ready. You kept the makeup light and styled your hair to the best of your ability. There was only so much that could be done at five in the morning. You fed Socks and gave her a pet before heading out. Once you walked out the door, the nerves weighed heavy on your chest, but you couldn't back out now.

Reaching the coffee shop, you put on a sarcastic cheery voice and greeted your two coworkers, Penny and Grady.

"Good morning, guys! Isn't it just beautiful to be up before the sun?" They groaned in unison. Tough crowd. "Well, I have something very important to tell you two. I have a date today."

"Oh my God, I never thought this day would come," Penny gasped, only half joking.

"Hey! Don't be rude! It's not like you've had much luck in the boy department either."

"Okay, stop bickering. Now, who's the man in question?" asked Grady.

"So, you know that guy with the curly hair that comes in at least twice a week?"

"Yes, we know, it's not like you've gawked at him for the past two months or anything," said Penny.

"He asked for my number at open mic night. Thanks for asking to switch shifts with me by the way, Penny. Can't thank you enough," you teased.

"Glad my car wreck could be of some assistance?"

You went through the motions of opening up the shop with Penny and Grady, and the place filled with customers all too soon. The hour was ticking closer and closer to when Matty would walk through the doors. You tried to calm your nerves, but the attempts were no good. When the clock read 10:50, you decided to go ahead and start his usual, ringing it up under your discount. You started on your coffee as well. Caffeine was a necessity.

The door to the shop opened, just a minute before 11:00, and you looked up to meet Matty's eyes. It had been two months since you first saw him, but his gorgeous eyes still left you dazed. Putting on a brave face, you decided to speak first.

"Hey," you began with smile on your face. "I went ahead and made your coffee," you said while handing him the cup.

"Don't I need to pay for this?" A confused look marked his face.

"Nah, I went ahead and put my discount on it." You walked out from behind the counter with your own coffee in hand towards him.

"Well, there goes my plan to pay for your coffee like a true gentleman." He said, heading towards an open table. He chose a booth beside the shop window. You sat opposite from him.

"I couldn't possibly let my discount go to waste," you insisted. "I get one coffee free per shift and everything else has a big discount. Truly, it's no trouble."

You looked at him while waiting for whatever he had to say next. He looked good, smelled good too. Has he always smelled this good? Since you were always separated by a counter from him, you hadn't been properly close enough to tell until just now. You quickly told your brain to shut up before you say something stupid. He spoke first.

"Okay, I'm going to start this off with my favorite ice breaker question. What's your favorite song?"

"That is a horrible ice breaker question. You couldn't come up with anything better? Something deeper, perhaps?"

"I'm a musician, of course I would ask a question like that. I think a person's favorite song can reveal a lot about oneself."

"I don't think I can choose just one," you continued by listing a few of your favorites. Definitely not a solid list. "So, what's yours, then?"

"Probably one I've written," he replies with a smirk.

"I feel like that's cheating, but I'll allow it. How did you get into music anyway? From what I heard before at the open mic, you're pretty good."

"My band mates are really good, I'm just average. Trust me, when I play with them it's obvious how shitty I am, especially next to my mate, Adam. He's legendary at guitar. To answer your question though, when I was younger, I always wanted to be a pop star. I was a huge fan of Michael Jackson. I started to learn a few instruments and then by the time I was in secondary school, my friends and I decided to form a band. I ended up as the singer somehow along the way."

"I should go see a gig soon, got any coming up?"

"Yeah, I think that could be arranged."

The small talk between you two continued and wasn’t painful like most small talk. You found yourself more enchanted by Matty the more he spoke. Everything he said, while usually laced with humor, was well thought out. It was clear he was a deep thinker, but any songwriter typically has to be one. You've realized in the time sitting across from him in the booth that you could sit and listen to him talk all day long. When you got around to looking at the watch on your wrist, you realized it had been over an hour and half since you two had sat down in the booth. As much as you hate it, you really need to get home and be productive with your day.

"I've had a great time talking with you Matty, but I think it's time for me to head out. I have a huge pile of laundry and a chore list that unfortunately will not do itself."

"Can I walk you home?"

"Isn't that a line you're supposed to pull out when it's dark to make sure I get home safe or something like that?"

"Oh, come on, you already bought my coffee. Let me be a gentleman for just a moment here."

"Okay fine, if you insist." The both of you stood up from the booth and he held the door for you on the way out of the shop. Penny threw you a wink while Grady gave a not-so-subtle thumbs up. You hoped he somehow didn't see them, but there was no way he couldn't have.

Matty kept you entertained on the short walk back to your apartment, telling you a funny story about his friend George. You found yourself laughing right along with him while he retold the story. You were thankful he did the heavy lifting during the conversation. It made it much easier on your part.

"Alright, this one's mine," you said, pointing to your building. "I do appreciate you walking me back, by the way, jokes aside."

"I was enjoying your company and wanted to make it last longer, what can I say?"

"It was very kind, thank you."

He kept looking at you, like he was deep in thought again. His gaze made you feel exposed. Originally, his eyes peered directly into yours, but they slowly shifted down to your mouth. As he stepped towards you, the air instantly grew thick. The tension could have been cut with a knife.

"You're not one of those girls that gets offended by getting kissed on the first date, right?" he spoke, almost in a whisper. Eyes still locked in on your lips, not looking up from them for one second. His face got closer and closer to yours.

"No, I'm not." His lips nearly brushed against your lips. The gravity becoming too much. Your eyes flickered between his eyes and his mouth.

"Good."

With that his lips met yours. Soft. Gentle. One of his hands carefully pressed into your lower back, bringing you deeper into the kiss. The other hand rested on the side of your face. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you placed them at his shoulders. He pulled away for a brief second, before leaning down once more to leave another quick kiss.

When he finally pulled away, for good this time, he had one last thing to say.

"I'll be seeing you," he said, giving you a wave and that same smile you had grown to adore before walking away.

You sat on the steps outside of your apartment for at least five minutes after the kiss. When you found it in you, you finally walked in the door and ran up the stairs to your apartment.

It's safe to say this was more than a work crush.

—

You walked in to work the next day with a beaming look on your face. Penny noticed immediately.

"Okay tell me everything from start to finish. Don't you dare leave anything out."

She didn't have to force it out of you. You were dying to tell anyone about your date at this point, so you went through every detail, including the kiss.

"Girl, he is so into you," Penny replied.

"Well, I would hope a kiss would mean he's into me. I personally don't kiss people I hate."

Work was slow that day. Not too many customers. Matty didn't walk in that day, which was probably a good thing for your sanity. He did however make his appearance once again, two days later. He walked through the doors in his usual attire, a sweater and a pair of jeans. His eyes lit up, just a little bit, when he saw you.

"Your usual, I assume?"

"Yeah, of course." A soft smile lighting up his face.

Instead of walking away from the counter like he usually did, this time he stayed right by it as you started making his coffee.

"Do you have any plans tomorrow night?"

"I think my schedule is open. You have a suggestion for me to fill it?" you said, a smirk on your face.

"My band has a gig tomorrow night; thought you'd might like to come and see it."

"Oh yeah absolutely! Give me the time and place and I'll be there." He pulled out his phone and texted you the details. It was at a small venue in downtown London.

"I won't be able to see you before the show starts but go up to security after it's over and tell them your name. They'll let you backstage."

You finished up his drink just as he finished his sentence. "Here's your coffee, Matty." You handed him the coffee. His hand brushed with yours, lingering longer than normal. Definitely on purpose. He was looking at your lips again. "I'm looking forward to seeing the show."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing you after the show." He winked and walked out the doors.

As soon as he was out of sight, Penny appeared right behind your shoulder.

"You have got to look hot for that tomorrow. I'm coming over after work to help you with your outfit."

"Where did you spawn from?"

"Oh, I was just in the back listening like any good friend would, of course!"

"I don't know if you listening is a comforting thought or a concerning one." A laugh making its way through your voice.

"Well, be thankful, because I am going to ensure you look hot."

Penny stuck to her word and walked home with you once both of your shifts ended. Right when she walked through the door of your apartment she went to the closet, completely ignoring Socks’ cries for attention.

"I think we have some things to work with here." Her hands full of clothes. She had you try on her first idea, a mini skirt with a button up blouse. Her reaction was immediate. "I mean you always look hot, but this outfit just isn't doing it for me." This went on for quite a bit.

"Penny, can you make up your damn mind before I lose my own?"

