#there are no words to describe how much i love this .

[drchucktingle]

devastation

los angeles is such a beautiful city that has welcomed me with open arms. it is hard to describe to buckaroos outside area how devastating this is. i am very lucky, had small tree fall on tingle household but there was no damage. however several other buds have already lost so much to fires.

thought about not posting this because i personally do not want words of condolence, tingle household is just fine and others deserve these words much much more. but i have decided to say something just to put these feelings out into the timeline. we are fighting over here and eventually we will win

sometimes im in a position to say something positive in dark times, but right now i just want to say its okay to feel devastation too. thats what this is. it is horrible and we do not need to push through it with smiles. sometimes you can push through it with a heavy heart. both ways prove love

we will move through this together. with tears, with smiles, with whatever weve got.

[homunculus-argument]

Hii I'm asking you this because I've seen you post about Finnish grammar and stuff before. So I'm learning Finnish, and I also use duolingo because like free practice and duolingo keeps giving me this word but they refuse to translate it. Please I need to know what pulla means because in my native language it means dick and the duolingo characters keep asking for this mysterious pulla item with coffee and until I find out all my brain can hear is "i want coffee and dick please"

It's a type of finnish pastry, traditionally offered to visiting guest with coffee. A type of sweet bread roll made from wheat flour and flavoured with cardamom, generally with nib sugar sprinkled on top, as pictured above. They look and sound very simple, but they're surprisingly hard to make. Much like in baking bread, you've got to get the temperatures just right for the dough to rise, because yeast will die out of pure spite rather than let you succeed.

One particular reason why they're so iconic and beloved in Finland is because they take skill to bake and also don't keep well. They're delicious when they're fresh from the oven, but in 48 hours that delicious steaming roll is a solid dry rock that you could use as a makeshift hammer and tastes like crumbs and sadness. So in order to have them fresh, someone has to have baked them specifically for you, or at least the same morning.

You probably would have been satisfied with just the first sentence of this post for explanation, but I got started running my mouth and I'm having fun so I'm going to go on.

Pulla is one of those distinct cultural things that one grows up with that is so mundane and commonplace where you've grown up that it surprises you to hear that it's not universal. In finnish the term for a stereotypical idealised maternal domestic goddess housewife is "pullantuoksuinen kotiäiti" - literally "stay-at-home mother that smells like pulla". I've heard the expression used both as genuinely praising and snidely dismissive way to describe a woman who wants to be a mother and homemaker instead of having a career, but that's how much of a deal pulla is to finnish culture.

You can describe a person as "pulla-scented", and everyone can immediately picture what kind of a person this is. Someone who is a skilled enough homemaker to make good pulla, whose home is warm and welcoming because it smells like freshly baked pulla, which she has baked for you because she loves you.

I have plenty of things I was planning to do today and writing an essay about pulla was not one of them.

[green-mug-tomato-juice]

i still agree with this very much, but the more i think about it the more i feel like the way we as textile artists talk about fast fashion sometimes is really disrespectful. the category of "handmade" we have made up to describe things we make that take lots of time and that we put lots of love into is fake. all clothing is more or less handmade. FAST FASHION IS HANDMADE. you can not totally mechanize the process of sewing garments. a home sewing machine doesn't operate itself. neither does a factory grade sewing machine. fast fashion is cheap because the people who make it make almost no money from it and work under dangerous and inhumane conditions because noone invests in their safety. in mass production singular steps of making a garments are split to different people to make things more efficient, which also speeds up the process. but these people STILL work with their hands. it's handmade. the only real difference is that while we craft for fun, they do it to survive. because there's no other option. and like OF COURSE you're right op, we should all be paid fairly for the things that we make. but when we praise the process of handmaking our own textiles while bashing fast fashion, that's just punching down. we need to always remember that the fact that we are ABLE to make textiles for fun and demand fair prices comes from the (relative) privilege that we don't have to do it for our survival.

basically i just think we need to be more mindful how we word these things. if people don't value our work the way they should, it's not because of fast fashion clothing itself - it's because of capitalist consumerism and the fashion industry. and exploited person's labor is NOT worth less than our labor just because we have the privilege of putting love and passion into it and they don't.

still thinking about the brainrot that fast fashion has caused in people, like i made this pair of pants that are black and white with a cool flowery design, and an acquaintance saw them and said "wow i'd pay like 20 dollars for you to make me a pair" and i could barely think with how utterly horrified i was at that; i told them that 20 dollars wouldn't even cover the materials, let alone the hours of work that went into cutting, sewing, ironing, hemming, altering, etc. they just had this look on their face when i told them that, when i said i wouldn't make them a pair for even 100 dollars because that was still way too low of an amount, a look that said "you're crazy for thinking that those cost 100 dollars" and maybe i am crazy but holy shit, 20 dollars for a pair of handmade, durable, lined pants fitted specifically to your measurements? 20 dollars for upwards of 60 hours of work? 20 dollars for several yards of high-quality fabric, thread, and buttons? 20 dollars???

[windixie]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ out of touch ♱ soccer player! gojo x alt! reader pt.1

summary : gojo is the university's most popular boy and soccer player. he can get any girl he wanted to warm up his bed, so why did he catch feelings for the girl who looks like she just woke up out of a coffin?

warnings ☠︎︎ this will contain smut throughout the story. reader is implied to have a smaller chest! gojo is an asshole :( so angst, profanity, insecurities, p in v, creampie, comfort, fluff, slight breeding kink, light choking, jealousy, ill prob add to the list as the story progresses!

word count : 1.03k

let me know if you want to be added to the tag list !!

you knew gojo. hell, everyone knew gojo. annoying, loud, obnoxious, ah should I go on? that's how you described the so called star player on the soccer team. his ego reached all the way towards the clouds by how much he was admired in the community. you on the other hand, not so much. sure you were known by many but not in such a positive way. you were intelligent sure, but the way you dressed wasn't entirely accepted. you were always getting bothered by other students, one of them being no other than satoru gojo. although, it seems that you two have grown into a friendship lately.

"hey pretty" you heard an awfully familiar voice come up behind you. the white haired boy was still in his blue and white soccer jersey covered in grass stains and some of his sweat from his practice that he just came from. you gave him one of your small sweet smiles."hi gojo" you mumbled back.

he looked down at your figure. the pretty black blouse fit you so perfect as well as those mini grey jean shorts that cupped your ass so deliciously. gojo took notice of you wearing your earbuds which he took one of them and placed it in his ear. "whatcha listening to?" you faced him slightly annoyed as you looked at how his face scrunched up in disgust.

"seriously? how can your ears support all that screaming?" he grimaced as he heard the loud singing.

he let out a chuckle at that before his eyes lit up as he realized something. reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper handing it to you. you blamed the shot of arousal that traveled towards you as you took notice of how veiny his arms were. you glanced down to see it was a ticket. a ticket to his upcoming soccer game, to be exact.

your eyebrows picked up as you turned to him. "you want me to go to your game?" the question made the blue eyed boy nod. "want you there on the stands baby, if you can, then I promise to play even better than I usually do." you were shocked to say the least. the satoru gojo inviting you to his game personally even after countless months of relentless bullying was not something you could see coming.

but you couldn't help yourself from nodding. "yeah sure ill be there!" the feeling of your heart beating against your chest brought a scary but not unwelcome feeling. You stared at him for a moment, unsure if you were hearing things correctly. The blue-eyed boy, a walking angel blessed by God himself, smirked down at you with a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn't the usual cocky smirk. It was different—something warmer, maybe? Or maybe you were just imagining it.

"I'd like that."

"great, ill see you tomorrow after school then?" he asked in which you let out an mhm in return. "okay pretty, try and get some sleep. you need some just by judging off your eye bags" he teased. "shut up!"

you watched the taller boy walk off. his use of the sweet and loving names made you feel a little awkward, but you shoved it down. You had a feeling that this was just another one of his ways of throwing you off. It wasn’t like he was being sweet. Not Gojo. He never was.

As you walked off to the other side of where the dormitories where taking note on how the night was now awakening due to time change. as you reached for your AirPods case to put back your earbuds your fingers stopped on your left ear. your earbud was missing.

gojo didn't take notice of the music cutting off. he was in a completely different world thinking about none other than you. he didn't understand how he caught feelings. no matter how many times he reminded himself it was you and how he could do some much better that that. he only gave you to ticket to his game only to be nice, is what he told himself. a friendly gesture friends do all the time!

"yo Satoru!" one of his friends called out to him. gojo turned to look at the boy with long black hair and big ass gauges walking up to him along with some other boys from the team. a smile crept up on his face dabbing them all up. "hey you all did well at practice today"

"yeah man that's what we came to say as well but we saw you talking to that emo freak uh whats her name, y/n?" this made gojo slightly embarrassed on how they caught him. "don't tell me you hitting on that emo pussy, it can't be that good" one of the other teammates chuckled making the white haired boy slightly uncomfortable.

"nah man, too busy with uraume" Geto patted his back "good good, lets keep it that way. she's got a better body anyways. let me burrow her sometime yeah?" the blacked hair boy received a nudge at that making him chuckle.

you looked around you trying to find the taller boy to retrieve your airpod. sighing in relief as you saw him. "gojo!" you called out making the boys turn around.

"ah she came back for round two?"

you walked up to him. "hey uhm you still have my AirPods." you said pointing to his ear. "give back your friend her AirPods satoru" his friend teased.

"we're barely friends. acquaintance is a better term" he mumbled out. as you received back your airpod, you stopped. eyes widening as you heard what he said. "acquaintance? thought we were-"

"friends?" he cut you off. "cmon I pay attention to you two or three times and now suddenly we're friends?" he scoffed. why was he acting like this? that's right, because he's satoru gojo. you were nowhere as close as him. you never will be. your face turned serious before you reached into you pocket handing him the ticket he gave you. "here, you dropped this" you mumbled.

gojos eyes fell down to the ticket in his hands. his heart broke a bit. "wait.. y/n-"

"forget it" with that you retrieved back to the direction to your dorm fighting back tears as you left the boy stunned.

"looks like you hurt her feelings, gonna go apologize?"

"nah."

© 2025 windixie. All work belongs to windixie . please do not copy, repost, plagiarize, any of my works as your own.

