#you Have to know you’re taking these peoples words in bad faith

[wowreally0102]

whenever i read one of those posts along the lines of “Iesbians have had sex w men within our community and it doesn’t really matter” there’s always someone extremely angrily coming along and demanding to know why op thinks they, personally, Must be attracted to men and i still don’t understand why people think that is supposed to convince anyone of anything at all

[melancholyhigh]

CRUSH CULTURE.

ft. college au!leon x reader

synopsis. you fuck up at being leon’s wingman, ruining his chances of getting a valentine’s day fuck. he’s frustrated and takes his anger out on you.

tags. 2.8k words. smut. mean!leon, lowk angsty, reader is kinda pathetic, angry fuck, dry humping, cunnilingus, dom!leon, rough sex, unprotected p in v, degradation, name calling (bitch, whore etc.), happy ending (?).

note. i’m sorry for being so inactive and rarely being online. school sucks so bad. i hope you guys can accept this as a formal apology. (let’s ignore that this is 2 days late.)

masterlist. reblogs & comments are highly welcomed :3

You aren’t the biggest fan of Valentine’s Day. You're sick of seeing everyone fall in love, watching lovers exchange cheesy gifts and bashful smiles. You’re sick of people pretending they love each other more than they actually do. No, you’re sick of being left out.

You were a hopeless romantic, chasing love only for it to fall flat. You were obsessed with finding your other half, the person who would cherish you as much as you treasured them. You didn’t know if you loved love or just the idea of it, but it wouldn’t matter.

You’re only hopeless as you help the man you liked hook up with someone at a shitty college party.

It’s pathetic, truly, chatting up some sorority girls and putting a good name out for Leon while he stood beside you. You didn’t get why he couldn’t do it himself. He was handsome, albeit a bit awkward, but so were you. It’s why you two got along anyway. Leon was watching as you tried to get the drunk girl’s attention on him. Throughout the night, your wingman skills had only failed. They either did not pay attention to you or paid too much attention to you.

You were sick of it. You would have preferred staying in your dorm room and rewatching one of your favourite rom-coms. But you were only a fool, trying to help your friend out. It hurt more being there with him as he lamely tried to pick up girls in front of you. You didn’t know what was more pathetic, his terrible jokes or the state you were, absolutely heartbroken that he wouldn’t give you the time of day he’d give to random girls.

Maybe it’s faith’s cruel way of commentating on your desire for love by making you play cupid for the only person you seem to care about more than yourself.

You and Leon had something special, or you had hoped so. You met in your first year of college. You were both fucking awkward that you had to initiate the first conversation. Majoring in similar subjects, you both had gotten along well. You would even say you were best friends, but you knew deep down you always wanted more.

Ever since you first met, you found him enthralling. It only got worse as you got closer. Learning more about him seemed to solidify your pining for him. You were the only person he talked to, and vice versa. You confided in each other, maybe more than what close friends should, so it was only inevitable that he would share with you that he wanted to lose his virginity.

You had looked at him perplexed. Leon was pretty attractive, and maybe you were biased, but how had no one fucked him? You’ve seen the way girls look at him, blushing when he even glances at them for a second.

That is when Leon told you he planned on trying to hook up with some girl at the party, and he wanted your help because he knew he would fuck up somehow. You had humoured him. Nothing more romantic than taking a random girl home on Valentine’s Day and fucking her brains out.

–-

“It’s not that serious, Leon,” you groaned for the umpteenth time. You were both walking back to his apartment after unsuccessfully trying to hook him up with some sorority girl. He was grumbling behind you, pissed and sexually frustrated.

“It was your fault.” You roll your eyes at his statement. When you reach the door of his flat, you observe as he clumsily takes his keys out, trying to open the door. He finally manages to open the door, and you enter, taking your shoes off before settling on his couch.

You watch him beyond amused at his predicament as he paces back and forth in front of you.

“Why did you have to mention that? They were so into me before you fucked it up,” he huffs, stilling his movement to glare at you.

“C’mon, Leon. I’m sure they couldn’t give a fuck that you’re a nerd,” you said, repeating the same word you had let slip when you were praising your beloved best friend. You peered back up at him, acting casual as if his icy gaze didn’t have your heart beating wildly against your chest. You rarely saw him angry, and when he was, he never directed it to you.

“You ruined my chances at finally getting laid. I don’t know how to talk to these girls. You’re the only person I have.” He’s frustrated with you for fucking up whatever chance he finally had at popping his cherry. Even though logically it’s not your fault nor your duty to get his dick wet, he didn’t want to take responsibility right now.

“I think you’re overreacting,” you sighed, standing up and moving towards him. You try to put a comforting hand on Leon’s shoulder, and he shrugs your touch off him. You don’t take it to heart. He’s a few inches taller than you, head slightly tilted as he looks down at you.

“Yeah? Well, now I have no one to fuck tonight.”

“I can change that,” you quip, and you instantly freeze at your own statement. You part your lips lightly in shock as you observe Leon’s reaction. It was a freudian slip, and it seemed to be happening more often than you’d like.

He continues looking down at you with furrowed brows as he tries to comprehend what you said. He thinks this might affect your friendship if you even mean what you said. He was horny, being teased all night by pretty girls in skimpy dresses, only to be denied, fucking furious too.

“Really?” He responds, somehow stepping closer to you. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and you try to back up, only to be pushed against the wall by him. His stare is still cold, piercing through you. He’s still pissed at you.

“Are you still mad?” You mumbled, your back flat against the wall of his living room. You knew the answer. You just wanted him to say it. Maybe you found his mean side more attractive than you’d like to admit. It was so rare to see him like this — a usually composed man so broken.

“Yes, I’m still fucking angry. Do you want me or not?” He seethes. You squeeze your thighs together at the tone he uses. You were so pathetic, getting wet at him berating you, but any attention was good attention.

He notices your reaction, grinning to himself. “You backing down?”

You shake your head no in response.

“Beg for it then. Beg for me to fuck you. That’s what you want, right?” He says, mocking you. It’s as if he knows how deep your desire burns for him, how badly you’d do anything for him if it meant he noticed you. His hands grasp your face, his fingers squishing your cheeks together as he forces your head back against the wall so you look up at him.

“Please, Leon. Fuck me. ‘M all yours.” You plead through pursed lips. Your eyes are glossy, and he’s laughing at your desperate nature. He would have never expected his best friend to be a whiny mess within his grasp.

He lets go of your face before leaning down, capturing your lips into his for a needy kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, and a surprised gasp escapes you. Teeth clashing, you’re whimpering desperately against his lips as you entangle your fingers into his soft golden locks. His hands trail down to your hips, gripping them as he moves his body against yours.