"Okay, okay, last thing. Try on this." She hands you a dress that had been laying in the back of your closet for who knows how long. It was black and had a collar alongside a V-neckline. The skirt of the dress landed at mid-thigh. Once you stepped out to show her, she nearly yelled. "Yes! That's perfect! Now time to put the other pieces together." From the large selection of shoes in your arsenal, she landed on a black pair of chunky Mary Jane style shoes.

"Is it to your liking now?" you asked.

"How about you wear these?" She held out a pair of fishnet tights.

"Penny. Absolutely not!"

"You'll look so good though, but fine, I'll accept defeat," she frowned. "Wear these instead." She handed you a pair of sheer black tights. Those you could manage with. She finished the look by gathering a few accessories. Picking out a couple of necklaces and rings. "The look is complete," she said, giving a quick bow.

"I actually really like it. You have good taste." You gave her a hug and thanked her. The two of you walked towards the door. She began to walk out before she stopped to say something.

"By the way, wear some cute underwear underneath that dress, you never know what could happen."

"PENNY! Go. Out the door, now. Bye!" You refused to let your mind go there, yet.

—

You woke up the next morning already antsy about the show that night. You tried to not think about it, but you couldn't get your mind off of it. When it was acceptable to start getting ready, you began with your makeup. Normally you went light with it, but today you decided to focus on your eyes. With a light hand you went in with a dark purple eye shadow, and then blended it out with medium tones. Next came the eyeliner, the scariest part. Keeping your hand steady as possible you drew a small wing onto both eyes. After more attempts than you care to admit, they were even. You finished the rest of the make up and went to put on the outfit.

You walked out the door and headed to the nearest train station. The venue wasn't too far, but it was far enough that you did not want to walk it, especially not in those shoes. When you made it to the venue, there was decent line to get into the place. You wouldn't have guessed the band was this popular from the way Matty talked about it. It seemed like it was nearly going to be a full house. Since Matty put your name on the guest list, you didn't have to have a ticket, very convenient.

After you were in the building, it wasn't very long before the show started. However, there was enough time for you to make it to the bar and get a drink. You'd hoped the liquid courage would come in handy later. The place was indeed packed. Since it was standing room only, you decided to stand more towards the back.

The set was fantastic. You could tell Matty was much more comfortable preforming with the band than he was by himself. Totally different stage presence compared to when he sang at the coffee shop, particularly when they played the same song "Chocolate". If there were nerves in Matty this time around, you couldn't tell. The bottle of wine in his hand while he sang likely played a role in that, though.

Once the show was over, people slowly filed out of the room, and you waited until you could make your way up to the security guard at the front. The security guard walked you backstage when you told him your name. Matty was right there when you made it backstage, engulfing you in a hug. He was sweaty and shirtless at this point, but you didn't mind. Not one bit. This was the first time you were able to see all his tattoos. He didn't seem like the type of guy to have a chest piece, but you stood corrected.

"I didn't see you out there, thought you bailed on me for a second." He joked, breaking the hug. "I'm so glad you were able to make it."

"I would have at least texted you if I wasn't able to make it. I was just in the back because I didn't feel like fighting the crowd to get closer. Speaking of which, when were you going to tell me your band was so popular?"

"I don’t think we’re that popular. People just show up when we have a gig. I don't get recognized in public that often."

"I think that's called being popular, Matty. Next time, I'll show up earlier so I can get a closer view. The set was great by the way. I'm going to have to look up the band when I get home."

"Want to meet my band mates?"

"Yeah, of course!"

His hand met your lower back as he walked you to the green room. He introduced you to his friends, Ross, George, and Adam. They teased Matty just a bit for bringing a girl to a concert. You felt your cheeks flush, and not from the alcohol from earlier. You didn't stay and talk for a long time since it was getting so late, so you said bye before following Matty out of the green room. He decided to put on a shirt by now, much to your disappointment. Once you exited the venue, Matty spoke.

"Think I could walk you home again?"

"Well, I took the train this time, I don't want you to have to go in an opposite direction just to walk me home. I'll be fine."

"I don't live too far from you, actually. About a ten-minute walk. We would probably end up taking the same train anyway."

"I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"

"Sorry darling, but no."

"Let's start walking then."

The walk to the train station and the train ride to your apartment was filled with laughter. You were both slightly tipsy. You from the drinks at the bar, and him from the bottle of wine he kept on stage.

"So, now that you've seen the amazing Adam Hann at guitar, I think it's safe to say I am shit at guitar." Matty said, stepping off the train. You both made your way up the stairs of the station and walked towards your apartment.

"I mean he's better than you, yeah, but that doesn't mean you're shit at it. You should see me try to play sometime. It's fucking hilarious."

"I could teach you some chords. How to play ‘Wonderwall’ or something like that."

"Oh God, not ‘Wonderwall’. Anything other than that, please." He lets out a strong laugh at your comment, but you weren't wrong. ‘Wonderwall’ was so overdone.

"Alright, I'll teach you something else then. Anything you want."

You two approached the steps of your apartment, but you didn't want the night to end just yet. So, you had to think fast. "Want to come inside and meet my dog?"

"You have a dog? I love dogs. You should have told me sooner." He followed you through the doorway of the complex and up the stairs to your apartment. As soon as you opened the door, Socks ran to see you. When she saw Matty though, she was a bit confused.

"Her name is Socks by the way," you told him.

"Oh my God, what a cute name." Matty got down on his knees, held his hand out to the dog, and soon enough she warmed right up to him. You left the pair where they were and walked past them, going for Socks’ food bowl.

"Sorry to interrupt, Matty, but I have to feed her. It was too early for her to eat when I left for the concert."

"That's alright," he said, making his way over to sit on the couch. You were thankful you cleaned the place up before you left. You wanted to join him on the couch, but you had to change clothes first. Your feet were killing you and you hated the tights.

"Here's the remote for the television. Put it on whatever you want. I desperately need to change clothes. I'll be right back."

You went into your bedroom and shut the door, not noticing his eyes following you the entire way there. You changed fast, not wanting to be rude. From your dresser, you grabbed a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. Next you stepped into the bathroom adjoined to your room and washed off your makeup. When you walked back in the living room, you saw that Matty put New Girl on the television. Good choice. You took the seat next to him, leaving a bit of room in between.

You sat there and he sat there. Both absorbed by the awkward silence while the TV show played. Socks ate her food in the corner, the only sound other than the show. Matty quietly cleared his throat. Seemed like you were going to have to do the heavy lifting here.

"So..." You began, breaking the silence. "What kind of ideas do you have planned for our next date? Unless you want me to come up with something." His eyes left the television and turned to you. God, you wished his eyes didn't have such an effect on you, and the alcohol from earlier wasn't helping.

"I have plenty of ideas, just going to depend on if you want to do them," he said, a questionable look on his face. It was obvious he still had some alcohol in his system, too.

"Oh? Like what? That sounds a bit mysterious by itself."

"Well, I thought I could invite you over to my place next Saturday and cook something for you. Be all romantic and shit." The look on his face was kind and sincere. Either the alcohol made him have his guard down, or he was just comfortable with you. You couldn't tell which one for sure.

"That sounds like a good idea. I will judge your cooking skills harshly, though."

"I would have expected no less from you," he said with a small laugh. His cheeks were turning pink.

You felt the conversation begin to lull again, so you spoke. A cheeky idea in mind. "Any other plans besides cooking for me?"

"To be honest, I did not think that far ahead."

"I have an idea," you said without hesitation.

"What might that be?" His eyebrows raised and his body turned to you, awaiting your answer.

"Maybe we could do something like we're doing now?"

"Sitting on the couch while watching New Girl, struggling to make conversation?"

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of this." By the end of your sentence, you leaned in and connected your lips to his. Matty was caught off guard. You hadn't been so forward with him yet, but he was quick to kiss back. You broke away first. The both of you breathing heavy. "Sorry, probably should have asked you before I did that."

"No need to say sorry. I don't give a fuck," he replied, placing his hand on the back of your neck to pull you back in. The kiss was heated this time. His hand that was at the back of your neck went up into your hair. His other hand made its way to cup the side of your face, bringing you in closer. Both of your hands threaded through his hair. You've wanted to run your fingers through his curls since the moment you saw him.

His lips were warm and soft as they moved against yours. In an instant, his tongue brushed against your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth in response. His movements were slow as his tongue explored your mouth. As smooth as you tried to be, you trembled with nerves. You felt like you were going to explode. Matty broke away for a moment. His eyes bore into yours. Pupils wide and dilated.