[misty-surveys]

if you have a lighter, what color is it? we have a green one with fern on it but we don't use it, in hs Nat is using one with art reminding us of Alfons Mucha, others choose whatever

pepsi box blue or cheetos bag orange? pepsi box blue

do you like pasta? we do

how often are you on tumblr? everyday! usually in the morning and evenings sometimes

are you only doing this because you’re bored? yes and no

what blogs do you mostly interact with? our favorite ones obviously, we follow over 200 blogs

have you had water today? yes, of course

which do you prefer, cotton candy or funnel cake? funnel cake I guess

bass or drums? drums

favorite tv commercial? host has few of 'em she might list someday maybe

can we be friends? don't know you :x

do you admire the clouds and color of the sky? at times

what’s the weirdest thing that’s happened to you? so many weird shit!

a netflix series that’s your favorite? can't choose

an earliest obsession you remember? host had an obsession on collecting monkey photos from newspapers/magazines and just articles about animals, she was constantly browsing her small encyclopedia on animals and it's still right next to me on the desk, one of few reasons we became animals ourselves...

do you play video games? not really

zombies or vampires? none anymore

your first celebrity crush? unsure who was real celeb crush for our host tbh

do you have a collection of cool rocks? yes, host does

five words that describe you? system, us, we, headmates, alters; for host - collector, sidekick, childish, small, clown

what have you learned about yourself? we know ourselves/each other better everyday!

can you tie a cherry stem with your tongue? nope

do you believe in aliens? dunno, don't care much

books or films? movies 100%, host read a lot during her childhood, when it comes to Brie he is reading way more in head space and isn't a big fan of movies but still watches them from time to time

an unusual song that’s your favorite? probably plenty of unusual songs for us ;)

the last thing you ate? host ate cookies with family

have you gotten bit by a dog? yes, host was bitten by a dog before and we were bitten by dogs in the inner world too

do you write better with a pen or a pencil? pen

a song that gets stuck in your head? none currently

when you hear “ peace ” what do you think of? hand sign

a school subject you're good with? depends

how many alarms do you have set? none, mom wakes us up

do you shop at thrift stores? host loves it!

what’s the meaning behind your url? it's our collective name

is there wise words you live by? nah, not really

you gotta have a favorite beatles song, what is it? Lio loves them but dunno which one is his favorite

earphones or a speaker? speaker more

what do you remember from your childhood? host remembers quite a lot actually

do you collect anything? she does - lots of stuff, we don't irl but some collect things in hs

favorite tea? black, sometimes with lemon but cold one

a christmas song you secretly like? why secretly? XD

book stores or record stores? book stores but Jacob would go to the record store

how weird were these questions? not weird at all

what scents do you like? we dislike most of scents, we're too sensitive

by Benji

weird asks because i’m bored

if you have a lighter, what color is it?

pepsi box blue or cheetos bag orange?

do you like pasta?

how often are you on tumblr?

are you only doing this because you’re bored?

what blogs do you mostly interact with?

can you swim?

have you had water today?

which do you prefer, cotton candy or funnel cake?

have you ever [insert question]?

bass or drums?

favorite tv commercial?

can we be friends?

do you admire the clouds and color of the sky?

what’s the weirdest thing that’s happened to you?

a netflix series that’s your favorite?

an earliest obsession you remember?

do you play video games?

zombies or vampires?

have you listened to [insert musician/band]?

your first celebrity crush?

do you have a collection of cool rocks?

five words that describe you?

what have you learned about yourself?

can you tie a cherry stem with your tongue?

do you believe in aliens?

books or films?

an unusual song that’s your favorite?

the last thing you ate?

do you have a favorite [insert question]?

have you gotten bit by a dog?

do you write better with a pen or a pencil?

a song that gets stuck in your head?

when you hear “ peace ” what do you think of?

a school subject your good with?

how many alarms do you have set?

do you shop at thrift stores?

what’s the meaning behind your url?

is there wise words you live by?

what’s your favorite [insert question]?

you gotta have a favorite beatles song, what is it?

earphones or a speaker?

what do you remember from your childhood?

do you collect anything?

favorite tea?

a christmas song you secretly like?

book stores or record stores?

how weird were these questions?

what scents do you like?

is there [insert question]?

send me some!

[milkbobatyun]

des fleurs pour vous — some flowers for you

pairing: neuvillette x reader

genre: fluff

summary: with a little bit of help, maybe neuvillette can win your heart

word count: 812

a/n: first post of the new year! hope everything goes well for everyone this year :D just an fyi that i might be posting less this year cus i'm in my final year of school ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! (it's gone by so fast oml) and i need to prepare for the exams ദ്ദ��� ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ )

neuvillette who doesn’t understand why he feels so nervous when he sees you. to this ancient dragon of old, he cannot fathom the reason why his mouth dries up and his palms become sweaty. every time he catches sight of you, the corners of his mouth twitch up involuntarily. butterflies brew a storm in his stomach as his heart dances erratically in his chest.

neuvillette who confides in the melusines about the foreign illness that has befallen him. in front of neuvillette, the melusines assure him, promising to do their best to cure him of this sickness that leaves his face burning and his ears flushed with red.

the moment his intimidating figure leaves the room, the melusines are huddling with their heads close together, whispering and brainstorming ideas.

“monseiur neuvillette has fallen in love!” menthe gasps dramatically, her tiny paws covering. the other melusines fawn over the notion, covering their mouths with their little paws, swooning over the fantasies their imagination has created. they’re overjoyed that the impartial iudex has found his other half, but without their help, this romance was heading nowhere.

after countless brainstorms and head whacks later, the melusines have a fool-proof plan. operation fleurs, they called it.

neuvillette who begins to think that he is losing his mind or getting too old for the job when he finds leaflets of local florist shops hidden between the legal files. when he’s pulling out books to consult, torn pages of various romance novels fall out, all citing love confessions, with one book on his desk even being swapped to “how to confess your love 101”.

neuvillette who after much coaxing from the melusines, decides to sit down at his desk, face impassive as he struggles to write a letter to convey his feelings. the melusines are ready to slam their heads on the table as they painfully watch the chief justice, who can hand down sanctions and orders without a moment of hesitation, is now terrified as he hopelessly stares at the blank pages, praying to the archons that he can express his feelings properly.

neuvillette who writes you such a formal letter stating that he wishes to meet you, that when you received it, you feared for the worst. as you stand beside the fontaine of lucine, anxiety gnaws at your stomach. did you do something wrong? were you about to lose your lawyer license? such thoughts chased each other in your mind, a silent mantra of your worst nightmares.

neuvillette who is so nervous about talking to you that he’s secretly mapping out 476 different escape routes and praying to the hydro archon that maybe today, at this exact moment, furina needs him for an urgent meeting.

your stomach drops when you see what could be described as neuvillette marching towards you, face set and stern, his arms held behind his back. somewhere in the back of your mind, your humour tries to throw light on the moment, silently commenting on how he looks like an old man eith his stance.

neuvillette, whose throat has dried up in fear and from the nerves that he has to awkwardly cough, but you’re so wound up by what is going on and end up jumping to conclusions, so you immediately begin bowing profusely and muttering apologies for some phantom mistake that you made.

neuvillette who gets so flustered he doesn't know what to respond and is reassuring you that you’re not in trouble. the melusines, who are very well hidden behind some bushes, are about to resort violence after hearing the both of you apologise to each other for the 500th time that day.

the melusines end up so frustrated with neuvillette’s lack of courage that they pop out from behind the bush and expose him to the whole of fontaine (there was only two other people there at the time)

a loud shout pierces through the tranquil barble of the fountain. 

“OH MY ARCHONS, HES SO STUPIDLY IN LOVE WITH YOU HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO FUNCTION WHEN HE SEES YOU!”

the outburst from the usually softly spoken and quiet melusines leaves the two of you in stunned silence. your face is one of confusion as you point to yourself, as though trying to confirm what your ears heard. 

when you look from the melusines to neuvillette to double check, scarlet red has coated his ears, warmth exploding over his face. hiding his face behind in embarrassment, neuvillette clears his throat before unveiling the bouquet of flowers he had hidden behind his back.

“well, it seems we started off with the wrong impressions, i sincerely wish that you forgive me for this. human emotion is…so difficult to grasp, but i believe this human tradition of giving flowers is meant to express… love? thus, i do hope that you may present me with the chance to court you?”

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2025 / づ ♡

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (08)

chapter eight: ships in the night

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; i’ve been told this is the angstiest chapter yet saur yk you’ve been warned, mentions of past seggsy times, oc is self-deprecating self-sabotaging, oc has an anxiety attack in this one, erhm just Big Sad overall methinks, also could've been more edited but i am a godless monster word count: 7.2k note: wt is backkkkkk!! and it's the penultimate chapter omg :( lowkey nervous about how this is gonna be perceived bc i feel like my brand is Sad™️ and i haven't properly written anything Sad™️ in a WHILE. but yeah, wt8 is yours now have funnn. also ty chessica @matchannie for proofreading!!

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Sorry, I know that comment wasn’t funny Just wanted you to love me, but I didn’t go about it right Sometimes the best advice that I can give Is to bite my lip and listen with my big fat mouth shut tight

big fat mouth - Arlie

You don’t think you can ever forget the look on his face, the hurt in his eyes when the words had tumbled out of your mouth in a panicked frenzy. The regret was immediate, but so was the damage.

Saying things you didn’t mean, watching Minho so utterly defeated that it kills you, and the deafening silence after he had walked away from you on heavy footsteps – you can’t describe how it all felt that night. It’s just… sinking, and sinking, and sinking; endlessly spiraling in an ocean of your own guilt and despair. It’s true what they say – misery loves company.

Distractions don’t work, because whenever that overwhelming dread eases by even a fraction, you’re once again reminded by the bracelet that’s wrapped around your wrist with the tiny dove charm hanging on the side. Neither of you paid it any mind the other night, that much is clear.

You know you should return it to him eventually; it’s never belonged to you and it never will. But every time you go to take it off, you can’t bring yourself to simply undo the clasp and hide the bracelet somewhere you can’t see. It lets you delude yourself into thinking that you haven’t lost him even after what you said, even after you stomped on his heart and left it bleeding where you stood. 

You’d been upset, thinking that you were the only one falling, terrified that you’d crash headfirst into the cold, hard ground because there’d be nobody to catch you. And yet, when Minho told you he loved you, it provided you no relief at all. The fear magnified tenfold, taking over you until you couldn’t see straight, until it consumed you whole.

Home is something you find, and you’ve found it in him. Your sun and your spring and your home, and everything good that you can ever name.

All your life, something is always missing, an empty space that you never learned how to fill. Like when you exit a room and there’s a nagging feeling in your gut telling you that you’ve forgotten something even though all of your belongings are accounted for. Like when you lose your favorite ring, one that’s a little too loose but beloved anyway, slipping over your knuckle without your permission and disappearing forever, and you keep running your fingers over where the golden band used to be until you come to terms with the fact that it’s never coming back and you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning the loss of that familiarity.

You’ve always looked for things you lost in places you’ve never been.

You just want to go home, but you know you’ll only ruin it in the end.

The problem has never been Minho or anybody else. It’s you, and how there’s something intrinsically wrong with you. You paint the ending before there’s even a beginning. You’d rather run and hide than let yourself feel anything, because if there’s happiness then there’s going to be hurt inevitably.

You don’t want him to wake up one day and look at you like you’re a stranger, to realize that he’s wasted his time and effort, that you just weren’t worth it after all. 

It’s funny how, when you’re a child, time seems to move so quickly. One minute, you’re four, maybe five years old, and your mother is refusing to speak to you because she thinks you ruined one of her bags, a large scratch running along the otherwise smooth leather surface like it’s been met with a pair of scissors or simply accumulated on her way to work and she hadn’t noticed until she got home and you happened to be in the vicinity of her anger; the next, she’s letting you relish in all your favorite desserts, cavities be damned.

One minute, you’re being rushed to the hospital with a bad case of food poisoning, your parents staring down at you as if you’re actually about to die; the next, you’re already at home, watching cartoons that you couldn’t understand but you like anyway because they’re full of pretty colors and princesses and fairies.

You don’t remember how your mother came to forgive you for the bag even though it wasn’t your fault, or what the hospital felt like or if what the doctors and nurses did to make you feel better even hurt. You only know that you wish to return to a smaller version of yourself whose memories you can’t even recall, return to a time in which you once so desperately wanted to escape from.

Now, when you’re hurt, time doesn’t pass in a blink of an eye like it used to. It stands still, sucks you down a vortex and makes you feel everything. 

No one ever really warns you about growing pains, that they’re unavoidable no matter how hard you try to avoid them, that they can last a lifetime because you never really stop growing, and it never really seems to ache any less.

Hyunjin: Attachment: 1 Image. Hyunjin: i sent this one in  Hyunjin: u??

You’d almost forgotten about the exhibition until Hyunjin had sent you those texts. Even though you’re not one to neglect deadlines, you suppose it’s fairly reasonable that this one in particular had slipped your mind. You haven’t really been able to wrap your head around that many things after all.

Every semester, yours and Hyunjin’s department rents out a gallery near campus for a whole week to showcase students’ works. It’s nothing exclusive, nothing like a competition where they pit a couple hundred kids against each other just for a spot at a fancy art gallery. Almost anyone in the Faculty of Arts can register before the submission deadline, and you suppose that’s another reason why you’d overlooked it so easily – because you didn’t earn it. It didn’t feel special. It was just another meaningless event to attend.