You let out a soft moan, and he pulled apart from the passionate kiss. Both your lips are swollen and covered with your shared saliva. He continues to grope your body eagerly as he pushes you further into the wall. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear you.”

Biting your lip, you try not to let any moans slip free while he toys with your sensitive body through your clothes. He hooks one of your legs over his hip while he explores your body. He grinds his hardening cock against your crotch, and the action does little to quell the ache inside you.

Your back arches off the wall, your head tipping back as you try to buck your hips to his. Digging your nails into his shirt, he hisses slightly, but your movements don’t get past him.

“So fucking desperate,” he moans loudly.

He continues to rock his clothed erection against your cunt. The rough fabric of your pants provides enough friction through your damp underwear to your clit. Your hand clamps around your mouth shut, suppressing your whines as you near your climax.

Leon’s eyes close while he groans lowly at the pleasure coursing through him as he ruts against you. He wants so badly to feel your dripping cunt against his throbbing length. Just as you’re about to finish, he pulls away, panting, and the feeling in your core dissipates.

“I want to fuck you properly.” You’re unsure if he knew what he had just done, but with the smug look he’s giving you, you’re positive it’s on purpose.

You push yourself off the wall of his living room, and with trembling legs, you follow him to his bedroom. You were familiar with the area and used to the messy appearance while you two were either doing work or binging shows. But it’s different now, he’s going to fuck you dumb in it.

You both begin to rid yourself of your clothes once you’re inside. You’re fully nude, lying flat on Leon’s mattress, and your skin feels tacky with sweat as it clings to his soft sheets. Leon is only in his boxers, precum staining the fabric, as his strong palms spread your bent legs apart to admire your bare pussy.

You realise that this is most likely his first time seeing one other than in porn videos he jerks himself off to. He marvels at how wet you are, your folds glistening with your slick. Leaning down, he buries his face between your thighs, lapping at you.

His tongue teases your entrance before slowly moving to your clit. He alternates between sucking on your sensitive nub and lapping at it slowly. He looks like he’s concentrated as he focuses on pleasing your cunt, his brows furrowed and his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs.

You can’t help the moans and sighs that slip past your lips while he eats you out. The pleasure is nearly dizzying as you grip the sheets. Your hips are bucking against his tongue, and Leon groans as you use his face. He’s not so subtly grinding against the sheets, his cock painfully hard as he fails to relieve the sensation.

Tentatively, he slurps at you, drinking in your essence. The wet, sloppy noises your cunt makes are embarrassing, but he’s obsessed with it and your taste. It’s addictive. He sucks at your clit roughly, adoring the reaction you give him. Your tummy clenches as he pays attention to your throbbing bud. Your sounds are getting more frequent as your orgasm quickly approaches you.

When you finally come undone, your thighs are quivering around his head as he revels in your release. He parts from your cunt, his lips coated in your cum like lip gloss as he licks them clean. Trying to collect yourself, your chest heaves as you pant heavily.

Leon slips his boxers down, revealing his hard-on. His cock was flushed red and dripping with precum as he stroked it. It was average in length but quite thick and prettier than you had imagined. But you shouldn’t act surprised.

You let out a whimper when he slid the tip of his cock through your folds stained with your cum and his saliva. Your pussy was overstimulated, spasming as he teased your entrance with his head.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he groans, gripping your hip to steady himself. The heat of your cunt was welcoming as it tried to suck him inside you. His tip touches your overly sensitive clit. He was quickly losing his composure, desperate to fuck you open.

You both moan simultaneously when he fully enters his length inside of you. Your walls were sucking his cock deeping into you, filling you up to the brim with nothing but him.

You had not imagined your first time with Leon like this. You daydreamed of him taking you out on a cute date before undressing you and then fucking you slowly on a bed littered with rose petals. You did not anticipate that he’d split you open on his cock as a last resort taking his sexual frustration out on you. You can’t complain with how good he’s fucking you, even if it’s out of spite.

He begins thrusting his cock in and out of tight pussy, groaning. You feel each ridge and vein of his cock as he fucks the shape into you. You sometimes forget how well-built he is, usually concealed by his clothes, sweat dripping down his muscular frame.

“Your cock feels so fuckin’ good, Leon,” you gasped out loud, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you out of his fat cock.

“This was your plan, huh? You wanted me to fuck you, whore.” He says as he punctuates each word with a thrust.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as the tip of his cock presses against you deliciously. You did want him all to yourself, but you wouldn’t go as far as to sabotage him. You’re unable to answer him, too drunk on his cock bullying into that one spot inside of you.

“Answer me, bitch.” He huffs, gripping your jaw and positioning your face to his. He looks into your eyes only to note how they can barely stay open. His hips stutter at your fucked out expression. He was so fucking close, his abs flexing, only holding out so you can cum first.

“Y- Yeah, Leon. Want to you all for myself,” you stammer incoherently, tears collecting at your waterline as he pounds into your oversensitive cunt. Your walls grip around his cock sporadically as you near your climax.

“You like me too, then?” he mocks through clenched teeth. Your pussy hugs him tightly, and he thinks he might never want to leave your warm embrace.

“I’m so close,” you cry out, your body squirming in his hold. Your peak was rapidly approaching as he continued his assault on your pussy.

“Answer the question then you can come,” he whines, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, leaving marks as he nears his peak.

“Mhm! Yes, I’ve always fucking liked you, Leon.” You cried out, eager to expose all your secrets to him if it meant you came. As you climax, your pussy milks Leon’s cock as it gushes around him.

“Oh fuck. I’m gonna cum,” Leon moans, his voice breathy as his orgasm crashes after yours. He doesn’t know if it’s the weight of your confession or the whimpers that escape your throat that send butterflies in him as he spills into you. He kisses you one last time, moaning into you as he rides his high.

Pulling out, he collapses right next to you. You’re both panting, covered in cum and sweat. A wave of exhaustion overcomes you, and you hope he doesn’t bring up what you said amidst fucking. You’re content pretending it didn’t happen if it meant you wouldn’t get to face your fears.

“Thank you for uh,” Leon trails off, and it's like a switch flipped. He’s bashful at mentioning that he had just lost his virginity as if he wasn’t calling you a whore a few minutes ago. Turning to his side, you come nearly face-to-face with him once again.

“Mhm, you’re welcome, I think.” You’re still unsure how you feel about the situation. Finally, you had fucked him, but what significance did it hold to him? Your eyes flutter shut, sleep finally overcoming your wrecked body. You expected the same would happen to Leon, but you were wrong. Leon was in deep thought.