"Are you alright, love? You're shaking like a leaf," he breathed. His thumb rubbing gently on your cheek.

You looked into his eyes for a moment before the eye contact became too much to bear, eyes shifting back to his wet lips. "Yeah, I'm fine." The warble in your voice didn't agree with the words you said, but you pulled him right back into the kiss. Without missing a beat, Matty continued to kiss you, becoming more eager. He moved his hands from your hair and face and relocated them to your waist. In one swift movement, he dragged you from the place next to him until you were sitting on his lap. Your knees were on either side of his hips. His hands, still on your waist, pulled you flush to his body. You tried to keep up with the movements of his lips and tongue, but your inexperience was showing. The movements of his mouth were skillful against yours. It was like he already knew all the places that would make you melt.

You were falling for him. Fast. His hands slipped under your shirt, grasping onto the skin of your hips and waist. He began to push your hips down into his, ever so slightly. You reciprocated the movement on your own, grinding your hips into his. He let out a small groan into your lips at the feeling of your movements. Part of you wanted to hear that sound again, but part of you knew this was about to go too far really quick without telling him what you knew you needed to. Somehow, the voice of reason in your head won, and you pressed lightly on his chest to break the kiss. His eyes stared into yours again, pupils wider than before. His lips red and swollen from the pressure of the kisses, chest rising underneath your hands like he couldn't catch his breath. Beneath the look of arousal on his face, he seemed worried.

"Did I do something wrong?" he breathed out, shifting his hips slightly. You could feel him under you. You were out of breath too. You really had no idea how to put it lightly, so you just said it.

"I'm a virgin." You didn't know how he was going to take that message. Men typically either didn't react well, or they thought you were something to corrupt.

"Oh." There wasn't any judgement in his voice, just a hint of surprise. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, that wasn't my intention." He gently went to move you off him, back to where you were sitting at first. He tried to subtly adjust his pants, but it wasn't all that subtle.

"No, no, you didn't make me uncomfortable at all. I promise," you assured him, hands cupping his cheeks. The worry on his face eased a bit. "I just thought I should tell you before anything went further."

"Thank you for telling me." The smile on his face returned. Thank God you, thought to yourself.

"We can keep going, if you want to?" The anxiety was right back in your voice, your moment of confidence gone.

"As much as I truly would like to..." His eyes lingered on your lips before looking you up and down. "I can't keep going knowing that you’re even a little bit tipsy. I want to make the moment special for you, really." You were more relieved than disappointed. You didn't put on cute underwear out of spite to Penny's comment yesterday, and that decision came back to bite you in the ass.

Socks had perfect timing, saving you from another moment of awkwardness by jumping onto the couch. You and Matty finished that episode of New Girl while Socks sat between you, enjoying the pets from Matty. When the episode ended, Matty had to go. It was one in the morning at this point. You got up and walked him to the door. Before he left, he grabbed your waist gently, and pulled you in for a soft goodbye kiss.

"Next Saturday at 6:00pm we are having that date at my place. I'll text you the address." With one last kiss and a smile, he walked out the door.

—

"YOU WHAT?"

"Penny, oh my God, shut up. We are at work."

"How did you expect me to react to you coming in here and telling me you and Matty dry humped on your couch last night?"

"PENNY."

"Am I wrong? Is that not exactly what you said?"

"I didn't say it like that."

"That's what I heard."

"It seems like you have selective hearing."

"I swear to God, if you don't wear cute underwear this time."

"I am not talking to you about my underwear at work, Penny."

"I'm just saying. Oh! Don't forget condoms!"

"SHUT UP!"

—

The week leading up to the next date was uneventful. Matty came in mid-week like normal. You didn't even ask if he wanted his usual and started his coffee right when he walked in the door.

"Not going to make sure my order hasn't changed? What if I've become an oat milk guy since I came in last?" He walked up to the counter with a grin on his face.

"You can't go changing up on me now, Matty."

"I would never," he laughed. "So, are we still on for Saturday?"

"Yeah, of course. What are you planning on cooking, by the way?"

"That's going to stay a surprise."

"Is that another way of saying you have no clue?" You handed him the coffee cup. His hand grazed yours.

"I'm not going to answer that."

"You still haven't given me your address."

"Oh shit, sorry," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "There. Now you’ve got it," he said with a smile on his face.

"I'm looking forward to it. Just don't give me food poisoning."

"I'll try my best."

—

Saturday rolled around fast. After rummaging through your closet yet again, you chose a simple outfit, a hoodie and a pair of jeans. Once you fed Socks, you went out the door, trying not to be overcome with nerves. The walk to his apartment was just about ten minutes, like Matty had said before, so you didn't have too much time to dwell on those nerves. Reaching his door, you gave it a quick knock, and it swung open after a moment.

"I wasn't expecting you to be early."

"Matty, I'm five minutes late."

"Fuck, you're right," he said, looking at the time on his phone. "I must have lost track of time. Come on in. I'm still cooking." You stepped through the door into Matty's apartment, and you were met with chaos in the kitchen. Seemed like he hadn't even started yet. Two big pots sat on the stove top, and multiple cans of tomato were stacked onto the counter. He stood next to the counter, wearing an apron. Very cute.

"What are you even trying to make?"

"Uh... spaghetti?"

"Do you want some help?" You didn't want to be rude, but you wanted to eat something edible tonight.

"I want to say no, but I know if I do it will be a disaster." You walked into the kitchen and stood next to him, looking at the recipe he had printed out. The kitchen wasn't big. You were practically standing hip to hip. He was staring at the recipe printed out on the counter like he had no idea where to even begin. To be fair, the recipe he picked out wasn't an easy one.

"Matty, I think you managed to pick the most complicated spaghetti recipe I have ever seen. Go ahead and start the pot of water while I work on the sauce." Matty filled the pot with water, placed it on the stove, and then turned to you, watching you start the sauce.

"Sorry. I was supposed to be the one cooking for you."

"I love to cook. It's no trouble. Next time though, go for the pre-made sauce. Making it yourself is a pain in the ass."

"I'll redeem myself next time, promise."

The rest of the cooking went smoothly, for the most part. Matty almost burned the bread, but it was salvaged before the damage could be done. The both of you filled up your bowls with the spaghetti and went to sit on the couch.

"This is really fucking good," Matty said, after eating some of the spaghetti. It was true, you outdid yourself.

"I couldn't have done it without you."

"Oh, yes, you could have."

"Boiling the pasta is a very important job, Matty." He let out a strong laugh at your reply. He then reached over to grab the remote to the television off of the coffee table and hand it to you.

"Here. As a repayment for basically cooking all of dinner, you can put on whatever you would like."

"You're giving me a lot of power here."

"Choose wisely."

You racked your brain for a moment for a good movie to put on, and then it hit you. "Oh! I have the best movie in mind." A devilish smile spread across your face.

Matty watched as you searched for the movie, until you finally landed on it. "10 Things I Hate About You? Really?"

"What? It's a classic."

"It's cheesy."

"All classics are cheesy. You're the one that gave me remote control power here."

"If it's what you want to watch, then I guess it’s alright." Matty got up for a moment as you pressed play and took the empty bowls into the kitchen to put them in the sink. When he returned, he sat right next to you on the couch. You were already nervous, and he hadn't even done anything. As the movie played, you both made small talk about certain parts of the movie.

"It may be cheesy, but Patrick serenading Kat with the school band is a cinematic masterpiece."

"Okay, maybe the movie isn't as bad as I remembered." Matty took the opportunity to stretch out his arm around your shoulder and pull you into his side. With that simple movement, the movie was the last thought on your mind. All you could think about was the weight of Matty's arm wrapped around your shoulder, holding you close. Matty turned his face towards you. His eyes locked onto yours, and his lips were mere inches apart from you. "Are you paying attention to the movie?" He shifted, eyes staring at your lips before you spoke.

"Not really." Your voice held up under the nerves.

"Me neither," he paused. His brown eyes jumping back to meet yours. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes."

His lips met yours. At first, they moved soft and slow against your lips. Both of his hands cupped your face, and your hands made their way around the back of his neck. You were more confident with your movements against his lips than the last time, but he still left you dazed. Your breathing picked up, desperate for more of his mouth.

When his tongue flicked against your bottom lip, the kiss intensified. He moved one of his hands from your face and threaded it through your hair, firmly holding onto the back of your head. His other hand held your hip, and you made your way onto his lap, just as you were a week ago. Matty pulled away from you, but before you had time to react his lips connected to your neck. His lips and tongue worked in tandem, pulling small gasps out of your throat. Your heart was pounding onto your rib cage. Hands trembling behind his neck.