Regardless, you spent a chunk of an afternoon pondering your selection though it didn’t matter that much, almost two hours dedicated to picking out paintings you realized you didn’t love. Some you even turned out to hate, even though you could remember the pride radiating from you the moments the canvas had felt the last brush stroke. Maybe the glamor eventually wore off, the momentary high that coursed through you when you’d shown your finished works to your professors and peers, and received showers of praise in return.

The piece you chose in the end wasn’t your favorite by any means, but it was one of the only pieces you could still bear to look at without nitpicking too much. It was a painting of the waters, and you’ve always loved the waters.

You could recall the day you went to the promenade by yourself with a need to be away from everyone and everything, and an overshirt that was too light to combat the September evening chill as summer transitioned into fall. You watched the sky slowly darken after the sun had disappeared from view, watched as the buildings on the other side of the river lit up one by one until they made up for the light that retired for the day.

The thin layers made you shiver – the consequence of your poor choice in clothing that night – but there was something about sitting by the waterfront after dark, kicking pebbles around underneath your feet, and the gentle caress of the wind on your face and your hair that made the cold feel welcoming. You always thought the city was more beautiful at night, more calming amidst all of its perpetual chaos. It made you feel like you were inside a dream long forgotten, took you back to a north star that you left to gather dust on an abandoned shelf.

You could recall wanting to dive into that dream again, a dream in which you could chase a perfect version of you that would never exist and find light at the end of the tunnel, instead of returning to the reality where you always wound up suffocating in darkness. You wanted to be free, free from the noise and free from your own life despite one simple truth that you knew all too well – that you could run but never from yourself.

When you were young, it’s the moon that used to follow you everywhere. As you get older, it’s all of the things that keep you up at night.

You could recall your phone buzzing to life in your bag with Minho’s name on the screen, like a sign from the universe saying “Hey, this one’s for you. Don’t drown. You have a lighthouse.” and it was as though he could sense that you were falling, like someone had tied your heart to a rock and threw it into the very river in front of you to sink to the bottom. Your friends often said he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to you. Maybe there was some truth in that.

His voice pulled you out of it, even though he only called to ask if you wanted to come over and eat the boatload of food his mom had sent. He made you want to disappear a little less and in that moment, it was enough.

You left your hiding place to go to him, to lose yourself in stupid jokes and not-too-sweet desserts even if it was only for a couple hours. And when you returned home that night, everything spilled onto the canvas just from memory alone, from the feeling that you were desperately clinging onto with your shaking hands.

You always thought you could only run away to places. You didn’t know people could be escapes too, and somewhere along the way, that was what Minho became to you — your treasured escape, your new hiding place.

You manage to avoid everyone – with the exception of Hyunjin; you do have to see him in class after all – over the two and a half weeks leading up to the exhibition, drumming up excuse after excuse to bail whenever any of them asks to grab a bite together or just to simply hang out. If they saw you, they’d notice your puffy eyes and ask if you’ve been crying. They would ask why, and you can’t find in yourself to make up a lie believable enough for that kind of question.

You think Hyunjin has noticed. He’s a bit of an idiot sometimes, but he’s not stupid and he’s still blessed with the gift of sight. He doesn’t mention anything though, despite you showing up to almost every class with puffy eyelids. You suppose you’re grateful for that.

Minho hasn’t talked to you at all since that night. Doesn’t ask you how your project’s going, doesn’t ask you about the exhibition, barely even speaks in the group chat, not even a boring comment about the weather. What were you expecting anyway? You get it, you do.

But despite the silence, you never doubted that he would show up to the exhibition. If not for you, then he would be there to support Hyunjin.

The only person who really has an inkling that something is wrong is Jess, when you were getting ready together earlier tonight and she helped you conceal your puffy eyes. She’d tiptoed around the question before settling on  asking “Everything okay?” — simple, easy, quickly dismissible if you didn’t feel like sharing.

You didn’t, and she dropped the subject because there was no point in badgering you for answers anyway. 

Chan picked the both of you up afterward, and Jess didn’t have to explain anything to him when she slipped into the backseat with you instead of riding next to her boyfriend.

Now here you are, standing in a room full of your friends and peers, wearing a black dress that Jess helped you choose, and Minho is nowhere to be found. You’d spent all day pacing around, anxious at the mere thought of seeing him and even talking to him. What you hadn’t anticipated was the disappointment, the unbearable feeling in the pit of your stomach in response to his absence. You can’t tell which is worse; maybe every moment without him all sucks the same.

When Hyunjin starts whining and takes out his phone to spam Minho’s messages demanding his location (you’re thankful that it didn’t have to come to you), all he receives in return is a measly “Running late.”

And that’s it. A mere text is enough to satiate everyone’s curiosity. Well, everyone but Hyunjin, because he’s still a nagging drama queen.

Minho is running late, and to anyone else, it’s the most normal thing in the world.

But to you… it means something beyond that. Because this was him. This was your Minho. Your Minho who’s never been known for his tardiness, who’s never once broken a promise, who’s always there for you no matter what.

All you know right now is his absence, and it makes you sink.

You sink, and then you wait. Not a lot to be done about it.

You slip away to a quiet spot, a vacant hallway, to be by yourself while everyone is out there wandering around and gorging themselves on the free food and drinks. You shouldn’t be with them anyway. All you need is to wallow in peace and not be the black cloud hanging over everybody’s heads.

There’s something so incredibly lonely in the act of waiting. Waiting to board a plane, waiting in line at the grocery store. Waiting for a phone call or text message that you know won’t come, waiting for a person whom you can only hope would show up. At the end of the day, that’s what waiting is, isn’t it? It’s wanting. It’s hoping, and if there’s one thing you know about hope, it’s that it’s dangerous.

You wonder if this is how Minho felt all this time, waiting on a girl who’s always prepared to leave. You wonder if, that night, he had expected you to reciprocate his feelings. You did. You do, and a part of you wanted to tell him that you loved him too. The words were there, and yet…

It’s true that you love him, and it’s true that you don’t want to. If hope is dangerous then love is fucking terrifying. 

He’d been so patient with you, so awfully gentle and quiet in the chasm of his waiting that you mistook the tenderness for everything except for what it actually was – love. Or perhaps you did know. Maybe deep down, you knew that you would’ve loved him back with everything you had, with every fiber of your being. That you would’ve let him be the only one to ever really know you, and it felt like a fear greater than you could bear. 

In the end, did you lose him? Can you lose something you never had? It wasn’t a love that you let slip away; it was a what if.

You’re in a room with people who love you and yet, all you can think about is Minho. You miss him so much that it feels like someone has spliced you in two, that it physically makes you ache every second that he isn’t with you. As selfish as it sounds, you want him to walk through the door and you want everything to be okay again. You want to be back in a bubble with just the two of you and a locked box filled with words unsaid. You thought you could stay in that bubble forever, where it was safe and you could pretend that you were happy, and maybe you really were happy with him. But all things — good or bad — must come to an end. The bubble burst, and this was the real world.

You want to undo your cruelty, want him to take back his sincerity. You want an ocean of distance between you and him, you want to pull him as close as humanly possible. All your wants are contradictions. You’re a paradox of puzzle pieces that never seem to fit together.

You want to tell him that it hurts. Want him to make it better because he’s the only one who can make it better.

But miracles rarely happen and there are no shooting stars in sight. Minho was the closest thing you got to a shooting star, burning across your night sky for just a brief moment. Blink and you could miss it. Blink and you did miss him.

Your fingers find his contact in your phone before you could stop yourself, and soon enough, you’re pressing the call button. It’s like drunk dialling, only you aren’t intoxicated. Or maybe you are; maybe you’re under the influence of his absence and how much it stings.

You don’t know why you’re calling him, don’t know what to even say when he picks up.

Thankfully, you don’t have to wonder for long.

“Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. Please leave your message after the tone,” comes the automated voice on the other end.

For some reason, you don’t hang up. You wait for the beep, then you wait some more. It’s not until ten seconds later that you find your voice, the only thing to come out of your mouth is a quiet Hey.

You clear your throat, rub the sweaty palm of your free hand on your dress. “Hey,” you try again. “It’s… me. I’m at the gallery with everyone. Uhm, they’re all waiting for you. Are you on your way? Are you stuck in traffic? Or did you forget it was today? Hyunjin is trying really hard not to blow up your phone–” You pause to chuckle dryly. “But you know it would mean a lot to him to have you here. It… it’d mean a lot to me too if you were here. I don’t know, I assumed you’d come. I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. I just…” Another pause. This time, it’s so that you could take a breath. “Listen, Minho, I didn’t mean what I said to you. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m sorry that I hurt you, I don’t have any excuse for that. You deserve better than me. It’s going to pass, you know? I’m sorry if you’ve wasted your time on me, but… you’re going to find someone else, and you’re going to get over it. I’m sorry I fucked everything up. It’s fine if you never want to talk to me again, just please don’t let it get between you and our fr–”

The line beeps again. “To replay the message, press 1. To save the message, press 2. To delete the message, press 3.”

You purse your lips together. There’s still a lump in your throat and no peace to be made. It’s like drunk dialling, only you pull yourself together at the very last second. Your thumb hovers over the dial pad on your phone until you eventually end up on 3, because your cowardice will always triumph in the end. Back to square one. Everything’s still the same as it was five minutes ago.

You force your legs to move, like how you'd force yourself to get up and eat and drink water and shower and be a person these days. When you round the corner, you bump against something solid. A person. The collision isn’t hard enough to knock you backward; they weren’t moving, they’d only been standing still.

You look up at Seungmin, who merely blinks at you. You don’t know how long he’s been here, if he heard anything at all. You swallow once, considering whether you should just play dumb and gauge his reaction or ask point blank if you’ve been caught. He beats you to the decision though.

“You and Minho,” Seungmin says, a bit hesitant, like the topic is weird to bring up. “You’re the girl.”

A deer in headlights, you are. A pathetic one at that, too.

But even then, you’re not panicked, not really. You’re just sad, and the truth was bound to come out eventually. 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you say.

The discarded voicemail that he overheard, the dejection written all over your face, the silence from both you and Minho recently — it’s obvious to pretty much everyone, and Seungmin is smarter than most.

He opens his mouth and shuts it again like he’s choosing his words. The Seungmin-esque blank stare melting away to make space for some pity, then a question, “Is there anything left to tell?”

You escape to the empty garden in the back where there were a few lonely chairs set up, so you could have some privacy to talk. Despite everything, it feels like you’ve got a little breathing space, just being able to share this with someone. To not have to carry it all on your own. You’re glad that it was Seungmin who found out first. You have a feeling that he would understand, at least to some degree. You’re relieved, even when the first question that he asks is, “So, how did you fuck it up?”

“Why do you just automatically assume it was me?” You’re mildly offended, even though he’s right.

“Between you and Minho, I’d bet on you.” Seungmin shrugs. “You spook easily.”

“I deeply resent that notion.”

He turns to look at you, no trace of any teasing. “Can you prove me wrong?”

But you can’t, and it tells him as much when you avert his eyes in favor of the ground, where you kick at a lonesome pebble sitting among the grass. It lands somewhere between the green blades, lost in the shadows that cast over parts of the garden that are poorly lit.

“So what happened?” he asks, turning away again to stare out at the empty space. You like to think of it as him giving you some elbow room, to ease the pressure of being scrutinized. And as much as you appreciate it, it still takes you another brief moment before you can formulate a coherent sentence, another minute of twiddling your fingers in your lap.

You tell Seungmin about your first night with Minho – not the details, of course; that would be weird and it’s none of his business. Just that it happened, how you both let it keep happening over the past few months while nobody suspected a thing.

Seungmin nods solemnly, like he’s putting together the missing pieces.

“Did you ever notice anything?” you ask.