Leon calls your name, cutting your sleep short. You snap your eyes open, sitting up, you await his question with your arms crossed. He looked uneasy, but you’re too drained to question why.

“Did you mean what you said? That you liked me.” His voice is quiet as he gazes at your form.

“Uh, yeah,” you mumbled in response. What was even the point of lying anymore? His cum was dripping between your thighs. What is the worst he can do? You think you can already guess his response. Guilt was eating at you. He wouldn’t be in this position if you did what he wanted. You added, “Sorry for fucking up your night.”

It’s quiet, and you’re nervously trying to gauge his reaction until he breaks the silence.

“I think I found someone better,” he responds. You laugh at the mere absurdity of the entire situation.

“It took fucking me to find that out?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

[floylia]

ELYSIAN ♫

23. A therapist? ✎

Scaramouche fears no man.

But he does fear four women.

1. Ei — his mother

2. Yae Miko — his mother’s “friend”

3. Nahida — his aunt

4. You — the highlight of his life

There’s no particular order. It depends on the day. Although tonight, that might be the case.

The bamboo pendant lamp hangs beautifully in the intricate walls if Uyuu Restaurant. An order of Tricolor Dango, Shimi Chazuke, Fukuuchi Udon, and Halvamazd scatter along the floor table. Scara settles across his mother. Yae Miko finds the spot next to her and beside him, Nahida chats away with the restaurant owner who introduces himself and the specialties he’d prepared in advance.

Four dishes for four people.

“What a funny guy! What’s his name again?” Yae Miko asks after the owner left.

“I believe it’s Okazaki Rikuto,” Nahida answers as she scans the roster of food available. Scara notices the eagerness in her eyes. Sometimes, his aunt resembles that of a child – if only she wasn’t so perceptive.

“Care to share your thoughts?” Nahida asks.

There it is – as always.

Scara clears his throat, “No. Let’s eat.”

It will have to wait.

Minutes of uncomfortable silence fills the room. A wave of anxiety begins to envelop Scara’s thoughts. Considering his intrepid personality, he’s sure that even outsiders can tell the absurdity of his actions – from fumbling his chopsticks to checking his phone every passing second. It’s a telltale sight. He curses himself.

“Whatever you wanted to discuss with us, you should do it now,” Ei states calmly. Although It’s not a suggestion, rather a demand.

Scara clears his throat a second time. There’s hesitation in his words. But stalling will get him nowhere, “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Yae Miko looks up grinning, “A therapist?”

The urge to say “fuck you” and hold up a middle finger begins to increase.

“Miko,” his mother warns. Scara can’t tell the expression Ei is wearing – he can never tell with her. He hates that. She is uncertainty, someone he’ll never fully understand.

Nahida interjects, “Is it [name]? I’ve seen articles and comments.”

Scara nods.

Always so perceptive.

Yae Miko Gasps, a hand over her mouth, “Oh the poor girl. I can’t believe she chose you.”

“Miko!” Ei screams.

A simple “fuck you” might not be enough. One more comment from the pink haired lady and they’ll have to call the ambulance – and it’s not for the right reasons.

Yae Miko looks at him with false pity, “You do know, it’s bad to lie–”

Ei cuts her off, “When can we meet her?”

Scara is caught off guard in the best way possible.

A genuine smile is written on his mother’s face – satisfaction.

“You should’ve invited her tonight,” Nahida added, “I’m a big fan of her work.”

He’s dreaming. He has to be.

“I had no faith in you,” Yae Miko says matter-of-factly.

Nevermind. He’s not dreaming.

“Look, you were a socially awkward child – a problem child, even now.”

He’s never been in a cat fight, but today might be it. Should he pull the top of her hair first or the bottom? Which one would be more efficient, he wonders. Venti would know.

“I mean Ei, do you remember the time–”

Or perhaps he should ask Heizou for blackmail materials. Then perhaps his mother would finally cut her off. Taking down the Yae Publishing House… What an exciting thought.

Scara tunes out the voice of his primary hater.

“Next time, you and [name] should visit Tenshukaku. I’d love to meet her,” his mother says in-between giggles.

“You’re not upset?” He asks, just to make sure.

Ei looks offended, “Why would I be?”

“Well–” He halts, not sure of what to say, “Because of the scandals…”

He doesn’t care about those trivial issues, but they might.

Nahida giggles, “For someone who doesn’t seem to care about people’s opinions, you sure are obedient today.“

“I just wanted to make sure.”

Ei shakes his head, “I know I never told you this, but I’ve always wanted the best for you,” She hesitates, “I apologize for making it hard for you to tell me simple things like this. I’m not a perfect mother, but I’m glad you’re sharing a part of your life with me – with us.”

He doesn’t know how to respond, merely nods.

If you were here, you would’ve loved them and they would’ve loved you.

He’s sure of that now. He’s wrong for doubting them.

“But anyway, is there something [name] would like? I can send her newly-made desserts from the shop.”

Yae Miko interjects, “Does she read light novels? I can give her a discount.”

“Or maybe she likes plants? Have you given her Padisarahs? Rainbow Roses? It’s supposed to mean passion and romantic encounters,” Nahida suggests.

Ei lights up, “Oh I know! A copy of your childhood photo album – you were an adorable kid.”

“Mom!”

“Hey, I’m sure she’d want it.”

She’s right.

Notes:

in a world where everyone is happy 😃

kept this in the basement for too long

next chapter is the last chapter then the extras

Synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go on an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo album. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?

Scaramouche x fem!reader

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[syoddeye]

consequence / ink

price x f!reader | 1.6k words series directory tags: alcohol, miscommunication (resolved) a/n: john is a down bad, as the youths would say. thank you to my beloved @/pfhwrittes for britpicking. ☕

her cast is gone. a sleeve hides the arm, but it’s clearly off.

john holds the door for a customer, unsure if he ought to take another step or retreat while he can. he tried to compose a text on the flight, on the drive, in the shower. a heads-up, a ‘hello, i’ve returned, i’m sorry, don't worry about my face when you see it’—but he couldn’t. somehow, he thought simply turning up would be better.

when she spots him, the look on her face says a text would’ve been the right call.

ah, well.

she glares over the other man’s shoulder as he pays. he’s truly awful because it only makes him happier to see her. if she didn’t care, her face would be a blank slate.

the man takes a short eternity to move to the end of the bar. john checks to ensure he isn’t holding up a queue he knows isn’t there, if only to buy another second—

“yurbeck.” she blurts out.

“sorry?”

slower, she repeats herself, “you’re back.”

“i am. you’re healed up.” 