Matty could feel the tremors in your hands. Lifting up from your neck, his eyes met yours in sincerity. "Relax, sweetheart. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to. You're safe with me." His words calmed you, as he continued to suck on your neck. Suddenly, his lips were replaced with the graze of his teeth, making you jolt. "Is that okay?" His voice was muffled against your neck before he relocated to another spot near your collar bone.

"Mhm," you hummed in response. You didn't want to know how needy your voice would sound if you tried to speak out your answer. His lips were hot and unrelenting against your neck, leaving marks behind. His tongue ran along all the places he bit and sucked at, soothing them.

Both of his hands moved to hold your thighs that straddled his hips. Fingertips digging into them. His grip tightened as you carefully began to move against his hips. Matty broke off from your neck, looking you deep in the eyes. His hands slipped underneath your hoodie, tracing the skin underneath it. His touch on your bare skin drew a small sound from your mouth. Your skin was fiery from the contact of his fingertips. The touch was careful and hesitant, but it was clear what he wanted.

"Can I take this off?" His voice was timid and out of breath. He didn't want to go too fast.

"Yeah," you whispered. Your voice was in the same shape as his. Apprehension was laced in your words. As soon as you gave your answer, his hands slipped your hoodie right off. His eyes bore into you as he looked down at your body, panting through parted lips.

"Fucking hell. Did you wear this for me?" The gaze of his eyes was so intense you had to break the stare. You rested your face in the crook his neck at his comment, losing courage fast. You did indeed listen to Penny this time, and bought a lacy black bra and underwear set earlier this week.

"I was worried it was going to be a little bit much." Face still hidden away from him.

"No, no, it's not. Don't hide your face," he said, fingers clutching your chin and guiding your face, so it was inches away from his, forcing you to be eye to eye once again. Matty removed his own shirt before connecting your lips back together, giving you the chance to run your hands down his bare chest. Your fingertips traced over the tattoo in the middle of his chest, and his reaction was immediate. His tongue worked its way into your mouth, pulling all the air out of your lungs as you continued to grind your hips onto him.

Without warning, Matty pulled you up from the couch by your hips and led you back towards his bedroom. His lips locked against yours until you made it into the room. The back of your legs hit the bed behind you, and then he broke away. Matty held eye contact as he sunk down to his knees in front of you, holding onto the back of your thighs. His eyes passionately looked up into yours, alternating between your wide eyes and your lips, completely enamored by you. He couldn't look away. Your lips were puffy from the previous kisses. You stared right back as his hands traced along the top of your jeans.

"Can I take these off?" he asked. He meant it when he said he wouldn't do anything you didn't want to do. He was going to make sure everything he did was okay. You hastily nodded in response to his question, but that wasn't enough. He needed more than that. "I need to hear you say it, love." He gave the skin above the waistline a small, open-mouthed kiss before looking back at you.

"Yes, you can do whatever you want." he chuckled slightly at your eagerness, but he was just as desperate for you. His hands slowly undid the button of your jeans before he pulled them down over your hips and thighs, keeping his eyes connected with yours as his hands removed your jeans. By the look of desire on his face, and the budge in his pants, you could tell he enjoyed your choice of underwear. The black lace against your skin was a sight he would have to commit to memory.

He stood back up and sat you down on his bed. He stayed right in front of you as he took off his own jeans with haste; pupils wide and blown. His lips were swollen and red, a sheen of saliva on them. You reached out for him, anxious for his touch. Hands running up into his brown curls pulling him down to kiss you, tugging the brown locks.

At the feeling of you pulling his hair, he groaned into your mouth. Unsure of what to do next, you let one of your hands glide down his chest, towards the growing bulge in his boxers. Before you made it, though, he intercepted your hand with his own. His hand completely covered yours as he pulled back to look at you.

"Did I do something wrong?" you asked.

"No, darling, you didn't do anything wrong," he reassured you quickly. His other hand came up to hold the side of your face, brushing your lower lip lightly with his thumb. "I just want to take care of you tonight. Is that alright?"

"If that's what you want to do."

"It most certainly is." Matty moved to sit up on the bed, but he didn't sit next to you. Instead, he sat towards the top of the bed, sitting against the plush headboard. He leaned back against it with his legs spread. "Come here. Lay back against my chest." Your confusion must have shown on your face as you stayed where you were sitting for a moment. "Stop thinking about it so hard, babe." His voice was teasing, but his face was genuine as he motioned you over to him. You listened, and crawled towards him on the bed, turning around so your back laid against his bare chest. The contact with his skin made you shiver. His thighs were on either side of your hips. You could feel yourself pressed into every part of him.

The nerves you thought had calmed down flared back up as you waited for Matty to make his next move. He began by taking his hands and placing them on your thighs. Matty rubbed up and down the lengths of your thighs before he pulled them away from each other to spread your legs apart, mirroring his own. His lips found your neck again, leaving kisses and small bites from the back of your ear all the way down to the crook of your neck. His hands moved from your thighs, dragging them along your hip bone until they spanned across your stomach. He decided to speak again. His breath hot in your ear.

"God, you look so good in lace. Going to be a shame to take it off." Your breath hitched as one of his fingers dipped under the waist band, but he made no effort to remove the undergarment. His hands moved again, this time towards your chest. "I think this can stay on as a compromise," he said with his hands over your breasts. He was teasing you. One of his hands glided down your stomach back to the waistband of your underwear. The other hand gripped you around the waist, pulling you in so you were against his groin. "Feel how hard you're making me?" You pushed your ass back against him, forcing a groan leaving his lips from the pressure.

"Is this okay?" he asked, fingers toying with the waist band. All you could manage was a gasp. "Use your words sweetheart." His voice was firm, but still gentle as he ran his fingertips tentatively underneath the waistband.

"Yes, please," you replied in a whimper. He trailed his middle and ring finger down to tease at your inner thighs before he finally placed them over your clothed clit. Matty planned to drag this out as long as possible. He pressed down in small, very slow circles, causing you to jerk back against him. A moan slipped from your throat.

"That feel good?" He left another hot, open-mouthed kiss on your neck before he trailed his fingers down lower, feeling your arousal through the underwear. "Already this wet for me? You must want it bad, huh?" His fingers continued to move against your clit over your underwear. You were growing restless, practically whining as your hips moved against his fingers, craving his touch on your skin, but he was unyielding. He wanted you to ask for it. "What? You need something else?" he asked, voice thick and sultry.

"Matty, please."

"Please what? If you want me to touch you, you're going to have to tell me with your words."

"Touch me. Please touch me. Please, please, please." You were gasping for air. Your chest moving up and down at a fast pace. You wanted him. No, you needed him.

"Such a good girl. That wasn't so hard, was it?" His comment made the blood rise to your cheeks. "I'm going to take these off now, alright?" He grabbed the waistband of the underwear and pulled them down your thighs. You stifled a gasp when his fingers pressed against you. One of your hands reached behind you to thread through his hair, while the other went to cover your mouth as he began to circle you in a fast motion. Matty wasn't going to allow that. His free hand coming up to pull your hand from over your mouth. "I want to hear how good I'm making you feel.”

You don't think you could have held back your moans even if you tried, whining at the movement of his hand. Your hips moved aimlessly against his. The constant movement against his erection was becoming too much. His groans were hot against your ear. His arm wrapped around your waist and pinned it to him, ceasing your movements. "This is about you sweetheart, remember?" he added, voice strained. He trailed a finger downwards, gently circling your entrance. "Can I?"

"Please," you begged. You wanted as much of him as he would give you.

He slowly worked a finger into you, waiting until you were comfortable before thrusting deep in and out of you at a careful pace. "Fuck, you're so wet," he breathed into your ear. By this point, his other hand moved its way past your breasts and rested around your neck, giving your neck a gentle, but constant squeeze. You choked out a moan at the pressure on your neck, writhing against his groin once again. Heat spread across your skin. You knew he wanted to be careful with you, but you couldn't take the slow pace of his movements. You needed more.

"Matty, please put another one in and go faster. I'm not going to break, please." you begged. You were desperate, you didn't care if you sounded that way.

"Eager?" he replied. You didn't have to beg again, though. He wanted to please you. Matty pushed another finger into you and increased his pace, curling his fingers up so they brushed against a spot that made you jerk against him.