“I mean… not about you hooking up, but we thought you’d end up together eventually.” He shrugs. “We always kinda assumed that you two would become those people who make a pact to get married if you’re still single by 40 or 50, if you didn’t get together before then. It makes sense. You and Minho just sort of make sense.”

“Oh,” you say. Your heart swoops. Hearing it from Seungmin makes you sad. Not the same brand of sadness that you’ve been wearing lately though. A different kind, the kind of sadness that’s a little numbing and makes it difficult to breathe. “Well, sorry to disappoint everyone but I don’t think any of it is gonna happen anymore.”

“So… how did it happen?” Seungmin asks again, mimicking explosions with his hands.

You let him off easy without a punch in the shoulder, because you just really don’t have the energy for it right now. “Minho wanted something more,” you tell your friend, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, then with the necklace charm resting on your collarbone. “And I just… I don’t know. I guess I freaked. I… said some awful stuff to him.”

Seungmin hums a sound of acknowledgement. He looks like he’s thinking about it, about you and Minho and what it means. “Classic,” he chuckles after a brief moment, mostly to himself. Maybe he’s thinking about what it means beyond just the pair of you too.

You side-eye him. “You’d know all about it, wouldn’t you?”

He shoots the glance back at you. “What are you trying to say here?”

You remember her, the only girl that Seungmin has ever hinted at liking. He never admitted it out loud to any of you, but you could all see it.

You only used to see her in passing at house parties, and even then, it wasn’t Seungmin nor her who brought the other one around. They would show up separately with their own group, mingle for a while, find each other after a couple of drinks before they disappeared to god-knows-where for the rest of the night. Sometimes, Changbin or Hyunjin would catch them before they could sneak off and insist that Seungmin let everyone get to know his friend.

These brief interactions are all you have with her, meaningless small talk for a few minutes before Seungmin’s patience ran thin and he whisked her away like they’d both intended. You liked her; she was nice, and she was really pretty. You liked her even though you didn’t know her, because she was the one person who Seungmin cared about enough to keep away from prying eyes. A secret shared only between the two of them, a bubble in which only they existed.

The last time you saw her with him must’ve been at least three months ago, maybe even longer. No one really knows what happened, just that she stopped showing up to parties, and Seungmin never brought it up again. You all assumed whatever he had going on with her had run its course, though it doesn’t really stop Hyunjin and Jisung from mentioning her every now and again just to tease him.

“I seem to recall a Halloween party last year and a certain someone was in a bee costume and–”

“Fine,” Seungmin interjects, rolling his eyes. “Fine, we can form our own dumbass club. Happy?”

You laugh a little, even though the whole thing isn’t very funny. Your shared experience is nothing to take pride in.

“So how did you blow it up?” you ask.

He gives you a sour glare before his eyes soften. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and in his silence you find that you and him are more similar in ways that you’ve never cared enough to admit before. This sadness that you carry, you have a feeling that he knows it all too well.

“Like I said, classic,” Seungmin tells you. “She wanted something more. I freaked. I ghosted her.”

A mirror. Two sides of the same stupid coin.

You lean back against your seat. “Did you like her?”

It takes a beat, but his answer comes out as an honest, “Yeah, I liked her. Liked her too much.”

“Why did you do that to her then?”

“Why did you do that to Minho?” Seungmin deadpans, but he doesn’t seem to want a response from you. He just sighs, wistfully adding, “I’ve thought about it a lot. It’s scary to be wanted because it means someone’s putting you on a pedestal, and when you’re on a pedestal, the more it’ll hurt if you fall off. The more they’re counting on you to not let them down, the easier it is to fuck it all up. People like us, we’re flight risks. We can’t help it. We think it’s better to just leave before we can do any real damage. When you said whatever terrible shit you said to Minho, that was the first thing you thought about, right? To be cruel? That’s what I did too. Such a fucking stupid knee-jerk reaction.”

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, completely still. 

Then Seungmin turns to you, and for the first time in all the years that you’ve known him, he’s looking at you, really looking at you. No snarky side-eye, no playful faux glare. Just a strange and unfamiliar sincerity, like he’s asking you to fix what he couldn’t, undo the cruelty that he never bothered apologizing for.

“Minho would understand, you know? If you’d just talk to him,” Seungmin says. “You made a mistake in the heat of the moment. But you want to have something real with him, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me about this and beating yourself up over it.”

“I told you. That ship sailed.” And you’re standing up for no apparent reason other than the fact that you’re suddenly restless, your stomach twisting in knots out of nowhere. “He’s not even here. He didn’t even show up tonight. I think that’s saying enough.”

Your friend rises to his feet too, probably because he thinks it’s weird to be the only one sitting now while you’re upset and pacing about. It’s not until Seungmin takes a step closer that you realize you’re shaking a little.

“Hey, you good?” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I talked to Minho yesterday. He said he’d come. Maybe something came up or he just–”

Hyunjin’s voice interrupts Seungmin in the middle of his sentence, the excited squeal carrying itself from all the way inside the gallery to the back garden through the door left ajar. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, maybe there’s a reason why people say it. It’s laughable, really.

You and Seungmin both turn your attention to the brief commotion indoors, where you see Hyunjin smiling so big that his eyes have crinkled into crescent moons, where he’s standing with his arm thrown around Minho and shaking him by the shoulders.

These days, it’s easy to pretend that time is standing still. You don’t even know if time is even passing at all; you’re just looking at him, dressed in a black blazer and some dress pants. Casual but he looks good. He always does.

You watch as he says something to Hyunjin that seems to calm the latter down a bit, at least enough for Minho to quickly scan the room, searching. You watch as his eyes sweep through all the people gathered inside, not stopping until they land on you, finding you on the other side of the glass door. Even in this terrible lighting, not entirely visible you assume, he sees you.

There was a conversation you had with Minho some time ago, when you two were sprawled out on your couch munching on strawberry Peperos and not paying attention to the movie that was playing on your TV, when he asked how you wanted your life to be at 40.

You knew what the boring answer was – you wanted your life to be stable, and you told him as much. Isn’t stability always the goal? Maybe a lame corporate job if the whole starving-artist-who-makes-it-big-overnight dream didn’t pan out. A cat and a dog named Mochi and Mocha, if you could afford two pets at once. An apartment that you owned, with framed pictures of everything you loved scattered all over the place, and stupidly cute fairy lights that you often see on Pinterest, and an unfathomable amount of plushies that your inner child was never indulged in. A peaceful and quiet life, at least to some extent. 

The honest answer, the one that you didn’t tell him, was you wanted to not live with regret.

But as you lock eyes with him, for a split second there, you know that you will.

About twenty years down the line, when you look back on your life and think of this chapter, you’ll think about a boy who loved you and whom you loved. How you broke both of your hearts trying to protect your own. You’ll wonder if he’s married, if he has kids, if he still reminisces about the girl he used to love when he was young. If he’s happy and if his dreams came true. If the sadness you caused yourself was worth it, if the pain meant anything at all. If you could go back in time and undo everything, would you?

You’ll get over it eventually – surely you will; heartbreak isn’t the end of the world – but you’ll live with the grief of what could’ve been if you weren’t afraid. You’ll be left to mourn the road not taken, your almost but never was. 

You’re the one who moves first, when it starts to become a struggle just to breathe. You stumble away from Minho’s line of sight, until you find a wall that you can rest against.

Seungmin is quick to follow. “Hey, woah, are you okay?”

Your hands alternate between balling themselves into tight fists and attempting in vain to grab at the flat surface of the concrete. There are no words that you can form to answer him. Only your ragged breathing and your pathetic effort to take in some air through your mouth.

“Okay, shit, uhm,” Seungmin sputters. “Hang on.”

Then he’s taking off. You don’t know how long he’s gone for, where he’s gone off to, and frankly, you can’t really bring yourself to care. Your hands abandon the wall in favor of your dress, something that you can actually hold onto. Your trembling fingers clutch the hem of your dress like they’re pretending it’s a lifeline, bunching and twisting the fabric in your sweaty palms. Hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t at all.

Even over the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you could hear new footsteps coming out into the empty garden. Rushed at first, then they stop for a brief moment. You know who it is before he even approaches you.

Damn that Kim Seungmin.

The familiar scent of his cologne greets you before his voice. You spent hours and hours enveloped in this scent until it was dulled by sweat from the activities you were engaged in, if it wasn’t already softened by the kisses you would leave all over his skin.

When he calls your name, it comes out so soft, like you never broke his heart in the first place and that night was only a figment of your twisted imagination. He sounds so gentle, yet it sends you further down the crippling spiral. You don’t deserve him; maybe you never did, despite what Seungmin tried to put through your head earlier.

“I’m fine.” But you know your appearance has already betrayed your words. The first thing you say to him in weeks, and it’s a lie. You’re still leaning against the wall with your arms wrapped tightly around your trembling frame and your eyes squeezed shut. It’s a pitiful sight. Even more so when it registers in your brain that it’s Minho of all people who’s witnessing it. 

He doesn’t say anything else, only lets out a sigh, and then his hand is on your body, a warm palm touching the small of your back out of habit before he moves it upward to rub between your shoulder blades. “Can you breathe?”

His question makes you all too aware that there’s something gnawing inside of your chest, makes you think for a second there that you’re going to die though you know that you won’t. You shake your head with your eyes still closed, your breathing coming out more ragged by the second. You can’t even bear to look at him and absorb the worry in his eyes; you’re sure you’ll only cry if you do, and it’s the last thing you need right now.

But it turns out that seeing Minho’s face isn’t the only thing that can bring you to tears. When you feel him tug at your arms, his warmth on your bare skin, you start crying anyway and that makes it even harder to breathe. There’s not a single ounce of resistance in your body, your limbs obeying him easily when they untangle themselves around your waist to fall by your sides as he pulls you into his chest, with one hand over your sternum and his thumb rubbing back and forth. He’s careful about it too, like he’s handling broken pieces of something that used to be beautiful.

“You’re okay,” he says, but you’ve got your face pressed into the crook of his neck and your tears are staining the collar of his shirt. “You’re gonna be fine. Just… listen to me.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to speak next.

“Name three things you can see,” he says. “You don’t have to say it out loud. Just think about it.”

You open your eyes finally, angling your head until most of your vision isn’t obstructed by the proximity of his body. Minho tightens his arm around you, and you blink away some of the tears.

Your black heels that your mom got you for your birthday a while ago.

The grass, darkened green and damp.

Him. 

“Three things you can hear.”

Light chatter coming from inside the gallery.

Cars passing by on the adjacent street.

Him, the sound of his breathing.

“Three things you can touch.”

The soft material of your dress against your skin.

The bracelet, hugging your wrist, weighing you down like an anchor.

And… him.

Him, him, him.

You don’t know what reason Minho makes up to excuse you for the rest of night, but you don’t bother asking. There’s really no space left in your head to think about it twice, to care about leaving your friends or feel guilty about Hyunjin because he was so excited about today. It’s too much; all you want is to go home, get away from here.

Minho calls you both an Uber back to your place. During the entire ride, he doesn’t say a word and neither do you. And even though you mostly opt for looking out the window at the other cars and houses and people passing by, every now and then you could feel his eyes on you from the other side of the backseat.

When you arrive, he keeps a hand on the small of your back as you make your way up the stairs. When you unlock the door, you leave it open so he could follow you inside. You suppose that one is a force of habit. You’re not used to shutting the door in his face. At least, not in the literal sense anyway.

Then it returns, that gnawing feeling. A feeling far too colossal for your body to house. It sits somewhere inside your ribcage, sharp and desperate, with claws trying to dig its way out. And for the first time in maybe ever, you understand what it truly means to want something this badly. You love him, and it hurts. You love him even though it hurts.

Minho moves around the place while you remain frozen in the middle of your own apartment, as if he’s the one who lives here and you’re just visiting for the night. You let him take off your makeup (with a wipe; you’re going to hate yourself in the morning), let him help you change into clothes that you can sleep in, even let him tuck you into bed like you’re a helpless child. If he notices the bracelet on you, he doesn’t say anything. Everything is done in silence.