“you’re not.”

the black eye he sports is ugly but faded. yellowish, with ugly splotches of blood still pooled beneath the skin. he’d like to say, you should see the other guy, but the bastard’s probably jaguar shit by now. instead, he shrugs. “looks worse than it feels. can we grab a drink when you’re off?”

she glances and frowns at her coworker, who’s clearly listening in over the noise of the espresso machine and sighs. her uncertainty is as plain as day.

“no.”

alright. damage control. he can fix this, he thinks, heart crashing into his gut. he didn’t leave her on bad terms. “listen, i know—”

she interrupts a second time. “we’ll go to mine.”

his mouth shuts, teeth clacking. he won’t argue with that.

~~

before you leave the café, you check your last exchange.

>> thanks for dinner the other night. i had a wonderful time. unfortunately, i won’t be by for a bit.

> ominous > prison?

>> not quite. work. i won’t be able to text.

> well don’t be gone too long > i might forget your order

it’s ridiculous, in hindsight, all your worrying over a man you assumed ghosted you. a regular you took a stupid leap of faith for. the shopping trip was a way to test the waters, and despite an awkward intensity he seemed desperate to hide and his bad jokes, john charmed you. even when you extended the exam to your place, he passed. no snide comments about cece or the decor. he helped with cooking without being asked. washed the dishes. it was a wonderful time. he said it. you believed it.

but two months isn’t ‘a bit’. it’s a disappearing act.

you say as much, as annoyed with yourself as you are with him. he quietly concedes he could have explained better. you tell him friends don’t go MIA for weeks. he laughs.

~~

“funny you should say that.”

“what?”

john stares hard at her profile as they walk. this part is always hard. pivotal. he puts it simply: “i’m in the military—special forces. that’s why i was ‘MIA’, as you put it.”

her brows raise, but she doesn’t falter. “oh.”

his lip curls. he’s been cussed out, fawned over, and ditched entirely for sharing his profession. no one usually reacts so little. it’s a divisive topic. everyone’s got an opinion. 

“that’s it? oh?” john echoes, trying to tease something out. he once listened to her harsh critique of the illegibility of packaging at the café—he cannot imagine her indifference as genuine. “you can ask questions, y’know.”

“okay. where were you? what were you doing?”

crawling on my belly through mud and fending off giant cockroaches. shooting. getting shot at.

“seeing the sights, meeting people.”

that withering glare returns, but it’s shorter-lived this time. she huffs. “see, i assumed ‘special forces’ means it’s the type of military business you don’t get answers about.”

“yes and no. i can’t compromise my clearance.”

“what can you tell me?”

he smiles when she sneaks a look, irritation giving way to curiosity. “i sunburn very easily.”

she snorts. “no way, not with that complexion.”

“and, i have thirty, forty mosquito bites where the sun doesn’t shine.”

john’s bruised cheek hurts from grinning as she laughs. this is the first time he’s heard it uninhibited, neither bitten back nor politely smothered by a hand. he needs to brush up on his humor. he needs to hear that sound more often.

“sorry. i’m a mess.”

john aligns their shoes and removes his jacket. it’s hardly messy. her flat appears mostly unchanged, except for the small mountain of citrus on her dining table. a single banana. she starts to sweep it into a plastic bin, but he catches a stray orange, and his thumb drags over an odd indentation. he turns it in hand, eyebrows pitching at the sight of a rose etched into the skin.

“is this…?” 

he watches her press a machine into a foam insert, then hurriedly zip a case shut. the look on her face clearly says he wasn’t supposed to see that. 

she takes the orange and shrugs. “something i’m having fun with. a new hobby.”

“solid work for a hobby.”

“don’t tease.”

“you’d know if i was.” 

she excuses herself to change after setting the bin aside, stepping over a wary cece. the cat stands guard at the mouth of the hall. unimpressed. he can practically hear the and where have you been?

john gives the cat a fond but tight smile. he’ll need to get in good with her again, too, it seems. he checks the water bowl before settling onto the couch. cece follows to investigate, her tiny black nose tapping his knuckles when he offers a hand. 

her aloofness swiftly melts after he coaxes her into his lap, though he suspects that the subsequent stabbing of her kneading paws is her brand of punishment. little thing seems to relish it.

“you can move her if she’s too much.”

his face lifts, and he wonders if the cat feels the palpitations in his chest.

given what he’s only just learned, he shouldn't be surprised, but the patchwork tattoos decorating her arms steal his breath anyway. the impulse to touch is instant. to trace every fine line and jealously ask where she had them done and by whom. 

he grips the arm of the couch hard, and cece pauses her biscuit-making, eyes half-lidded and judgmental. dismissing the cat, he nonchalantly places a throw pillow over his lap and scrubs a hand over his face.

the plot thickens.

“nice ink. didn’t realize you had any. makes sense.”

“yep. twenty-one. mm. no. twenty-two.”

far more than what the shirt shows. “any damage?” 

her head tilts as she cracks the refrigerator, pulling two bottles by their necks. “nope. don’t got anything there.”

john takes a beer as she plops down. she tucks her legs beneath, and he studies the artfully drawn black shapes on the one arm: a network of barbed thorns and flowers, a woman contorted into a skull, a mouse sleeping in a sardine tin, a stamp, and several stars.

“do you have any?” she asks, taking a swig.

nothing as lovely as hers. the first and last instance john had time to sit for a piece, he was clean-shaven and further from the thick of it. but she’s shown him hers; returning the favor is only polite. “one.” he sets the bottle aside to ruck up his left sleeve. she shifts, and the tips of his ears redden. fuck he wishes it wasn’t so—

“traditional. ha, had you pinned for the type. cute.”

cute. the ink has faded into muted tones, the lines softened. the mermaid’s once coy smile blurs into a vague shape, and now that he looks at it, the anchor’s shank is slightly crooked. the subtle, natural distortions of time make the mermaid perched in the curved arm of the anchor appear as aged as his face.

“can i?” 

she extends a hand. has she touched him before? intentionally?

“yes.”

her fingers follow the lines without an ounce of hesitation or hovering. the corner of her mouth quirks when john instinctively squeezes his bicep, the mermaid’s blue tail flexing under her thumb. he can’t tell what she’s thinking despite watching her pretty eyes. he simply laments he doesn’t have more to show her if only to keep her this close.

john’s focus narrows to the heat of her hand as it moves. he imagines five perfect ovals burning into his arm hair where she grabs and adjusts her view. that his skin might melt, and her palm would graft to his limb for all time, barring surgical intervention.

the first words out of her mouth in a minute are a bucket of cold water.

“six inches, right?”