"Oh, fuck," you cried out, tightening your grasp in his hair. Your head fell back against his shoulder as his fingers thrusted in and out of you, going deeper and deeper with every stroke. The heat began to build in your lower stomach, wounding tighter with each of his movements. His hand left your neck and rested below your navel. He pushed down onto your lower stomach with his hand while his fingers continued to move. A choked sob left your lips. The tension within you was growing tighter.

"You like that?" he asked as if he didn't already know the answer, picking up the pace of his hand. You pulsed around his fingers with every stroke inside of you.

"Matty—" you rasped. His name was the only thing you were sure of right now. His fingers hitting every spot you needed them to. The heat in your stomach was reaching a breaking point.

"Something you're trying to tell me, love?"

"Please. I'm so close, please."

Immediately, he drew his hand from your stomach and began to circle your clit. The sensation from both hands was too much. Your hips stuttering against him. Electricity began to run through your skin as your hands went down to grasp at his thighs for support. Nails digging into the skin.

"Go on, sweetheart. Don't hold back," he murmured. His lips reattached to your neck, sucking hard on your pulse point.

His words, the feeling of his tongue, and the prodding of his hands sent you over the edge. You cried out his name at your release. Your muscles tensed around his fingers as the pleasure enveloped you, trembling in his hold.

"That's it. That's a good girl," he whispered into your ear, continuing to rub your clit to help you come down.

You stayed against him, trying to catch your breath as he removed his fingers from inside of you. Your skin still buzzing with pleasure as his other hand held your chin to pull you in for a kiss. Wanting to deepen the kiss, you turned around to sit in his lap, but he held back your face before your lips could meet his. His fingers that were inside you came up to prod against your lower lip.

"Clean them off for me, yeah?" he asked. His pupils were so wide you could barely make out the brown ring around them.

You did what he asked, opening your mouth to take his fingers in as far as they would go. Your lips closed around his fingers while your tongue pressed against them; you could taste yourself on his fingers. He slowly dragged them out of your mouth, never breaking eye contact with you. You craved more of him.

"Please fuck me," you begged, voice shaky.

Matty sucked in a sharp breath. He wanted all of you, but he was determined to wait. His hands held both sides of your face before he spoke. "Next time, but not tonight, okay? I just wanted to take care of you tonight, to take things slow."

"I want to make you feel good, too. Please, Matty." Your hands were on his chest, raking your fingernails down him softly. The only thing separating your bodies was the thin fabric of his boxers. He was still hard against you, straining against the fabric.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he insisted. Although, he was losing composure fast at the feeling of you against him with nearly no separation.

"If you won't fuck me..." you breathed out, moving your hips. He winced as you ground down against him. "Is there something else you'll let me do to get you off? You can use my mouth if you want." He groaned at the thought of your lips wrapped around him but pushed the image aside. That would happen later, not tonight.

"Fucking hell, I'll compromise. You can jerk me off. That alright?"

"Yes," you replied with a quick nod. "I'll do anything you'll let me."

"Go ahead," he prompted, voice thin. You went to move off of his lap, kneeling beside him. You gradually ran your hand down from his chest tattoo until you reached the bulge in his underwear. You splayed your hand over his clothed erection and pressed down carefully, looking him in the eye. His hips jerked against your hand as you continued to apply pressure. "Fuck," he groaned. You moved your hands upward to hook around his waist band, pulling the garment down.

He was big. A bead of precum formed at his tip. Your hand trembled as you grasped around his cock. Your fingers barely made their way all around him. His chest moved up and down as he breathed deeply, watching as you held him in your hand. Unsure of exactly how to do this well, you looked up at him.

"Do you want some guidance?" he asked without you having to say anything. His eyes were glazed over as they looked back down on you. You nodded hesitantly in response, and this time he didn't pry at your lack of words. "Alright." His hand moved down until it was wrapped around yours over his cock. His hand completely encapsulated yours, making you feel small next to him. He began to guide your hand to move up and down his shaft at a careful pace. His breath picked up at the feeling of your hand around him, struggling to speak out his next set of instructions.

"Just start out slow, don't press too hard at the tip." You continued to follow the movements of his hand, occasionally glancing up to see the look on his face. His lips were parted, still puffy. Pieces of hair hanged down over his forehead. He removed his hand from yours to let you touch him on your own. You were still careful with your movements, but held him firmly in your grasp, using his precum to glide your hand at a faster pace.

You were still unsure of yourself. "Is that good?" you asked, meeting his dark eyes.

"Fuck. Yeah, that's good keep going just like that." His words only egged you on. You increased your pace, giving the head of his cock a gentle squeeze. His head fell back against the headboard as a choked sound left his lips. You took his exposed neck as an opportunity to attach your lips to his neck, sucking right above his collarbone while continuously moving your hand. His hips jerked when your lips met his neck. "Shit, love. You're so good. Fuck."

He was getting close. His lower stomach was tensing, and his cock pulsated in your hand. Strained sounds were coming out of his mouth. You removed your lips from his neck and moved your freehand to the back of his head, forcing him to look you in the eyes. The eye contact was all it took. He spilled over your hand while you continued to stroke him through his orgasm. His first instinct was to pull you in by the back of your head for a quick, but heated kiss.

"Here, let me get you some tissues," he said, reaching for the box of tissues on his nightstand to clean up the mess on your hand. You stopped him with your clean hand.

"No, I got it," you replied, eyes dark. You took each of your fingers into your mouth, licking them clean while he watched with his mouth wide open.

"Shit. How about we do this again, same time next week?"

“Is that gonna be the ‘next time’ you mentioned earlier?”

“You’ll have to find out, won’t you?”

[culturalsillystine]

This will be split into two separate posts to save my sanity.

Unfortunately, Zero Day has begun to plague our mind again. Sorry for anyone who doesn't fw the Zero Day posts.

Anyway, I'm someone who personally believes Andre and Calvin wouldn't still be friends if Zero Day hadn't happened. So I decided, for fun, I'd draw my interpretation of what they'd look like if they hadn't gone through with Zero Day, as well as me blabbering about how their lives would be. This post is unfortunately very long, and only focuses on Calvin. Andre will have his own post.

Calvin Gabriel

I personally believe his personal life would get a little (a lot) harder had Zero Day been canceled. I'll elaborate on how I think it'd be stopped in another post but that isn't too important to this, anyway. The only important thing is I think it'd either begin with or lead to some kind of verbal and physical altercation. I don't fully know what would go down, but he'd end up with a broken and permanently crooked nose.

I invision the argument happening after the pipe bomb scene, but before they burn all their belongings. I believe Calvin would take some of the pipe bomb making materials for himself. I haven't decided the exact reason he'd do it yet, but I still think he would. I think he'd make a few things, maybe pipe bombs, but I think he'd stick to smaller explosives. I don't know how explosives work, I'm going to say this now. Maybe it wasn't an explosive he made, maybe it was a firework or something. But I believe he'd be playing around and it would backfire, and he'd get hit in the face. He'd be left with a big ass scar and a fake eye. You might be thinking, hey, if he went to the hospital, they'd cover his mouth, wouldn't they? And yes, they probably would, but I see Calvin as the type of person to not want it covered. I think he'd look at it and think wow, I'm a fucking idiot, I need to look at this every morning to rememher how much of a retard I am. And in some way, it'd remind him of Andre.

(Do I think they'd do this in real life? No, they'd probably take some skin from his leg or something. But this is MY post and NOT yours so I can decide WHATEVER I WANT!!)

(Also, forgive me for the inaccuracy of the scar. I know the anatomy and shaping is probably very wrong.)

I think he'd slowly start to gain weight. Not for one reason or another, he just does. I think it'd he a fairly consistent cycle of gain, lose, gain, lose. He'd grow his hair out because he doesn't like to get haircuts because they ask so many questions about his face, and he doesn't like cutting it himself. There's a scar on his eyebrow from where he gave himself an eyebrow piercing, but it got infected because he didn't clean it properly. He left it in until his body eventually rejected it.

In the picture below, he is 26. He works 11am-7pm at a grocery store. He wears a mask at work and has picked up some ASL to make sure everyone has a chance to understand him. He lived with his parents until he was 23, and at that age he told them he needed help, he felt like he was getting nowhere in life. They helped him get a job and helped him get an apartment. His younger brother is in baseball and he regularly takes him to and from practice. His sister is enrolled in dance classes and is learning piano. He teaches her how to read music. He still feels like he's getting nowhere.

Face close ups.