You don’t look him in the eye. You don’t think you can handle what you’ll find there.

But you do reach for his hand when he tries to leave now that there’s nothing left for him to do here. There’s not a single thought behind your action, just a need to have him near.

“Can you…?” 

You aren’t brave enough to finish the question, your voice trailing off and the words dissipating like smoke after a lonely cigarette drag. You’re being selfish right now, you’re awfully aware of this.

Minho doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even let out a single sigh. For a second there, you think he’s about to leave you here, cold and alone, just like you had done to him. It would be nothing less than what you deserve.

But then he’s shrugging off his blazer and your heart is in your throat. When he slips into bed beside you, something hurts, the kind of ache that spreads all across your chest and makes your lungs burn.

Earlier tonight, he could’ve walked away and let you be somebody else’s burden. Your friends were all there, it’s not like they would’ve left you stranded.

You’re not really sure what to think. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hate you, but maybe it’s just enough confirmation that he doesn’t hate you more than he loves you.

You break the deafening stretch of silence with a whisper, “I’m sorry.” You don’t know what the apology is for. Are you sorry for that night, for the things you said to him? Are you sorry that you’re only yourself, that he just had to go ahead and fall for you of all people? Sorry that you’re too much of a coward and a lost cause to love him right? You don’t know, but it feels appropriate to apologize. You owe him that much.

“Don’t…” Minho says after a while. “You don’t have to do that.”

The familiar sensation returns – the one that stings the back of your eyes, burns your nostrils and makes you all choked up. You try to hold your breath and will it away, but the first tear spills without your permission, and you can’t help the shaky inhale – close to a gasp and followed by a sniffle – that punctuates your lungs when they start protesting against the sudden lack of oxygen. 

You grip the sheets so hard you think you could rip through the fabric and dig into your own palm. It’s a pathetic feeling, like a strange kind of embarrassment that you can’t quite describe. The room is deadly quiet; you know there’s no way he didn’t catch the noise.

You hear Minho shift from where he lays behind you, some rustling when he moves against the duvet and the mattress. “Don’t cry,” he sighs. And it’s still so gentle. You’ve never known him to be anything but gentle.

You bite the inside of your cheek, blinking some of the tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… don’t cry.” It sounds like he’s holding something back but you aren’t sure. “Don’t cry. Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning, if you want.”

You sniffle some more, and maybe that makes Minho think he still needs to appease you even further. He reaches out finally, to brush a comforting hand against your arm. “Go to sleep. Promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You don’t know if you want to talk in the morning, because there’s nothing for you to say. All you really have is what he’s already heard – I’m sorry, like an utterly broken record. But you want him to stay even if it’s only for the morning. Even if all he’ll get is silence at best and choked up breaths at worst. Your last-ditch attempt at grasping straws, a futile effort to chase running water.

“Okay,” you tell him, and neither of you says anything afterward. The tears keep falling for a while, and at some point it tires you out enough to slip into a dreamless sleep.

When you open your eyes hours later, the sun is already up. The clock on your phone reads 7:06AM and the first thing you register is an uncomfortable dryness in your throat. Behind you, the bed is still warm. You can actually feel it underneath your fingertips when you reach out, the warmth dwindling from the side of the bed that’s been left vacant. Minho has never broken a promise to you before.

He’s gone, and you sink again.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.01.2025]

[pinkxpantha]

Harbingers being domestic

part 1/3 (Scaramouche, Childe, Signora)

#: synopsis- scaramouche contemplates physical intimacy like its the trolley problem

#: cw- 560~ words Scaramouche) × GN!reader, scaramouche kind of watches you sleep(not meant to be creepy I SWEAR) reader is assumed to be human, you/they pronouns, drabble

Scaramouche isn't the type to be super intimate or domestic with his partner for a while, especially if they're human. Of course he would be more pleasant with you, but ultimately these loving actions feel strange to him. (ugh emotions)

Scaramouche would walk in on you asleep for whatever reason. Maybe you exerted yourself again in your work. Nonetheless your constant nagging about him getting a good night's rest ;which he doesn't need, led him to lay you on your bed. If you preach it then you should follow it.

He would notice how you'd almost sag with some form of relief that he could only describe as a need for comfort. He'd be foolish to think he could provide that for you. Hah, no way.

But he stands there, watching over your sleeping form. The deep inhale you take as you drift into a dream, and the shallower exhales as you look so much lighter.

For a moment he wonders if he could dream like you.

After that day, you'd barely be able to go to sleep alone. The skeptic looks you shot Scaramouche as he drawled "Sleep is for the weak and naive." seldom repeated.

It wasn't long before you invited him to sleep with you. You even offered to put a pillow in between the both of you so he could feel more comfortable. (You didn't say the last part aloud.)

To which he refused. It was somewhat expected, but you promised the offer was always open.

Scaramouche had quickly fallen into temptation though, a few days later you might've felt a sudden weight in the bed as you lay asleep. You might've turned around to see Scaramouche laid next to you. and you might've seen how his eyelids grew heavy with each breath you took until he fell asleep as well.

Normally he'd be sure to wake up before you, and slink out of your bed like a clever thief.

If only he knew of how sporadic sleep could be. Without a way to measure time in the abyss of rest, it was only expected you'd wake up to him sleeping beside you at some point.

It wasn't a shock to you to see your partner next to you, deep in slumber. Truth was, having the weight of another person suddenly next to you didn't keep you asleep for long.

You smiled seeing his peaceful form right next to you, his lips parted slightly, acting mimick of breathing.

You wrapped your arms around him, you might've noticed how he woke up, jolting at the sudden warmth of your arms. You might've noticed how he didn't say anything, but accept your radiated heat.

After that, it was basically set in stone. Soft moments of quietness where Scaramouche would allow himself to experience what you felt at night. There wasn't a day when you both were in the same place and hadn't fallen asleep together.

Even after arguments of any scale, you would always feel him indulge in your humanity. Your dormancy also became his.

[nana-lefk]

Words can't describe how much I love this fanart. Owwllly we love you ❤️

sleepless nights

[imjustdreamingig]

Isn't that sweet, I guess so

Part 1, Part 2

pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret's out, Steve's proud of himself, and you can't seem to keep your mouth shut

A/N: chat there is no way I put out 2 fic in the past week, this has never happened to me before! yay everyone cheer. again, i have no idea where this story is going how far im gonna go, i def want to try writing other stuff and idk if this is the best place to put and end to whatever this series is but again, we shall see i guess. thank you all so much on the love on my last two works you have no idea what that means to me! please please PLEASE send me asks or comment what you'd like me to write next or if you want a pt4 i need help people

warnings: sfw, swearing, fluff, idiots who like each other

Facing your fears is tough. No matter what it is, no one would actually choose putting themselves through a situation in which they know would cause them extreme distress. For some that may be going on a rollercoaster, interacting with a clown, going into a dark forrest alone, it could even be making a phone call by yourself to schedule a doctor's appointment (which is a valid fear to have, thank you very much.)

And here you were, facing your fears: being sat in your living room with Steve Harrington 3 feet away from you for an extended period of time. It's only been about 15 minutes, where no talking has happened since minute two.

You hope you can get to 30 minutes without fainting.

As you attempted to focus on the book in front of you, Jane Austen's words, who usually kept your focused for hours on end, were not being absorbed by you in the slightest. How could they, when Steve fucking Harrington was in your house.

Steve is the type of guy who Jane Austen would write about, you thought, eyes flickering towards him as he hunched over his book, face crinkled in concentration, trying to understand said author's musings.

The swoop of his hair, the two moles near his neck, his deep, beautiful, chocolate eyes, his gorgeous smile, and my god those arms? Yep, Jane would be absolutely obsessed with him.

"God, why did I agree to do this book?" You are snapped out of your daze at Steve's words. "What do you mean?", you replied. He gave you a look that can only be described as "seriously?"

"I mean, that I can barley understand what any of these characters are saying half the time, and honestly, it's a bit boring. I thought you would have better book recommendations," he said, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

A scoff left your mouth before you could stop it. "Excuse me, are you actually hating on Pride and Prejudice, the best romance story of all time, the romance story, period." You leaned over and snatched his book. "I mean, come on! You are literally only 6 pages in, you can't just judge it that quickly, you haven't even gotten to the good parts yet!", you exclaim.

Steve watched you with an amused look on his face, unbeknownst to you, who kept rambling on, trying to convince Steve this book was worth continuing.

"— and Elizabeth, she is just funny, like actually hilarious. There is one part where she basically tells someone that I'd rather not be wasting my air talking to someone like you, like please, how did she even come up with that? Also, I'm just obsessed with this proper English style of speaking, or writing I guess, because they're basically talking shit but covering it up with fancy words! And when—"

"You talk a lot, don't you?"

You look up from the book and towards Steve, eyes widening slightly, realizing you had indeed been talking too much.

"One of my greatest faults, some may say, and by faults I mean my mom, but she only tells me this when we're arguing, so..." You glance away from Steve's face for a little reprieve. God, he's so hot.

"Well, like a good partner," you continue. "I'm trying to help you get some of this project done, and maybe if Robin were here, she could've helped," you defended yourself, crossing your arms, "which I'm still confused about, by the way. You said something about her telling you earlier how I invited you guys and some other people to work on the project together, but then she doesn't show?"

Steve leans back in his chair, also crossing his arms. You glance down for a quick second and send a quick thank you to anyone who's that Steve is wearing a tight shirt that beautifully enunciates his biceps. Or maybe you should be mad at them, you don't know yet.

"Maybe it's the fact that she noticed, like I did, that it's been a month since this project was assigned and we haven't even started," Steve countered, "which is unlike you, you usually want to get stuff done ASAP."

You look at him in confusion. "How the fuck do you know that?"

Steve smirks, "I also happen to know that you don't have a sister, thanks to that lovely dinner with your mom." You shake your head in disbelief, mentally making a note to yell at your mom later.

"Isn't that what you said one of the many times I asked you to work on the project?" Steve looked so amused with himself, all cocky and proud that he had uncovered your lie. Your brain tried desperately to come up with a realistic enough explanation, but nothing was coming up.

You throw your hands up in defeat. "Ok, fine! I lied! Is it just so hard for you to believe that maybe, just maybe, not everyone in that high school wants to spend time with you outside of it?" Oh my God, why the fuck would you say that, you screamed internally.

Steve stared at you for a second before letting out a chuckle. " You know, I did think of that actually, but only for a bit." He reaches out for the book and grabs it from your grasp, flipping to a random page.

"You can only run away from a guy so many times before he catches a hint," he peers over at you, " and I mean literally, you're a fast runner, did you ever do track?"

"Yeah, in middle school," you answer quickly. Steve lets out a hum of agreement before placing his attention back on the book. You open your mouth, about to quip about being careful to not rip the pages when he speaks again. "I know I'm dumb, but I'm not an idiot, ya know?"

Your gaze snaps to his face. "Steve, I don't think you're dumb." He doesn't look too convinced. "Eh, I think you do. But you're interesting, you took me a lot longer to figure out than the others since girls just typically throw themselves at me."

You make a face of disgust, "Ok, you sound like a total prick, you know."

"Yep, heard it after I said it, but that's not the point here." He point his finger at you, "You have a crush on me."

You splutter out a sound of indignation. "Hello, what?" In your head, fire alarms are sounding. It's a code red, all hell is breaking loose. "Pfft, no I absolutely do not."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Then how else do you explain the running away when you see me anywhere at school? You always have an insane excuse why we're not able to meet up to start the project, which some are hilarious," he admits, "but you've got me complaining about not doing homework, look what you've done to me!"

At this point you've gone silent, mouth agape with an excuse stuck in your throat refusing to come out. Steve's expression has changed, his eyes bore into yours with earnest, almost as if he's anticipating a certain answer, hoping for it. "So?"