“what?”

her gaze flicks up. “from the tip to the base?” a prolonged beat passes before she adds, “or, i guess, to the fins of her tail?”

she’s gonna be the death of me. 

“i think so.”

“it’s aged well.”

“ah. you’re taking the piss.”

“you’d know if i was.” she echoes. “i’m serious. i’m guessing it’s fifteen or twenty years old? it could look worse.” her nails scritch in a tight circle for a half-second, long enough that he might combust, but she pulls away and swirls her beer. “why’d you stop at one?”

“busy schedule. and i don’t want to be too identifiable.”

“yes. the chops are the subtler choice.” she smiles behind the bottle. “now i’m taking the piss.”

john thinks of precisely three responses to her cheek, none of which make it to his tongue. he sips slowly, catching on a slip of skin when she stretches, the hem of her shirt lifting just so. a tempting black line practically hooks his eye before it disappears.

“oh, you’re funny. got me curious, though. which one was your first?”

her legs straighten, and she pushes to her feet. “it’ll be easier if i show you.”

[itadores]

my type of person.

note: on a tōdō kick rn ... sorry

pairing: tōdō aoi x gn!reader

word count: .9k

tags: gender neutral reader, meet ugly, threats of violence

“What’s your type?”

You blink, dumbfounded by the strange subject of the question. You really didn’t expect for the large and imposing man who suddenly appeared before you only minutes prior to ask that of all things. Perhaps, you should have anticipated it though. You’ve never had the displeasure of meeting Tōdō Aoi in the flesh, but many of your close colleagues have.

“Depending on your answer, I’ll beat you half to death right here. If your answer bores me that means you’re boring, and I hate boring people,” he says through gritted teeth.

He shrugs off his sleek black jacket, allowing it to drop to the floor. Then, he tears his t-shirt into shreds with his bare hands.

What. The. Fuck.

“Huh?!” You put your hands up in surrender, slowly backing away from the man, who (you’re confident) must be out of his mind. “Do you really need to resort to violence? Can’t we just, I don’t know, not fight?” You try and reason with Tōdō, who doesn’t look very receptive to what you’re saying.

“Hurry up and answer the question before I run out of patience,” Tōdō says, stretching his hands that he holds out in front of him. He’s already in a fighting stance, prepared to attack you once he deems your answer unsatisfactory.

Your eye twitches, and you scowl. Fine. If he wants you to answer, then you’ll answer. You take a moment to think about it. You fold your arms over your chest before dignifying Tōdō with a response.

“My type is someone kind.”

He pauses, his hands dropping slightly. For a moment, you think he’s going to be satisfied with your answer and leave you alone. Sadly, it’s too good to be true.

“What kind of answer is that?” He exclaims, clearly unhappy with what he perceives as such a lackluster answer.

“My answer obviously,” you say, giving him a dirty look. Why did you have such bad luck that you had to cross paths with Tōdō Aoi today of all days? All you wanted to do was enjoy your day off, free from missions and free from classes. Instead, it was being interrupted by a massive brute. “I bet your answer isn’t any better,” you retort, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“It’s much better than whatever you just said,” he scoffs, folding his strong arms over his broad chest. Your eyes dart down, following the movement before quickly meeting his gaze once more. At least, he’s nice to look at.

“My type is tall people with big asses,” Tōdō responds, looking especially pleased with himself. His brow twitches with irritation when you start laughing. “Why are you laughing?”

You quickly calm yourself down, regaining your composure, so you can respond without laughing in Tōdō’s face again. “My answer clearly didn’t meet whatever,” you wave your hand around, motioning towards Tōdō’s face, “standards you have in mind, but your answer is just as bad. If anything, it’s worse than mine. At least, I focused on personality. You just focused on someone’s physical appearance.”

Tōdō’s expression grows more and more displeased until he looks like he’s on the precipice of lunging towards you. Uh oh. You take a slow step back, ready to bolt if Tōdō decides to suddenly attack you. You’re really not in the mood to fight on your day off.

Much to your utter surprise, Tōdō begins to cackle. It borders on maniacal as he clutches at his stomach and throws his head back. This may be more unsettling than Tōdō attacking you outright.

“You’re interesting,” he states. A large grin stretches across his cheeks, and his chest still heaves with the exertion of laughter.

“Thanks?” You’re not quite sure if Tōdō means it positively or negatively, so you don’t know if you should take what he said as a compliment or not.

He takes a step forward, and you're tempted to take a step backward, but you decide to take a leap of faith and stay put. You only hope you won't regret your decision. He stands close enough that you can smell the scent of his cologne, a surprisingly pleasant aroma. Not strong and overpowering like cologne often is.

He sticks a hand out.

"Tōdō Aoi. Grade 1 Sorcerer."

You blink, surprised by the sudden introduction. You provide him with your own name and grade, clasping his hand with your own. His hand is massive in comparison to yours, his palm rough with callouses, which is not exactly surprising, but somehow, still relatively soft. You're not quite sure how that can be, but you don't think to verbalize your questions to the man. The sudden change in his personality is strange enough as is.

"Go out with me."

Oh. Things just got much stranger.

"I thought you wanted to beat me up," you sputter, shocked by this turn of events. How does a guy go from threatening to inflict bodily harm onto you to asking you on a date?

"I was only going to beat you up if I found you to be a boring person," Tōdō says as if it's a perfectly normal and logical thing to say. "But you surprised me. You're...interesting, so let's go out."

"You're out of your mind," you bluntly say. Tōdō only grins. You shake your head in response. But maybe, you're out of your mind too.

"Okay. I'll let you take me out." Tōdō's grin widens, but you hold a finger up to tamper his excitement. You don't want him getting ahead of himself now. "But if it's not a good date, I get to beat you up then."

Tōdō's smile threatens to split his face into two.

"Challenge accepted."

[lookforsomeoneelse]

Can we get some more sahsrau? Does not have to be a long one-shot, I just really like how you write! And I would love to hear more of your ideas!

Maybe about how specific characters show that they interact with the reader? For example, how they act before reader is in HSR, and once reader is in HSR? As for characters, you can choose who ever you want! You're the one writing it after all.

As for writing, you asked if writing gets better if you do it often? And well, for me what works is writing, doesn't matter if it not good, just enjoy yourself. Plus reading books, fanfics, or whatever you like once again, and this time try to pay attention to how things are worded in your favorite books/fanfics.

Anyway, take good care of yourself cause there are always people who care about you, and stay hydrated!

Alright! First ask. Only gonna be headcanons because I’m a procrastinator. Reader discretion is advised, because I have no idea what to put for the content warning. I think it only goes for Kafka though.