I will provide close ups for other things, if anyone wants them. Enjoy this, it took me way too long. Or don't. Feel free to send me death threats if you hate it.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Opposed Beliefs | Pt. 1

(A/N) If you feel like you've read this before, that possibility exists. I posted this once before but took it down because it wasn't doing well. But, I decided to no longer care about that, so I'll post it again and hopefully continue writing it!

Pairing: Cardinal!Copia x Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: mentions of blood, Swiss being kind of a jerk at first, Copia being an adorable mess, Reader is a novice at a catholic abby

Synopsis: While you're in town, you find an injured man and decide to help him back to the church he calls home. There you meet Copia.

The rain was drumming heavily against the pavement, the sound interrupted by the splashing of your feet as you ran through puddles, not caring about the wetness inside your shoes. One of your arms was raised above your head, trying and failing, to shield you from the worst of it, while the other one was cradling the basket with groceries against your side. Both, your habit and your veil have been soaked through completely and you couldn’t suppress the shivers that ran down your spine whenever a particular cold drop of water would hit you.

When you had left the abbey to go to town, the forecast had indicated clear skies for the rest of the week. You would never admit it, but at this moment, you were cursing the weather forecast for its inaccuracy. Still, you kept on walking through the allies, talking the quickest route, back up the hill, and to the nunnery you were calling home.

A groan, almost drowned out by the sound of rain hitting the ground, caught your attention and you raised your head, your eyes searching up and down the alley, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. And you found the source rather quickly.

There, behind one of the dumpsters, a leg was sticking out.

Maybe you should’ve been scared, or at least surprised. But all you could feel was worry and surprisingly…curiosity. You slowed down, but continued in the direction of the groans, carefully peeking behind the dumpster.

What you saw was a rather large man, completely clothed in black, with a silver mask on. His clothes looked vintage, a black coat, that reached his mid-thighs and a black sash around his waist. The silver mask had an elongated chin, as well as two horns and holes for his eyes.

And his eyes…a dark brown but blazing with intense heat as he watches you approach.

You carefully place the basket on the ground. By now it, as well as all the groceries inside were already soaked anyway, so it didn’t matter. You approached him further, finally noticing the watered-down red pooling by his side, a hot flash shooting through your body. He was bleeding.

Without thinking, you rush to his side and kneel, a hand quickly pressed against the wound. He hissed in pain and tried to pull away, but your hand automatically followed his body, keeping a firm pressure.

“Don’t move.”

You reached out and with quick fingers untied the sash, before placing it over the wound and tying it again. While you’ve never had formal training as any kind of medical professional, one of the nuns at the abbey had taught you a thing or two. After making sure that the sash sat firm in its place, you placed your arms under his shoulders and tried to get him to his feet, but he wouldn’t cooperate.

With an annoyed huff, you rise to your full height, which isn’t a lot, and glared at him. While he returned the glare for a bit, after a few moments, he gave up and, with your help, started to get to his feet. As soon as he stood, you placed one of his arms around your shoulders and one of yours around his waist, positioning your hand in a way, that you could add extra pressure to the wound.

“Okay, now where do you live?”

He stayed silent for a moment before he mumbled his answer.

“The black church.”

You knew immediately what building he was talking about. With shaky steps you started to maneuver him in the direction, carrying most of his weight. The groceries you were sent to buy were long forgotten.

Due to the rain and the slow pace of your companion, it took you two quite a bit to reach the church. Once you did, you pushed open the doors and stumbled inside, the man you’ve been partially carrying now almost unconscious.

“Help!”

Your cry for help went unanswered for an entire, very scary, moment before a man came running out of a side room. He was wearing a black cassock and and matching biretta. On the front of the cassock, a silver, upside-down crucifix was attached and he was wearing black paint around his eyes and on his upper lip. But in the moment, none of that caught your attention. What did catch your attention though, were his eyes. One was them was a brilliant green, while the other was a startling white.

You realized you had been staring, when the man suddenly stood in front of you, without you realizing that he had moved at all. His eyes flickered from the man you were still supporting, to you, worry clear in them.

“What happened?”

Before you could answer, he turned around and called out two names, before turning back to you and taking the man’s weight off of you. He carried him further into the building as two men, looking similar to the one you’d found earlier, came rushing out. They immediately grabbed the, by-now unconscious man, before waiting for instructions.

“Take him to the infirmary and call Aether. Keep me up to date.”

The two men nodded and carried the other one away, leaving you alone with the man in the cassock. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes on them, until they left through a door and you could no longer see them.

“-ella? Sorella? Are you okay?”

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

“W-What?”

He smiled. And what a smile he had. It was kind and understanding and you suddenly felt at peace.

“I was just asking if you are alright.”

You nodded shakily before suddenly realizing how weak your knees felt.

“I…I think I need to sit down for a second.”

His eyes widened and he placed his hand on the small of his back, gently but quickly leading you to the room he had just come out of. He pulled out a fluffy armchair for you and for a second, you hesitated, realizing that you were drenched to the bone. But as soon he realized that, he just gestured for you to sit down and eventually you did.

“Please, wait here for a second. I’ll quickly grab some tea.”

You were about to protest, but the man was already out the door, leaving you alone for a few moments. You took the time to calm down. Only then did you realize you were shivering.

A few minutes passed before the man entered the room again, a tray with two steaming cups in one hand, and a towel and blanket in the other. He carefully placed the tray on the desk, before handing the towel to you.

“I ah…I will turn around, so…ehm…you can dry your, ah, hair.”

You nodded with a smile and waited for him to turn his back, before carefully taking your veil off and rubbing the towel over your hair. As soon as it dried at least a little bit, you quickly put your veil back on, glad that you were still a novice and didn’t have to hide your hair completely.

“You…you can turn back around.”

The man did so and smiled at you before he took a few steps closer and carefully placed the blanket around your shoulders.

“You’re shaking, sorella.”

His voice. It was quiet and soft and filled with care that, if you didn’t know any better, would remind you of a lover, not a stranger.

“Ah…ahm…thank you. I appreciate it, really. But…may I ask…what have you been calling me? So-sorella?”

He again smiled, as soon as that foreign word left your mouth.

“Si, sorella. It ah…means sister.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, your fingers automatically reaching for your veil.

“I-I am not a nun yet. I ahm…I’m still a novice.”

Now it was his turn for his eyes to widen. He frantically started to apologize, almost panicked.

“No, no. Please, it’s okay.”

You rose to your feet and placed your hand on his forearm, effectively calming him down. He smiled before lowering his head and shaking it.

“Mi dispiace, I should’ve known.”

“I promise you, it’s completely fine.”

He smiled and nodded before gesturing for you to sit back down. As you did, he handed you one of the cups, before he grabbed the other one and sat down himself. You whispered a quick thank you and started sipping the warm liquid, sighing at its taste and the warmth that started to spread through your body from the inside.

“If you would like, we have a…ehm…a drier. We can dry your habit and uh…offer you some other clothes while you…you wait.”

He didn’t look at you while he spoke, but you noticed a soft blush covering his cheeks.

“You are too kind, but I will have to leave soon. The others at the abbey will already be worried.”

He nodded, seemingly lost in thought, before he rose to his feet and placed the cup on his desk.

“In that case, I insist on driving you back to the abbey. It is ahm…cazzo…far away still.”

The second sentence sounded more like a question, and you were about to protest, but he spoke again, before you could.

“No, really. I do insist. Per favore.”

You hesitated for a moment, before nodding.

“Fine…thank you…ahm…I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

He perked up and took a step closer, a shy smile adorned his face.

“Copia.”

The man reached for your hand and raised it to his lips, leaving a soft peck on your knuckles. You felt your face heat up as you watched his movement, butterflies in your stomach.

“May I ask what your name is?”

You nodded and told him your name, your voice slightly shaky.

Translations: Sorella…Sister Mi dispiace…I’m sorry Cazzo…Shit Per favore…Please

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[diminuel]

Sup! So like I know the Stinky Child AU is mostly just a happy fluffy Everybody Lives And The Fam Is Together AU but, and idk if you've answered this before, how do the Vivi and Robin plotlines go? As in, I'm assuming Crocodile is chill and ain't attempting manufacturing civil war to take over BUT I gotta know how it goes when it comes to Robin cause it'd be so funny to see these poor parents react to YOUR SON AND HIS CREW BEAT UP CP9 AND DECLARED WAR ON *THE WORLD* FOR THEIR FRIEND (who may or may not have been your assistant Wani)

The problem with my art and AUs is that I make AUs of AUs.

Stinky Child AU has the premise of "what if Crocodile and Dragon raised ASL" and it tries to stick closer to canon - i.e. the world cannot know of the relation between them.