You muster all the courage you have left and just when you're about to respond, Steve interrupts you again for like, the 15th time.

"Anyways, I've to get going, have some things to do and whatever." He gets up, shrugs on his jacket and then places his books in his backpack. You get up too, having absolutely no clue how to tell him not to go, that you want him to stay. "Steve, what do you mean?"

He glances over at you, "Nothing, I just have to go. I'm a busy guy." He starts making his way to your front door, leaving you behind in the kitchen, trying to understand what the fuck just happened. First, he accuses you of having a crush on him, which you do, and then he just thinks he can leave?

Oh, absolutely not.

With a new wave of determination, you catch up to Steve just as he's finishing putting on his shoes. "Say thanks to your mom for me for dinner, it was great," he says as he grabs the door handle. You don't let him continue with whatever stupid thing he was going to say next.

"Listen Harrington, I don't know what the fuck just happened back there, but the fact you think can just, leave after dropping a bomb like that is ridiculous," you say, glaring at him in annoyance, and Steve's just staring back at you with that stupid, stupid, smirk that has not left his face since the moment he stepped foot in here.

"So what if I did like you, huh? What if I did have a crush on you? Because I do, but that, quite frankly, is none of your business, none of your concern, actually, so... yeah." Steve is looking at you and you're looking at him, a little out of breath after your declaration. You don't have the energy right now to fully process what you just said.

All of a sudden, Steve seems to break character, the smugness gone, replaced with subtle endearment. He leans down and presses a swift kiss on your cheek before whispering, "Well, it's a good thing I like you too." He straightness back up and says, "I told you I knew you were different, you're a mystery. You're lucky running away seemed to work on me, by the way. I don't think it would for everyone else," he says while you stare at him in shock. You've been rendered silent once again, with nothing but the thought that Steve likes you back, repeating over and over again.

You clear your throat before speaking, "Well! Um, yay?" You truly have no idea what to do right now. Steve chuckles at your reaction, like he can't believe his words have caused you of all people, who continuously talk and talk and talk, to not have anything profound to say for once. He's kind of into it.

Steve grabs your hand and encases it with the other. "Come over to my house tomorrow after school, I'll drive you. We can work on the project and you know, talk, if you want." You nod fervently, "Yeah, yeah ok."

He smiles and drops your hand. "I really do have to go though, I wasn't making that up," he remarks as he opens the front door. "Oh, sure, that's fine," you reply. You hold open the door for him and watch as he descends the steps and makes his way towards his car. You watch him, holding onto the door for dear life.

As Steve gets into the car, he looks over at you and waves, "I'll see you tomorrow!" You wave back and yell back, "Yeah, tomorrow!" You don't go back inside until the car is out of sight. As you shut the door, you press your back against it, trying to wrap your head around what exactly happened in the last few hours.

Holy shit, you though, Steve Harrington likes me. Steve fucking Harrington. You let out an involuntarily squeal of excitement and immediately regret doing it as your mother calls down from upstairs. "Mija, are you ok? What happened?" Hearing her voice reminds you of her involvement over the events that transpired tonight.

Putting your happiness on hold for a moment, you start to storm up the stairs. "Mom!", you yelled, "How could you embarrass me like that, asking him to stay over for dinner, you know how I feel about him, I just about fainted 5 times throughout the night, how does that make you feel!? You almost killed me an—"

You would thank your mom later, because ultimately she helped, but for now, you'll stick to this.

[gpcwsl]

Warnings: suggestive, kissing, swearing.

Katie McCabe x Reader:

Title: Offside Secrets

MasterList

Y/N wasn’t trying to snoop. Really, she wasn’t. But when you live with someone like Katie McCabe—a whirlwind of energy and attitude—you tend to notice when something’s off.

For the past week, Katie had been unusually quiet during their downtime. She’d sit curled up on the couch, her focus laser-sharp on a small paperback book. Not her phone, not Netflix, not even one of her beloved football highlight reels. Just…a book.

Y/N had tried to let it slide, chalking it up to Katie needing some personal space. But the curiosity was eating her alive. Katie McCabe was many things—brilliant on the pitch, quick with comebacks, and fiercely loyal to her team—but a bookworm? That was new.

One morning, while Katie was out on a run, Y/N finally gave in.

The book was sitting innocently on the coffee table, its cover face down as if Katie were deliberately hiding it. Y/N glanced toward the door, listening for any sign of Katie’s return. When the coast was clear, she flipped the book over.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. The cover featured a shirtless man holding a woman who appeared to be swooning dramatically in his arms. The back cover blurb described it as a “torrid tale of forbidden love, blazing passion, and scandalous secrets.”

“McCabe, what the hell?” Y/N muttered to herself, already stifling a laugh. She thumbed through the pages, skimming a particularly spicy passage. Her cheeks flushed, not from embarrassment, but from the sheer absurdity of imagining Katie reading this.

“Is this what you’ve been so secretive about?” Y/N whispered to the empty room.

Just as she set the book down, the door swung open. Katie burst in, her cheeks flushed from the cold morning air. Her eyes immediately landed on Y/N, who froze like a deer caught in headlights.

“What’re you doing?” Katie asked, her voice sharp.

“Nothing!” Y/N blurted, holding her hands up defensively.

Katie’s eyes narrowed. She marched over, spotted the book lying on the table, and groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back her grin. “Burning Desire, huh? Didn’t peg you for the romance novel type.”

Katie snatched the book off the table, her ears turning red. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really? Because what I think is that you’re secretly a sucker for swooning heroines and steamy love affairs.”

Katie glared at her. “It’s none of your business.”

“But it’s hilarious,” Y/N teased, leaning back against the couch. “Does this mean you’re gonna start writing love poems in your free time?”

Katie’s lips twitched, betraying the beginnings of a smile. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet, you live with me.” Y/N stood and stretched, clearly enjoying Katie’s embarrassment. “Seriously, though. This is gold. Why didn’t you tell me you were into this stuff?”

Katie hesitated, clutching the book like it was a lifeline. “Because I knew you’d take the piss out of me, just like you’re doing now.”

“Okay, fair point.” Y/N softened, realizing she might have struck a nerve. “But it’s kind of…sweet, actually. You, reading something so—what’s the word? Sentimental.”

Katie scoffed. “Don’t read too much into it. It’s just a bit of escapism.”

“Sure, sure.” Y/N smirked, already planning how to work this into their next training session.

Katie groaned again, throwing the book into her bag. “If you say one word about this to anyone, I’ll��”

“Relax,” Y/N interrupted, holding up her hands. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now.”

Katie rolled her eyes and stalked off toward her room, but Y/N could hear the faintest hint of a laugh escaping her.

As the door clicked shut, Y/N sat back down, her mind still buzzing. She hadn’t meant to tease Katie so much, but there was something endearing about seeing her so flustered. It was a side of Katie she rarely got to see—vulnerable, human, and undeniably cute.

Shaking her head, Y/N tried to push the thought away. “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself. But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

Katie had reached her limit.

Y/N had been relentless all day. Ever since she found Katie’s romance novel, she hadn’t stopped teasing her. Every sly grin, every comment about “burning passions” or “torrid desires,” had Katie’s patience wearing thin.

By the time they returned home from training, Katie was fuming—but not in the way Y/N might expect.

“Y/N,” Katie called from the kitchen as she grabbed a glass of water.

“Yeah?” Y/N called back from the living room, lounging on the couch with the smugness of someone who thought they’d won.

Katie smirked to herself, an idea forming. If Y/N wanted to play games, she’d play back—and she’d win.

She walked into the living room, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “You’ve been at it all day. Got a problem, or are you just obsessed with me?”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm, maybe a little of both.”

Katie’s smirk widened. “You know, if you’re so curious about the book, I could read you a bit. Really give you a taste of it.”

Y/N laughed, sitting up. “Oh, please. You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Katie raised an eyebrow, sauntering around the couch to sit next to her. She grabbed the book from her bag and flipped it open, her eyes scanning the pages. “Let’s see…ah, here we go.”

Clearing her throat dramatically, Katie began to read aloud:

‘“His smoldering gaze met hers, igniting a fire deep within her soul. Her breath hitched as he whispered, his voice low and full of promise, “You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel alive.”’”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening as Katie’s voice dropped into a husky tone, full of mock intensity.

“Stop,” Y/N said, holding up her hands.

Katie grinned. “What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted?” She leaned closer, her voice taking on an exaggerated sultriness. “‘He traced a finger along her jawline, his touch sending shivers down her spine…’”

“Okay, okay!” Y/N interrupted, her cheeks flushing. “Point made!”

But Katie wasn’t done. She closed the book and turned to face Y/N fully, leaning an elbow on the back of the couch. Her smirk turned into something more dangerous, more…real.

“You know,” Katie said, her voice quieter now, “you’re giving me a hard time about this book, but I think you’re just scared.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Scared of what?”

“Scared you might like it if someone said those things to you.” Katie’s gaze lingered on Y/N’s face, her smirk softening into something more genuine.

Y/N’s throat went dry. She scrambled to come up with a witty comeback, but Katie’s boldness had completely thrown her off balance.

“I—uh—” Y/N stammered, looking anywhere but at Katie.

Katie leaned in just slightly, enough to make Y/N’s breath hitch. “See? You’re already blushing.”

“I am not,” Y/N mumbled, though her cheeks were undeniably warm.

Katie chuckled, leaning back and tossing the book onto the coffee table. “Alright, I’ll stop. For now. But just remember—if you’re gonna tease me, you’d better be ready to take it, too.”

Y/N sat there, stunned into silence as Katie stood and sauntered off to her room. The sound of the door clicking shut snapped her out of her daze, and she let out a shaky breath.

“Well,” Y/N muttered to herself, “that backfired spectacularly.”

From the other side of the door, Katie grinned to herself. Two could play this game—and she wasn’t planning on losing anytime soon.

The days that followed were a delicate dance of unspoken words and lingering glances. Katie and Y/N continued their routines—training sessions, shared meals, evenings spent watching television—but beneath the surface, the air was charged with a tension neither dared to address.

One evening, as they sat side by side on the couch, a romantic film playing softly in the background, Y/N couldn’t help but steal a glance at Katie. The flickering light from the screen cast shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her smile as she watched the movie.

Y/N’s mind wandered back to the novel—the catalyst for this shift between them. She wondered if Katie had been reading it again, if the words on those pages had stirred something within her, just as they had within Y/N.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “About that book…”

Katie turned to her, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “What about it?”

Y/N hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I was thinking… maybe I judged it too quickly. Maybe there’s more to it than I realized.”

A slow smile spread across Katie’s lips. “Oh? And what brought about this change of heart?”

Y/N shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Just… thinking about what you said. About being open to new experiences.”

Katie’s gaze softened, and she reached out to place a hand over Y/N’s. “It’s just a book, Y/N. But if it made you think, then maybe it was worth all the teasing.”

Y/N looked down at their intertwined hands, her heart pounding in her chest. “Katie, I…” She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Katie’s expression grew serious, concern flickering in her eyes. “What is it?”

Y/N met her gaze, her voice trembling slightly. “I think… no, I know that I have feelings for you. More than just friendship.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Katie processed her words. Then, slowly, a radiant smile broke across her face. “Y/N, I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Relief washed over Y/N, and she let out a shaky laugh. “Really?”

Katie nodded, squeezing her hand gently. “Really. I didn’t want to push you, but I’ve felt the same way for a while now.”

Y/N’s heart soared, and she couldn’t help but grin. “So, what now?”

Katie leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now, we see where this goes. Together.”

As their lips met in a tender kiss, the tension that had been building between them melted away, replaced by a warmth that promised new beginnings and uncharted territories.

The novel that had once been a source of teasing had become the catalyst for something beautiful—a love story all their own.