Herta

I touched on her briefly in another post, but know that despite her arrogance and apathy towards most, she’s just as down bad for you as the rest of the cast.

She gives her absolute best when it comes to you.

Also in Simulated Universe, your word is absolute law. If the simulated you decides that the project is a bad idea or something, Herta will absolutely stop, regardless of the resources she put into its creation.

I imagine her to be with you the exact opposite of how she treats everybody else- with the utmost respect and attention.

Once you actually do make it inside of the game for whatever reason, Herta is absolutely ecstatic.

When you’re actually around her though…

Let’s say that her IQ drops by a significant amount.

Combined with her intense faith, this can lead to a lot of misunderstandings and false assumptions.

You can legit just be sitting down or something and herta will be in the background like “WRITE THAT DOWN, WRITE THAT DOWN!”

Misha

Born as a reincarnation(?) of the Watchmaker, I’m not actually going to discuss him. Rather, I wanna talk about who he originally was, and (technically) his creation.

Mikhail Char Legwork, aka The Watchmaker, was also a devout follower of yours.

All throughout his travels on the Express, he never lost sight of your mercy, which allowed him to survive on his long journeys.

Thanks to this, you end up as a “character” in the Clockie cartoon, who the writers show as a mysterious figure who gave Clockie his powers.

There’s also a LOT of propaganda surrounding you in basically every piece of media, (in the game) including Clockie.

Speaking of media…

Robin

ah yes, the shining popstar of the universe herself, Robin!

Robin’s no doubt another faithful follower of yours.

She believes that her amazing voice and innate talent came from you (it actually came from Chevy, holy cow is she a good singer) and she gives many praises to you for that.

In fact, do you want to know what her best selling single is?

It’s not Sway to my Beat in Cosmos, nor Hope is The Thing with Feathers, and it’s not even If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking!

It’s actually a song- a hymn, rather, composed and sung specifically just for you.

Ask basically anybody who is a fan of hers and I can bet that they know the lyrics by heart and can absolutely sing it backwards.

Make it into their reality, and you’ll get free access to front seats to any and all of her concerts. And when I say “front seat” I mean you get a whole ass throne specifically built for your comfort.

She will die of joy if you ask her for an autograph. Keep that in mind.

Kafka

last but most certainly not least, it’s our mom, but more commonly known as Kafka, the charismatic and beautiful Stellaron Hunter with a big bounty and big boobies. (I’m f#cking ashamed of myself for writing that)

She’s the one character on this list that we haven’t been given a backstory for- except some voice lines, but they really don’t tell us anything.

As such, the only real thing I can tell you is that she’s faithful to you, just like everyone else.

It becomes a completely different song and dance if you come to them, though.

She’s essentially a glorified wine aunt, and she will treat you out for whatever you wish.

She’s also very very defensive of you.

That guy over looks stole a glance? Dead next morning.

That girl goes even within 50 meters of you without your permission? Her fate is sealed.

Kafka is by no means like this to you, however.

She’s probably gonna lick your shoes free of charge.

(A/N: I, uh, really like asks. please send more. you probably won’t get anything good, but least you’ll get what you requested.)

[wave2tyun]

gold rush | ☆

pairing: yeonjun x reader

genre: highschool!au, band member!yeonjun, friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst

prompts: “make me”

“mine”

warnings: none!

word count: 2k

a/n: gold rush anon i don't know if you are still around but if you see this by chance i miss you, and this repost goes out to you<33 ily!!!!😔😔✊💞💞

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

• credit to @/kilibae_0913 on twitter for the yeonjun pic!!

“earth to y/n” yeonjun waved his hand in front of your face “are you even listening to me right now?”

“no- yeah” you blurted out “fuck- sorry, can you repeat that again?”

you and yeonjun were sitting in the school’s cafeteria at your usual spot. as much as you loved talking with him, the history test you took earlier had you completely zoning out. you were too stressed wondering whether you actually wrote the correct answers or whether you messed up all the events again.

“ah- cute” he chuckled, putting his arm around your shoulder. this had always been a regular occurrence: a quick compliment muttered underneath his breath, followed by some sort of physical touch. to him- it was probably just normal behavior, he had a pretty charming and flirty persona after all. but to you? the moment those playful remarks leave his mouth, you can feel your cheeks flushing red in anticipation of his next actions. and you hated it- you hated how you had little to no control over how your body would react to his touch or his words, how your feelings are left in plain sight.

“so-“ yeonjun resumed the conversation “i was asking whether you-” he pointed a finger to your face “-are coming to the music festival tonight. our band is playing- the principal signed us up” a proud smile took over his face.

you bit the inside of your cheek. the music festival? it didn’t exactly sound like a great idea. ever since yeonjun’s band had started gaining popularity, people were all over him. it was bad enough that you had to handle this at school: shushed whispers as others saw him talking to you, girls giggling whenever they passed by him in the hallways. everybody wanted him- everybody wondered what it would be like to be loved and adored by choi yeonjun, including you. but you never had the guts to tell him anything. if continuing to be in his presence meant that you were only supposed to remain his friend, then you were content with that.

the music festival would only make you wallow yourself in even more self-pity. people from all over the town were going to attend it, not just students and teachers from your school, and you weren’t sure whether you could handle seeing everybody’s heart eyes upon seeing yeonjun. however, you couldn’t just choose not to go. you had to set your own feelings aside and put his first.

sensing your hesitation, yeonjun cleared his throat before speaking again “you know i’m not taking ‘no’ as an answer- you have to be there, you’re my good luck charm”

“i know, dummy” you sighed “of course i’ll be there” you playfully flicked his forehead, making sure to put on your best smile so that he wouldn’t feel your lingering worries. yeonjun returned the favour, lightly flicking your forehead back, only to rub the spot with his thumb right after, attempting to soothe your pain.

“thank you, i knew i could count on you” he whispered.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“looking for yeonjun?” beomgyu (yeonjun’s bandmate) asked you. you were standing near the backstage entrance. yeonjun had asked you to meet him in their waiting room, but you were unsure whether you were even allowed past this door. you didn’t exactly have valid proof to show the guards that someone wanted you in there.

“yeah, i texted him to come pick me up but he still hasn’t read my messages” you rubbed the nape of your neck.