And then there's an AU of that premise where Dragon and Crocodile make their kids everybody else's problems *lol* (i.e. nothing bad happens, it's fluff and comedy)

I've rambled before on Alabasta which you can read about here!

Regarding Robin. Crocodile would not tell Dragon about her, even though he knows Dragon has been looking for her. He's informed Robin about that probably, but he most likely gave Robin a promise that he'd keep her secret and that means also from Dragon. And he wouldn't try to kill her of course. When she refused to tell him what is written on the Poneglyph he accepts it as the final nail in the coffin that everything he's tried to do in Alabasta has ultimately failed. It's over. I'm not entirely sure how the fight against Luffy would go, but I assume that Crocodile suggested that Robin should join Luffy when everything is said and done, which she eventually does.

And Crocodile would already be in prison when the whole Ennies Lobby incident happens but Dragon would probably be very pleased because he's a "fuck the Government" kind of guy . Even though Luffy does it just to save one person, so his motivation is quite different. Dragon will take it anyway. That's probably the thing to put a smile on his face after his husband got his ass sent to Impel Down and Dragon can't really do anything about it. (Though the joy probably doesn't last too long because Ace gets sent there too and oh god. But I'm getting ahead of myself *lol*)

(And in the comedy version, Vivi and Robin most likely grew up as sort of family to Luffy as well. There's an AU out there where Vivi is Crocodile's biological child. Whether it's this one or not I don't know. I'll let people decide that *lol* (In every AU there's at least one break up between Dragon and Crocodile so we can sneak in some chaos.) That said, Crocodile would find Robin very early on because Dragon is looking for her. If Dragon makes puppy eyes about this poor child, Crocodile is getting him this poor child. Congrats on your new child. Declaring war on the world - or the world government - for a friend/ sister is a very Luffy thing to do, so nobody is surprised. Sengoku probably thinks about resigning because this is getting too stupid for him. What did CP9/ the World Government think was going to happen??! Don't they know what kind of family Robin has? Haha.)

[motelroomjesus]

whooo I finished ep 4 and 5 of The Heart Killers

I still don't like Kant, I'm warming up to Bison, still obsessed with FadelStyle, and I want Style carnally.

I'm also really interested in how they're using the music and soundtrack to emphasize the emotions of some scenes.

This post is about to be longer than my usual since it's covering two eps but anyway

Spoilers under the cut !

Me when I overanalyze my BL:

First and foremost, that pat down scene in ep 4 where Fadel maintained eye contact with Kant as he searched him... How do u put that there and expect ppl to not imagine things, Jojo..... 😫 Even the goofy music in the background couldn't dissuade me from thinking they should hate fuck ☝️ but anyway

It's very obvious that while Style isn't fully committed and his feelings for Fadel are just starting to bloom, he definitely wants that man. Atp where we are in ep 4 he's obviously lusting after that man (face economy, body tea). I mean he gave him, apparently, the best sex of his life in a grief meeting storage room. He let the man cut his little crop top off. The lust of it all is so real. But I think now, after the chase, after spending more time with him, especially after hearing how Fadel was asking where he was, he's pursuing Fadel with more sincere intentions and I think he truly wants to know Fadel more. And lord have mercy, that scene in the woods.

That scene in the abandoned warehouse in the woods, aside from the iconic "I don't like that I miss you", is when I first noticed the soundtrack specifically highlighting the emotions. Now, I know soundtracks are meant to do that but I think they're doing it in a really fun way IDK They put a lighthearted cute, and low-key hopeful, little tune over a heated make out and handjob. It felt like it reflected their emotions in that moment really well and how the audience is meant to see the scene. It's not just a hot and heavy make out session because yay official, it's an indicator of a turning page, especially for Fadel. It's a signal that he can get butterflies in his stomach too, even with his enormous walls and stoic mask (defense mechanism), and I'm sticking to that interpretation. I love u my emotionally and sexually repressed little hitman.

And then Kant came in and decided NOW is the perfect time to finally tell his friend that oh yeah ur new bf is a hitman. It's not even that part that actually annoyed me, it's the little quip when Style says gunman instead of hitman. Like I'll kill u with a gun Kant. 😭

I fear I may never truly warm up to him, he is so annoying to me. 😔

Okay so ep 5, I kind of warmed up to Bison. He's cute he's fun, he's totally ignoring his instincts about Kant even tho he knows better. He seems less than helpful in most scenarios though, but whatever

There were two scenes that caught my attention and they were obviously meant to:

1) Kant and Bison post coital cuddles

2) Style and Fadel's intimacy towards the end of the ep

I'm mostly talking about the music again and the intentional use (or absence) of it. During the KantBison scene, when Bison is being so gentle with his kisses and telling Kant tender words, the music reaches a subtle crescendo once Bison says he feels like his life is changing since he met Kant and the camera lands right in Kant's distressed face. It was a great way to signal that Kant is gonna face the music very soon. I found that fun and I had to rewind a couple times just to make sure I wasn't making it up in my head. Could just be a transition sound choice, but I'm reading into it.

The KantBison scene felt like a big contrast next to the FadelStyle scene to me. At this point I think they're both feeling more than they're letting on for each other. Fadel and Style's night is, mostly, quiet. There's no backtrack for the most part. Fadel is splayed out in the bed just watching Style take his shirt off, exposing himself more than Fadel, and caging Fadel in by crawling on top of him. Style is on top of him kissing him, doing what he wants to, and Fadel is letting him. Style is telling Fadel that he wants to be trusted, he wants more from Fadel and he's willing to wait for him to be ready. He means it. And I know there's the component of this all starting for some car and Style now being aware of the reality of the situation but I think that's the point. That's the point of doing this specific scene with the absence of a backtrack until Style starts getting actually frisky. When Style is saying all of this and kissing Fadel's scar, we only listen to his words, their breathing, and their kisses. It's bare bones, but that's the point. To bare it all.

Did I read into that too much? Maybe! but idgaaaaffff. I'm eating this shit up and having fun dissecting things that maybe don't need dissecting. :P

I think it's obvious I'm more invested in FadelStyle than KantBison.... zorry! They put me-targeted drugs in FadelStyle. It's not my fault. 🧍

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

Hi Gigi! I hope you are well? 💖

Here are some wintery questions if you feel like it but no worries if not!

- what are Ian’s thoughts over the years about Mickey’s bulky, warm jackets?

- did they ever dream about meeting up together during the winter when they were younger?

- does Ian (post-canon) have any special food or drinks he wants to try during the winter?

- is Mickey into decorating their apartment in the West Side?

Hello Calli !!

Nice to see you, I'm doing alright and I hope you are too ! I'm on a writing hiatus but I'll do my best to answer these absolutely adorable winter questions.

Ian definitely thinks Mickey's bulky jackets are kind of cute ridiculous at first, like Mickey wears oversized coats because he wants to look bigger than he is but really it just looks like the coats are swallowing him whole as his little head and legs poke out. Eventually Ian realizes that Mickey gets cold very easily and needs to put on basically every sweater he owns under the big coat when they're getting undressed and Ian's ripping sweater after sweater off like the endless handkerchief magic trick and Mickey's just standing there acting like wearing eight layers is normal. Then he starts to wonder how lovely and warm it must be under there, like it'd be nice to stick his hands inside the inner lining and give Mickey a hug and leech of all that lovely warmth.

(More thoughts under the cut because it got really long lol)

They miss each a lot in the winter, simply because Chicago is beyond fucking cold. They're used to meeting up outside during the rest of the year because they're teens without anywhere else to go. But it's basically impossible to just hang out outside in the midwest in February, so they sneak into each others houses when they can but the risk is a lot higher and they can't spend as much time just sitting and talking together. I think when Ian piles every unclaimed blanket in the house onto the couch or his bed he hunkers down and pouts because it would be a lot more fun with Mickey cuddled up along with him.

Oh they definitely go to a friendsgiving at someones house this year and they both try mulled wine for the first time and Mickey's like 'hey, this is alright :)' but Ian? Ian decides its the single most delicious thing he's ever had, spending the rest of the night getting tipsy off of sweet, cinnamon-y spiced wine. This man is walking around the party with the pinkest cheeks you've ever seen and a red wine stain on his big ole smile. He spends a considerable amount of time leaning over the pot with the hosts as they explain the recipe, nodding enthusiastically, and you best believe mulled wine is on heavy rotation in their house all winter.