In the days that followed, Katie and Y/N navigated their new relationship with the same teamwork and understanding that had defined their friendship. The teasing continued, but now it was laced with affection, each joke a reminder of the journey they’d embarked on together.

One evening, as they cuddled on the couch, Y/N picked up the infamous novel and waved it playfully.

“Shall we read a chapter together?” she suggested with a grin.

Katie laughed, pulling her closer. “Only if you promise not to mock my dramatic readings.”

Y/N feigned innocence. “Who, me? I would never.”

As they settled in to read, the words on the pages took on new meaning, each passage a reflection of their own unfolding story.

And as the night wore on, they realized that sometimes, the best love stories are the ones that catch you by surprise, turning the pages of your life in ways you never expected.

Their relationship continued to blossom, both on and off the field. Teammates began to notice the subtle changes—the shared smiles, the supportive glances, the way they seemed to move in perfect harmony during matches.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling practice, their teammate Lisa approached them, a knowing smile on her face.

“You two seem… different lately,” she remarked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Katie and Y/N exchanged a glance, their cheeks flushing slightly.

“Just working on our teamwork,” Katie replied smoothly, though the corner of her mouth quirked up in a telltale smile.

Lisa chuckled, clearly unconvinced. “Well, whatever it is, keep it up. It’s doing wonders for our game.”

As she walked away, Y/N nudged Katie playfully. “Think she knows?”

Katie shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Let them wonder. As long as we know what we have, that’s all that matters.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a surge of affection for the woman beside her. “Agreed.”

As the season progressed, their bond only deepened, each victory on the field mirrored by the growth of their relationship off it. They faced challenges together, supported each other through setbacks, and celebrated each other’s successes with unwavering pride.

One evening, as they sat on the balcony of their apartment, watching the sun set over the city, Y/N turned to Katie, her expression thoughtful.

“Do you ever think about the future?” she asked softly.

Katie looked at her, her eyes filled with warmth. “All the time. And lately, those thoughts always include you.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion. “Me too. I can’t imagine it any other way.”

Katie reached out, taking Y/N’s hand in hers. “Then let’s make a promise. No matter what comes our way, we’ll face it together. As partners, on and off the field.”

Y/N squeezed her hand, a smile spreading across her face. “Deal.”

[theartofwoompwoomp]

I love your sweet comfort Jazz fic. He just fits that perfectly.

I’m wondering about a moment where he goes protective mode. I love sweet fic where the bots goes switch mode on demeanor. Could be platonic or romantic. Something like they’re out and about being goofy then something happens he goes almost feral in protection mode. Does that frighten or impress?

Im their Guardian.

Jazz x reader

a/n : Thanks im glad you enjoyed the fics, personally im never sure if i get the characters personality well, so im glad ya like it. Also thanks for the ask i loved this idea <3

———————————————————————

Now, Jazz is an amazing guardian. His love for human culture and chill personality definitely made it easier for you to get along with him.

And in all the time you have known him, he’s always been the same. Usually when describing him your go to words were “hard worker” and “cool dude”. 

Never once had you truly seen any serious sides of him, unless he was fighting in the war. 

Which is why your image of him never changed.

But that’s the thing with personalities. They can be so complex to the point certain sides only are seen in special circumstances.

Which is why today shouldn’t have been any different.

Jazz knew how much you wanted to go (an event of something you like). You had gotten dressed up and everything. How could he not take you himself? Especially when you’re so excited about it as well.

Once there, he didn’t mind if he had to wait in a parking lot or be in a garage. You both prepared a bunch of things he could do while being in aft-mode.

And time definitely went a lot faster when you called him and stayed on call the rest of the time. 

He felt as he were there with you. 

Both of you continued talking about the surroundings and stuff you got from giftshops. Even buying a shirt that says “I ❤️ Robots”

The whole time his spark was warm at the smile on your face. He loved seeing you light up as you continued talking with him about your interests, and how you got stuff for him and yourself.

But, his first suspicion of something being wrong was from your movement on the screen. You seemed to have speed up your pace. But when the call got cut off he was long gone from the parking spot.

Speeding towards the entrance hoping to pick you up.

When he arrived he saw you not far ahead, but you were worried… and, scared? 

Getting closer he saw someone older than you following behind. … too closely 

Observing a bit more, he saw they had your phone in hand, and were taking you somewhere and trying to not make it obvious. 

His motor went full power as he rushed in alt-mode. And when you turned around with a tear stained face, all of his sense was lost. 

Revving his engine as he not so subtlety headed straight for the person, he stuck out his arm and pulled you in. Tucking you safely inside him and bumping pretty hard into the person hurting you. 

He was pissed.

No one should dare think they could get away with hurting the person most dear to him.

You are everything he has. And no one was going to take that away. Only calming down when you do.

And you were definitely shaken up by the whole thing.

Honestly, it was a bit of a roller coaster. First, you felt extremely relieved you’re big guy had found you. Next, feeling terrified at the thought he might actually put someone down with the fishies. Finally, calmed down cause he didn’t, and the whole time after he treated you with extra care. 

Still inside him as he drove back to base, you place a small kiss on the dashboard and thank him. Feeling him chuckle as the car vibrates. He’d tell ya to rest and start playing a playlist he created for you.

——————————————————————

Masterlist 

[livingformintyoongi]

There really are no words to describe how much I loved this fic, I think it was the first one I read over 10k and I really don't regret it because, god, it's so beautiful, like, how can you write so well???? Even if I don't remember exactly the exact dialogues, every time I see it, it's like I remember exactly what I felt the first time I read it 😭 I wish I could read it again for the first time.

silk & stones | kth (m)

Summary: “Taehyung was a writer… he was a writer indeed.”

Kim Taehyung knows his way around words – they cast a spell on your heart and mind, leave you gasping dangerously fast. Until the mystery behind his persona unveils and his touch, along with his words, becomes a vivid memory.

➳ pairing: Taehyung x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers, writer!au; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: writer + violinist tae 🥺 who’s a gentleman in the 19th century, brief mention of injuries/a mental institution, misunderstandings, heartbreak, secrets, grief, much poetry (and my attempt at writing a poem, pls spot), much disgoosting fluff, flirting and lots of sexual tension; explicit sexual content: 2 sex(y) scenes, fingering on a boat, choking, teasing, begging, praising, soft dom!tae, big dick!tae, tiddie fondling/sucking, some manhandling, dirty talk, they’re just so cute :((, oral (f. and m. receiving), some masturbation, oc is into neck kisses, some biting, fingering, hair pulling, asking for permission :(, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (it’s the 19th century…), aftercare; there’s quite some angst ok; lmk if i forgot smth !! ➳ word count: 27k (💀) ➳ a/n: damn, this one was a lottt and i’m even somewhat proud i managed to post it cos i was dreading doing so LMAO. but my baby @hobisuniverse​ didn’t just beta it, but encouraged me so so much, too. i love you to the moon and back, my love 🥺 hope y’all enjoy !! as always, feel free to pop into my inbox and talk to me, it means the world to me <33

➳ listen to the S&S playlist for the full experience 🤍 

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

You thought there was insanity behind the idea of fate until you met Kim Taehyung.

Keep reading

[cantst0pw0ntstop12]

But,

Athena from Epic would be awesome mother to Annabeth, like maybe not as a maternal figure but as more of the dynamic between Athena and Telemachus.

Poseidon from Epic however, would be a terrible father figure to Percy with all that angsty behaviour.

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | 10.5

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 2k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, infidelity, flirting, kissing/making out, there is trouble everywhere quite frankly…. gonna dip once i post bcos i know this is bad but there’s def another future 0.5 chapter that might be worse

⇢ POSTDOC | YR 2.5

"Babe." Iseul whines a bit, making San mimic her pout before tapping her nose.

"Love. How about I take you out this weekend to make up for it? We can go somewhere, just us two."

"Okay, but it'd be better if you could do that and come hang out tonight, too." 

"I'll try."

"San." 

"I'll try." He chuckles. "I should really finish up behavior tonight and that review for the paper we're working on. I'm already behind."

"Who said? You still have time."

"I have to get this done by next week." He gives her a sympathetic smile before placing a kiss on her forehead. 

"Next week."

"I'll try and get it done so I can hang out with you two, k?" He cups her cheeks. She can't help but continue to pout and cross her arms, even when he kisses her on the tip of her nose and on the lips. Part of her continues to have a soft spot for her man, the love of her life. 

Part of her wants to continue being supportive because she loves seeing San excel in his craft, she loves being by his side throughout all his achievements and vice versa. She feels like together, they can conquer the world together— be unstoppable, reach the top.

The other half, maybe more than half at this point, is sad. Empty. She longs for the man she fell in love with, she longs for his company. His time. His effort. 

His kisses, his cuddles. Everything.

Iseul never thought the lines would blur.

"Okay?" San repeats, causing Iseul to return her full attention on him. She gives him a small smile and nod, San's thumbs caressing her cheeks. "Better." He subtly bites his lip before caressing her chin. "C'mere." He leans forward to peck her lips again, and again.

And again.

Before they're both standing near her car, kissing under the late afternoon sun. Iseul tugs on San's shirt, deepening the kiss as she pulls him closer. He softly groans against her lips, Iseul's hand slowly traveling down to his belt. 

"Baby." He pulls back and chuckles. 

"We can be quick." She chases after his lips and presses small, repeated kisses against them before he's gently prying her off and shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, baby. I gotta go." She whines again before he's kissing her one last time on the lips and forehead. "You can have me all you want later tonight. And tomorrow. And the weekend."

"Ugh. I hope you know how much I'm sacrificing so you can hurry and finish." He laughs.

"I love you."

"Love you, too." She sighs, watching as San waves before doing a light jog back to the building. She slips into her car and connects a call to the bluetooth just as she pulls out of the parking spot.

"Yo!" Yunho answers the call almost immediately.

"Hey. What can I bring to your place for tonight?"

"Hm. Soju? I think I'm almost out." Yunho hums. "Chips and any other snacks."

"Okay, so everything? What do you even have at home?"

"Me, myself and I." Iseul laughs. 

"Uh. So much for inviting us over when you don't even have anything ready."

"I'll whip something up, don't worry! Why the doubting?"

"Alright, boss. Counting on you then."

"You know what else I need?"

"What, Yunho?" He chuckles.

"You." It’s meant to be a lighthearted joke; nothing more, nothing less. But, it does something to Iseul and Yunho knows it well enough by this point.

"You're so sappy. Quit it." She blushes to herself, biting her bottom lip even though she playfully scolds him.

"Nah. It's kinda fun seeing you all flustered."

"Hate you."

"Sad. I don't." She shakes her head and smiles. "Sliding through soon?"

"Yeah, I'm just gonna freshen up and change at the house first after grabbing groceries."

"San is coming?"

"He said he'll try and wrap up quick so he can join."

"Ah, okay." Yunho sighs a bit. It's been awhile since he's been able to hang out with his bestfriend, but he understands how important his work is right now. He tries to be, at least. He knows how it all goes. 

He just wishes San would give himself more time to relax. Enjoy life a little bit, just like he used to.

"I'll see you in a bit then."

"Mhm. I'll text you when I'm on the way."

"How exciting."

"Shut up." She ends the call. Suddenly, those dark, sad feelings she felt earlier are gone. Suddenly, she's happy. She feels a bit giddy. Excited.

Iseul isn't really sure when the line started to blur. 

But somehow, they're here and Yunho isn't sure how they'll go back and undo whatever they've created between each other. He knows this shouldn’t even be a thing. He should feel like some sort of last resort, a rebound— like he's the cushion that keeps Iseul company solely because San isn't around. Yunho knows there shouldn't be much to it.

So, why is there more to it?

It must have been all the kick-its with friends, all the lunches and casual dinners. It must have been the exchanged texts with stupid [but silly] memes or tweets the other would appreciate. It must have been the calls just to check in with each other. It must have been the subtle, lingering looks. 