“that fool- he’s too busy nervously pacing around the room to check his phone. i’ll help you get in- come on” beomgyu offered.

you thanked him, relieved that you didn’t have to put your ‘sneaking in’ skills to the test. you didn’t have much faith in them, cause 2 out of 3 times you’ve done that before you got caught. seeing beomgyu by your side, the guards didn’t question anything, and you made it in safely.

beomgyu knocked on the door only after entering “you’ve got visitors” he said, then turned on his heel, ready to return to what he was previously doing. yeonjun got up from the couch, the frown on his face gone upon seeing you “you’re here” he smiled, opening his arms wide to capture you in his embrace, swinging your body from side to side

“if someone had checked their phone- i could have arrived here even earlier” you complained. you had to think of some way to repay beomgyu after this.

“i’m so sorry about that” yeonjun broke the hug “but i’ve got a good excuse for it” he walked to the couch to rummage through his bag. “and that is?” you questioned him, quirking up an eyebrow.

“i was busy getting you this” yeonjun put a lanyard through your head. it was a vip badge “now you get to enjoy the show from the first row- and i get to look at you from the stage”

there it went again- that rose blush that loved to take over your cheeks. how could he say that so casually? so nonchalantly? you couldn’t help but wonder whether there was truly no meaning behind his actions “thank you, jun” you played with the badge in your hands “are you nervous?”

yeonjun stretched his neck, then his arms, humming “not really, now that i’ve seen you- definitely not” you pushed his shoulders, laughing together at his cheesy words.

“good luck then. i should get going, you probably need to carry on with the preparations” you said.

“see you after the show?” he asked.

“yeah, see you” you repeated, twisting the doorknob to take your leave.

the venue was starting to get pretty crowded, although it was still quite early. you had your own spot secured, thanks to yeonjun’s little trick. not knowing many others from around you, you scrolled through your phone until the lights dimmed down, the quiet murmurs being replaced by loud cheers. the host’s voice erupted loudly from the speakers: “coming in hot from woolim high school to kick off our night- tomorrow x together”

people’s screams were getting increasingly louder as the five boys got on stage, almost making your ears bleed. you were seriously debating whether you should have brought earplugs with you or not. yeonjun took his place at the mic stand in the center, electric guitar hanging from his shoulders.

“is everybody ready for tonight?” yeonjun asked the crowd, his question being met with an overwhelming enthusiasm from the crowd “let’s get this started then- taehyun, drop the beat” he shouted.

you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him perform, yeonjun was exactly in his element. nobody there could deny it, the place where he belonged to be was the stage. even song after song, his energy didn’t seem to drop, not one single bit, the venue almost burning from his passion.

his hair fell into place like dominos, body glistening under the golden spotlight. god- what must it be like to grow up that beautiful? that question continued to run through your mind with each passing moment, and it didn’t seem like you were the only one experiencing that. you looked around, noticing how everybody’s eyes were glued on yeonjun, screaming, fawning over him, begging him to take their phones and film like he did to others. they desperately wanted to gain, in some sort of way, his attention. you didn’t exactly understand the feeling that was beginning to take over you. you couldn’t even pin-point it. jealousy? disappointment? the realisation that in a room full of people that wanted him, there would be slim chances that he’d pick you, was beginning to settle in.

everything was starting to get all too overwhelming, in a way, suffocating. you couldn’t bear to stay in there, even though txt’s setlist was close to ending. pushing through the crowd, you struggled to get out of the massive swarm of people. you somehow managed to get outside, breathing in the night’s crisp air slowly.

‘fuck’

you left your bag in the band’s waiting room. you glanced over at your watch, praying that you had enough time to get in and out of there without bumping into yeonjun. you didn’t know how long it would take him to notice you missing.

luckily, that same guard that you saw with beomgyu was still standing at the backstage entrance. knowing that you were a familiar face, and noticing your badge as well, he allowed you to walk past after explaining your situation. you also slipped in a little lie, saying that you were feeling unwell and had to go back home quickly, just to make sure that he wouldn’t get in your way.

your eyes frantically scanned the room, searching for the small black bag that you had brought along with you. it was placed neatly on the coat hanger. you reached out to take it, your body freezing on the spot after hearing the door open. yeonjun abruptly entered the room. he placed his hands on his knees, panting as he was struggling to breathe properly. it seemed like he ran to get there right after the last performance “are you leaving?” he asked, chest heaving “why? are you okay- did something happen?”

you put your hand down, your gaze shifting from his face to the floor. you gulped- you got caught. you knew that you were supposed to face him again, one way or another, but you weren’t prepared to do it tonight, not when your head was such a big mess "i can't be around you" you admitted. every single part of your body didn’t want to be there, in that situation. your words received a frown from yeonjun. he was confused, he didn’t know why you were saying that all of a sudden "why?" he probed on further, coming closer to you. "you know why” your voice trailed off, eyes searching everywhere except for his own “you just fail to accept it. recognize it"

“then do it” yeonjun took another step closer “help me understand so i can accept it” he wrapped your hand in both of his, bringing it close to his chest. you looked at the way he was holding on to you, stopping you from simply running away from him. you shook your head, trying to swallow the heavy lump that was forming in your throat. you couldn’t find the strength to explain your feelings out loud. “why?” he repeated once more, still not satisfied with your answers “i want you to do it. if you want me to accept it- make me” yeonjun spoke softly, thumb rubbing the back of your hand “why won’t you let your heart control your actions for once instead of your mind?”

his words kept ringing in your mind, each time winning a little bit more over the thoughts that had been relentlessly holding you back. you blinked away the tears forming in your eyes, slowly retracting your hand away from yeonjun’s, his smile starting to fade. “please don’t hate me after this” you whispered, placing your hands on his shoulders as you rose to the tips of your feet, capturing his lips in a short peck. yeonjun’s lips lingered, barely 1 cm away from yours, curving up into a smile. his hands found their way on your waist, holding you close to him “i’ve always wanted to do this with you” he chuckled, dipping his head down for more. his kiss was tentative and slow. it felt tender, yet full of passion, like he was pouring all of his bottled up feelings through this delicate touch “mine” he whispered in between “i want to call you mine”

this time, his words didn’t make heat rise only to your cheeks. instead, you felt warmth spread throughout your whole body. your hands cupped his cheeks and you reached out for another kiss “i’m all yours” you muttered against his lips. you rested your forehead against his, the close proximity not letting your palpitating heart calm down, not even for one bit. but you enjoyed it, you loved the way it felt to have his body close to you, to finally have him truly own your heart, and you owning his.

the door opened briefly, then got slammed shut just one second after, startling both you and yeonjun “i told you he’d kiss her” beomgyu shouted at his members.

taglist: @huekalover3000 @maybabe00 @sunoooism @boba-beom @ujisworld

[oddinary4bts]

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

☆☆☆☆☆

And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

                “You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

                The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

                The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

Taglist:

@btsborahaee

[megamindsecretlair]

Let Me Hold You

Pairing: Tyrone x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. PWP, virginity loss, shy reader, cursing, PIV, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, possession kink if you squint, Soft Tyrone, all consensual. Mentions of religion, God, and Christian-leaning faith. Sorry if I miss any!