Mickey is absolutely the interior designer in their house just because he has the most and loudest opinions and he cannot resist the thrall of a magazine rack so he loves to grab a Home&Design or Architectural digest while Ian isn't looking at the grocery checkout line (because Ian would argue that no one buys magazines anymore, they're all free online anyway. But Mickey likes them! Sue him!) But I actually don't think he likes to decorate for the holidays, he has their apartment looking the way he wants and Christmas decorations are a bunch of extra expensive stuff he really doesn't care about, but Ian does.

Ian will come home with a wreath and some string lights and maybe an extra cozy red blanket to throw over the couch because they can never really have too many. And Mickey doesn't really say anything about it at first, except that the wreath should go over the fire place instead of on their door because it's a waste of money to decorate for the neighbors they don't even like, but throughout the season Ian watches him get comfortable under the blanket while napping on the couch or looking fondly at the warm string lights and feel vindicated in his own decorating skills and ability to conjure up some holiday cheer.

So yeah, that was a lot, my stream of consciousness writing always comes out more like a broken dam but I hope some of these thought were interesting. Thanks for asking !!

[esmedelacroix]

6 days til' Christmas

barely surviving morning and day sickness with help from husband!miguel o'hara⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

7 days til' christmas ← previous part

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The moment your eyes opened the only word that could describe the way you were feeling was: discomfort. The room was spinning and all you wanted was a bottle of water. But even water was making you feel sicker just thinking about it. You were drenched in sweat, it felt like honey on your skin the way your hair stuck to your forehead and neck.

Your lips felt like all moisture had been sucked out of them with a freeze-dryer. You felt oddly frail like you could barely move your limbs. You started having morning sickness days ago but not at this level of intensity.

You look at your alarm which read [4:00], which was far too early for Miguel to be at work. You felt his side of the bed and thankfully he was there and not saving other universes. You woke him up by shaking him. "Miguel I don't feel well," you started as his eyes began to open slowly.

Before you could get any more words out, you felt your stomach do a backflip. You quickly stumbled into your bathroom crouched over the toilet and vomited.

You hadn't even eaten but you couldn't stop. Miguel rushed to your side with water but the moment you took a huge much-needed sip, you started vomiting again. Miguel felt like he couldn't do anything but watch and be there for you and rub your back. "Small sips, take small sips mama," Miguel said softly.

You took the tiniest sips of water. Miguel put both of his hands on your shoulders and looked deep into your eyes. "Close your eyes, and just breathe in, and out," he said, his voice getting softer.

He exaggerated his breaths, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth and you joined him and you felt a lot more calm. He ran his hand through your hair and massaged your scalp. "I'll take the day off from work, this seems like those stomach bugs you get sometimes but if you think maybe you need to go to the hospital, I'll take you there," he assured.

"Thank you for always taking care of me bae," you said as you wrapped your arms around him.

"Of course amor," he answered as he planted a kiss on your temple.

"C'mon let's find something to eat. No pickles," he joked as he helped you get up.

Miguel only let you have bread for breakfast and you had to take the smallest bites so you wouldn't vomit it all out. Why do they call it morning sickness when it hits at random parts of the day? You asked yourself in the afternoon when you vomited again after eating some soup.

Miguel was insisting that you have hot meals at night and just stick to eating cold things during the day. You didn't know how he knew exactly what to do. But he just did, and you were thankful for that.

On top of your sickness, you were also constipated. It was a rough day, but you called your doctor about what to do. You decided to take a walk with Miguel to increase your bowel movements and you drank a lot more water than usual.

You had a long way to go in getting used to your 'morning' sickness. But you knew you could get through it with Miguel's help. "Hey, I really want a corn dog," you blurted out as the two of you sat in your living room doing a puzzle. You usually had wine on nights like this but you insisted on just having water.

"That's random, what kind?" he answered.

"The one from that store in Chinatown," you said.

"Two hands?" Miguel asked.

"Yeah Two Hands Korean corn dogs, that's the name of the place," you said.

"Okay, but I'm not sure how you'll do in the car so we'll order it here, you're still a little sick," he said as he took his phone out.

"Thanks," you said as you kissed his cheek.

Everything went crashing and burning that morning, but things were starting to look up. Besides, it was only 5 more days until Christmas anyway.

. . .

next part → 5 days til' Christmas

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taglist: @aripet22@to-the-endoftheline

[gatitties]

hello!! can I request an HCs for Bonten!Mikey, Ran, Sanzu, and Izana where Y/N is sick? like she has episodes where she's having a seizure and after that she coughs blood and after that Y/N is hiding from them because she's embarrassed that they had to see that. Y/N even requested a special room in the hospital where that room is located in a floor where you needed an hospital employees' ID to enter. and ofc these boys will do everything just to reach her 🫶🏻🫶🏻

—Bonten!Mikey, Ran, Sanzu & Izana x reader

—Summary: You don't feel well and you try to hide it, but there's no way they won't notice

—Warnings: none

There you go!! 🫶🏻 man I'll never find gifs of sanzu 😔

— There is no way you can hide anything from the leader of Bonten, no matter what your position is, he knows and has to be informed about all his workers, especially if they are as important and precious as you.

— He knows something is wrong when you ask for a few days off since you started feeling bad and have a few episodes without much repercussions.

— The problem was that your condition worsened and you started coughing up blood after some seizures.

— You took advantage of a small injury on one of your missions to go to the hospital where they would do some tests.

— Mikey wanted to know your status because you didn't have to be in the hospital five days for a sprained foot.

— His suspicions grew when he found out that you had requested a separate room where all visitors were restricted unless doctors.

— No one could hold anything back from Mikey unless they wanted a bullet in the skull, so you didn't get to spend much time alone.

— He got mad at you because you thought you would be a burden for your seizures or for having developed something worse.

— But the truth is that he didn't give a shit, he didn't need you to work for him if you couldn't because of that, it's okay, he just wants you by his side.

— But don't try to hide things from him again, you may be someone dear to him, but you can't play this kind of thing with the leader of Bonten.

— You two are co-workers for the most part when he's not with Rindou so he knows you pretty well.

— Trying to hide your thoughts is a fight without cause, and thinking that you might be a burden by some recent troubles made you make up your mind.

— Just leave, use the first excuse you can think of so you can visit the doctor without worrying Ran.

— Unfortunately, Ran knows that vacations are not that easy in Bonten, no matter how high your rank is.

— At first he thought you wanted to leave him and this was your subtle way of saying it, but talking to the others he heard that they had seen you sick lately.

— It wasn't difficult for him to look for information about your supposed vacation, vacation in a hospital.

— He wanted to make fun of you for taking your situation to such an extreme of secrecy, but in truth he was worried about your health.

— If it was something slight you would have trusted him enough to tell him about it and surely make jokes about your death announced by a little constipated like last time.

— He didn't mind getting to the hospital and sticking with all the staff just to get to your private room to know you were okay.

— It was he who saw you in that deplorable state, but he thought it was a side effect of the drugs.

—Because yes, sometimes he would urge you to get high with him, whether you want to or not, Sanzu will do it anyway and won't remember much of the night.

— Lucky for you that he didn't remember that and you wanted to do some tests, the least they needed in Bonten was someone sick and useless.

— Although the tests and your seizures got worse so you decided to stay in the hospital.

—Enough time for Sanzu to notice your absence even drugged, you're his adventure partner, where the hell were you?

—In a delusion he thought that you had been kidnapped because you often worked undercover in companies belonging to other mafias.

—He created a whole scandal in the hospital to the point of threatening the receptionists at gunpoint so that they would give him a pass to your room.

— You tried to calm him down and explain to him that you hadn't told him anything so as not to worry anyone, but you achieved the opposite effect with him.

— He told you he didn't care what problems or illnesses you have, but you should tell him before he goes crazy and blows someone's brains out.

— Are you seriously trying to hide something from Izana? You are brave at least.

— It just started with nausea to the point of vomiting blood, you knew you couldn't hide something serious for long, but you didn't want to be fired from work.

— Because losing your usefulness in a mafia is different from being fired in any other kind of business.

— You didn't last two days trying to hide your problem, but Izana wanted to know how far you'd go.

—He tired fast because you go to a private room in the hospital where he couldn't see you.

— He was direct and concise with his point, pulled some strings and was able to access your room without problems.

— You were someone precious to him and good at your job, it would be a waste to fire you just like that.

— He calmed down your concerns about a possible illness or small episodes, he planned to cover all your medical expenses and give you days off if you felt bad as long as you stayed by his side, he wasn't willing to lose more important people to him.