Accidentally brushing hands.

Teasing and poking fun at each other.

Flirty undertones.

Saying shit to make the other smile or laugh.

San would have just assumed they were being normal around each other. They had always been close anyway, but he says that because he doesn't catch the small acts in between. 

The very small, but clear and intentional acts.

For a minute, Iseul thought it was a phase because Yunho was there like he had always been. But then, the feelings and the thoughts stayed for longer than a phase; piled up over weeks and weeks.

Until she realized what it meant.

So, she tried to distract herself and force herself to understand that it was truly just a phase. When San was around, she'd affectionately hug him. Kiss him. Cuddle him. Pull him to bed and make him cum over and over again to feel satisfied, to feel like she was still wanted by her man.

His moans and the loud calls of her name the only thing granting that satisfaction. Even though, could she say the affection behind it was genuine?

Clear, intentional?

Who's to say?

Especially when she's happily skipping down the aisles in the grocery store, grabbing the soju that both she and Yunho like; the one that San doesn't really like as much but he'll deal and make do. Especially when she's throwing on a form-fitting zip-up and leggings, trying to come off as comfy, but alluring. Especially when she sprays her perfume and dabs on a bit of lip gloss for a lazy kick-it that’s staying behind doors and enclosed walls.

Especially when she walks through the door to greet Yunho with a big hug— one that has him swinging her around before they plop onto the living room floor and get started on the drunk, scary indie movie and short film marathon the three agreed to do as a way of de-stressing.

Especially when Iseul gets the dreaded but expected text from San, and she can't help but welcome back the same feelings of emptiness and disappointment from earlier.

san: running behind. i don't think i'll make it, love. i'm sorry. tell yunho i’m sorry, too.

san: i'll be home tonight - i'll make it up to you. this weekend, too. 😘 i'm all yours.

"He's not coming." Iseul says, taking another huge swig from their third soju bottle of the night, making Yunho nod silently.

"I'm sorry—"

"It's fine, don't be such a debbie downer." She laughs, playfully punching him on the bicep. Yunho catches her hand in his when she attempts to pinch him the second time around, making her pout in return. "Ouch!"

"Says you who was just about to punch me on the bicep, meanie." She giggles when he lets go of her hand. "I'll let it go. At least you're laughing and smiling."

"Yeah." She looks up at him. "You surely do make me laugh and smile."

"Good or bad way?"

"Good. How could that be a bad thing?"

"I don't know, you could just think I'm stupid." She snorts.

"Never."

"Well, good." Yunho smiles. "I like it when you laugh and smile."

"I like it when you make me laugh and smile, Yunho."

"Yeah?" He drunkly rests his cheek on the palm of his hand, elbow on the surface of the table. "What else do you like, Iseul?"

"A lot of things."

"Mhm." He hums in a sing-song tone before leaning closer to tease her a bit. "What are a lot of things? Name a few."

"Yogurt soju, melon bread, being in bed after a long day and letting the sheets engulf me. Reading in a hot bath with candles lit up. To name a few." She leans forward to match him. "I don't think I can say anything else."

"Why not?"

"Because other things could be bad for me."

"In what way specifically?"

"Just cause." Her voice is barely above a whisper, lips only inches away from Yunho's.

"Just cause? How bad could it be?" She subtly shrugs before her eyes are dipping down to his lips, back up to his eyes. 

"Dunno. You tell me." She distractedly says. 

"What if.. maybe.. it isn't a necessarily a bad thing at all?" There's a thick silence in the air, but no one wants to address the tension, the elephant in the room. So, after a few minutes of said silence, Iseul leans forward and just kisses him— somehow thinking it could address the tension or whatever elephant is hiding in the room.

And at first, it shocks Yunho.

He freezes because he knows this shouldn't have happened. It fucking shouldn't have happened and he should’ve put a stop to it ASAP. Because Iseul was San's and vice versa, they made vows and devoted their lives to each other in front of him, and they were good together.

Yunho isn't really sure when the line started to blur. 

But then, he finds himself chasing after her lips to kiss her again, and again— until things can't be stopped and San's texts are going unanswered while Iseul's phone sits on the coffee table and vibrates away.

Her and Yunho are no longer sitting around watching the short film that's on. It eventually plays a random video next because no one is paying attention to what’s happening in the background. Empty soju bottles are spread across the surface of the table, along with open bags of chips and empty bowls. TV serving its purpose as background noise, almost fighting with the loud kisses and subtle moans leaving their lips while Iseul continues to make a place for herself on Yunho’s lap.

Meanwhile, San tucks his phone into his pocket, shrugging off the entire thing after he had sent her a few more follow up texts with all his ideas on how to make up for tonight. And tomorrow. And the weekend. He felt bad, but he was genuinely excited to do things with Iseul. To take her out on dates, travel near and far with her just to be alone. Rekindle the flame. Bring back that love, passion, that had been slowly dying because of his own fault. 

It wasn't entirely uncommon for Iseul to let texts go unanswered, but he was only worried because he knew that initial 'sorry can't make it' text upset her. She was probably trying to distract herself and lean on Yunho. Which, San can't help but think that Yunho does a way better job of being there for her than he actually does as her husband. It kinda aches him to think about it, and he's not sure how to navigate his own feelings when he keeps replaying that bar scene in his head.

For San, there’s no use in figuring this out because he knows they're good friends. They get along well, and he should be glad that they do. There isn’t anything to worry about despite his mixed feelings and confusing thoughts.

But for Iseul and Yunho, there’s no use in figuring out when this all happened, why this all happened— because everything has become perfectly clear and defined. 

The small acts gone unnoticed no longer small and unable to be hidden.

Clear, intentional.

Now, the lines are no longer blurred.

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme

[little-diable]

Getaway - Tyler Owens (smut)

It's been so long since I've last written for him, but I hope y'all still love him as much as I do. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed read this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader and Tyler take a few days off after a busy season to get lost in one another.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, bathtub action, very sweet, begging, some dom!Tyler

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader (1.4k words)

With her eyes closed, (y/n) let go of a deep exhale, trying to ground herself. The warm bathtub water engulfed her, cozying her along while she could hear Tyler finally finding his way to her. 

They had arrived at the cabin hours ago, hiding away in the middle of the forest with no reception - a perfect getaway after another busy chasing season. She was aching for his closeness, needing Tyler to focus on her solemnly. A strange need was burning deep inside of her, as if he hadn’t been hers for years on end, sticking to her side through every trouble coming their way, a need so intense (y/n) feared she would drown in her own longings as Leander had drowned because of his longing for Hero. 

Ancient lovers finding back together every single lifetime, reborn for the simple purpose of loving one another. 

Tyler stepped into the room, hands already working on his shirt to expose his body to her with every further layer dropping to the floor. She tried not to stare, eyes flickering between him and her hand lazily moving through the water, but the second she heard his belt drop to the floor, she had to look at her husband again. 

It had been years since their paths had crossed first, but yet (y/n) was still as mesmerised by him as on day one. She marvelled at him at every single chance, like a ship lost at sea staring at a guiding lighthouse, scared she’d lose her path like Odysseus with a cry for help so loud she could wake the gods from their eternal slumber. 

“Hold on, baby.” Tyler gently gave her a push, settling behind her before pulling (y/n) against his chest. She could feel his need for her, pressing against her back while he buried his face in the crook of her neck. His breath stroked her warm skin, drawing a soft moan from her, pushing herself further against him to wordlessly communicate what she wanted from him. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.” His quiet confession made her chuckle, hands finding his to interlock their fingers. She guided his hands up her chest, letting them rest on her breasts for a second before she let go. Tyler instantly followed her wordless call, cupping her breasts to toy with her hardening buds, making her arch her back in relief. “Oh, little one, have I been neglecting you?”

“Tyler,” she swallowed the call of his name, eyes squeezed shut to try and ground herself. Every touch felt like lightning buzzing through her system, burning her skin as if he was mapping out a new path, leaving behind marks that would be able to lead him back to her in the depths of the night. He’d overcome every obstacle for her, for her mere closeness, the sweetest sounds that made him feel as if he had explored a new genre of music. “Don’t tease me.” 

“Tsk,” he clicked his tongue, telling her to be patient as he kept kneading her soft flesh. His cock twitched against her back, just as impatient as he was, but he couldn’t give in just yet, and didn’t want to let the water spill over the rim of the tub before he touched her most sensitive spot. “You’re so impatient, how will you ever survive without me near to fuck you whenever you need me to?” 

She wanted to protest, really did, but her mouth was too dry, words stolen right from the tip of her tongue. Finally, his fingers found her heat, brushing through her slit to feel her arousal dripping from her tightness. An insatiable need was connecting the two, a need so strong not even the ancient poets could have found the right words to describe this sensation. 

Tyler took his time, relishing in her sounds, in the way she pressed her back against his cock, in the feeling of her fingernails scratching at his forearms to leave marks that would remind him of this very moment for hours to come. Hours he would spend between her thighs, hovering above her with his cock buried deep inside of her to murmur sweet nothings into her ears. 

Calloused fingertips lazily circled her pulsing bundle, using just enough pressure to make (y/n) curl her toes. It wouldn’t take much for her to fall over the edge, to empty her lungs of any air she’d need to survive, but for him she’d give it all up, turning to him like Orpheus had turned to Eurydice. 

“Talk to me, what do you need, baby?” He was toying with her, using her for his own pleasure, enjoying the power he held over her now speechless, trembling frame. (Y/n) shuffled herself closer, needing to feel whatever he could offer her, every single touch like an x marked on a treasure map. 

“Tyler,” she sobbed his name, struggling to put into words how much she needed to feel him deep inside of her. 

“C’mon, I know you can do it, use your words.” A smirk was glued to his lips, not moving as (y/n) felt her orgasm creeping closer and closer - a sensation he’d stop any second now. 

“Your cock, need you inside of me, please, Ty’.” The hum he let go of felt like an absolution - as if the gods were finally favouring her. He let go of her, only to turn (y/n) around in his grasp, supporting her with strong hands. She sank down on him within a handful of moments, whimpering at the feeling of being stuffed full by him. 

For a second, neither of them moved, foreheads pressed together, hearts racing in sync. Only as he tightened his grip on her hips did she dare to move, trying to ignore the mess they were making with the water spilling everywhere. She fucked herself on his cock, impaled on his twitching length as if she had been born for this moment only. 

Inaudible words rolled off her tongue, praises Tyler couldn’t pick up on as he was too focused on his own pleasure. Being buried inside of (y/n) was undoubtedly one of his favourite things, high on the feeling of them perfectly fitting together, bodies understanding what the other was desperate for without needing to use any words to break their silence. 

Her hands found the rim of the tub, knuckles growing a few shades lighter from the tight grip she had on the cold material. She wrote her name on top of him, spurred on by the breathless groans Tyler couldn’t hold back, by the feeling of bruises already forming on her hips. 

Tyler’s head rolled back, eyes focused on her features, on the lust-blown pupils staring at him. Her teeth were close to drawing blood from her lower lip, trying to stop herself from letting go all too early, something he didn’t seem to care about as he began to meet her thrusts. 

“Beg for it, little one, let me hear how much you need to cum.” His raspy voice made goosebumps rise on her skin, littering her body like sea foam rolling ashore. A few breaths were sucked into her lungs, fighting through the hazy fog he had pushed her in to, getting lost at sea without anything but the grasp she still had on him like a distant memory keeping her alive.

“Need it so badly, fuck, Ty’, please. Let me cum, please, please, please.” A satisfied moan left him, giving her the push to let go, to allow her orgasm to drown her in its strong grasp. He jerked his hips a few times before he came deep inside of her, imprinting himself on her walls as if he needed to claim her in the most primal way possible. 

“Fuck, I love you.” He mumbled the words against her lips, pressing a few soft kisses against them before she sank into his chest, repeating the words with a satisfied hum.