Summary: Ask: ...the reader is a virgin church girl, who, finds herself entangled in a predicament when her parents forbid her to be with the charismatic Tyrone. Despite this, the reader has a genuine friendship with him. They have crushes on each other but do not know how to tell each other.

Word Count: 5,803

A/N: Welp. This healed and broke some things in me! LOL. This was a wonderful ask from @notapradagurl7. I'm SO sorry this took forever to get out, I felt so bad. I hope this was worth the wait. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland

“And we don’t want you hanging out with that - that boy!” Your father paced the living room floor, his loafers kicking up the delicate fibers. 

“What?” You shrieked. Already, fear spiked into your heart. The thought of not seeing Tyrone? It was inconceivable. You looked toward your mother who perched on the end of the plump chair, proper as you please. She kept her eyes on your father. You wouldn’t get any help from her.

“I’m an adult, you can’t ban me from seeing my friends,” you protested. Did he really think he was serious? 

“It’s not appropriate for you to spend time with someone like him. If you’re to entertain anyone, there are plenty of nice young men at the church.” 

“Malcolm just returned from college to be an engineer. I always knew that boy was smart,” your mother chirped in. 

Your eyes darted between your parents. You half expected aliens to burst from their necks. These people were foreign to you. Unique in their united anger for Tyrone, a boy you’ve known your entire life. 

“Judge not lest ye be judged,” you quoted. Your mother scoffed and glared at you as if you said you wanted to shake your ass for Satan’s minions. Your father stopped his pacing and gawked at you. Like you were the foreign one. A daughter he didn’t recognize. 

“No daughter of mine will hang around someone like that boy. Peddling that poison to people in this community,” your father said. 

“That boy has been nothing but nice to us. A boy you watched grow up. A boy you assume is doing dirt,” you countered. What episode of the Twilight Zone was this? 

“I have eyes,” your father said. “And I see what’s going on. All the people running in and out of his house, his mother’s house I might add, and bumping that music…”

“I still live at home. Are you going to judge me for that too?” You asked. Your father pressed his lips together. 

“It’s different for women,” your mother said as if it were a fact. 

You tuned your parents out as they tried to tell you the difference between young men and young women. You didn’t have the heart to listen anymore. Your blood roared in your ears and you stared off into space, trying to calm down. 

You stood up suddenly. You needed to be anywhere but here. Looking into their judgemental faces. You made one mistake. Funny how they didn’t take into consideration all of the times you were a “good girl”. How you minded your Ps and Qs your entire life. Never did anything bad. Never wanted to do anything bad.

And now, they wanted to effectively place you under house arrest. Only leaving for school or church. This was not the stone ages. You couldn’t sit here under this oppressive weight. Constantly holding yourself to a higher standard. 

What higher standard? Did God really think that oppressing women was the ticket into Heaven? Placing all of these restrictions was the ultimate symbol of propriety? What happened to love thy neighbor? 

Your parents called after you, but you kept moving. You’d never defied them. You always deferred to them. They had experiences you didn’t and just wanted you to have a good life. Bullshit. They wanted a little doll to dress up and tote around town. 

At the door, you slipped into your flats and left the house. No purse, no phone, no keys. It felt…invigorating. That type of freedom was intoxicating. Your parents’ indignant shouts followed you out of the house but they didn’t come to the door. 

You took that opportunity to head down the block towards Tyrone’s house. You hoped he was home. You hadn’t had a chance to check your phone before your parents ambushed you.

His house looked dark for once. There were no cars bunched up in front of the house or thumping music coming from the front door. You ran up the steps and knocked on the metal door.

The cold air caught up to you, edging past the heat of your anger. It could only warm you up so far. There were no sounds coming from the house so you knocked again. It was still earlyish but you didn’t want to be loud and disrespect his mom. 

“Yeah,” Tyrone called out sleepily. You suppressed a smile. Just hearing his voice instantly calmed you down.

You heard a series of locks and bolts being undone. Tyrone swung the door open. He called out your name and looked behind you. 

“What’s up? We were s’posed to meet?” He asked.

“Can I come in?” You asked.

“Always,” he said. He moved out of the way and let you enter his darkened house. You took in the space and got a chilling sense of loneliness here. You didn’t know why. Tyrone closed the door and locked it.

“I was sleep. Come on,” he said. He took your hand and led you to his room. Inside, the sudden light gave you a tiny ache in your eyes and you rubbed them. Tyrone sat on his bed, leaning one leg up onto the mattress. 

You remained standing, suddenly shy. You hated feeling unsettled wherever you went. Even in the company of your friends, you paid attention to everything you said. Were you being weird? Were you not talking enough? It was all incredibly awkward whenever you tried to join the conversation and people had already moved on to the next topic. 

“What’s up?” Tyrone asked.

You sighed and recounted everything that happened with your parents. You paced his small but comfy room, poking at random objects on his desk or hanging on his wall. He had wrinkled Lakers posters torn in one corner. You picked at it as you spoke, not wanting to look him in the face while you spoke and ranted and raved about your judgy, overbearing parents. 

Tyrone was a great listener. He never interrupted you, he kept his comments to a minimum, and when you were brave enough to look at him, he’d nod for you to continue. So you did. You told him everything, even the part about your parents judging him for his side hustle. 

“They don’t want you to see me anymore because of that?” He asked. 

You nodded and sat on the bed next to him. “I told them they’re nuts. They can’t ban me from seeing you, I’m not sixteen,” you said.

“You were pretty cute when you were sixteen,” he said.

“Shut up! I’m trying to be serious here!” You pushed his shoulder. He moved as if you were strong, but you knew that he let you. Tyrone had always been an immovable force. He moved through life like it owed him money and he was coming to collect. He had a surety about himself that kept you up all night thinking of him. 

Your hand lingered on his bare arms, taking in his large biceps. His navy tank top hung just so, highlighting his broad smooth chest. He wore his signature black basketball shorts and you quickly removed your hand. You should not be having these thoughts about your best friend. 

“I’m serious too!” He said and chuckled. He quickly sobered up and glanced at you. “I’d miss you if I couldn’t see you.” 

You smiled slowly. “You’d only miss the chips I bring you,” you said. 

“Naw, I’d miss you. I’d have to stage a breakout or something,” he said. 

You laughed, picturing hopping into Tyrone’s getaway car just to drive a few houses down. Bonnie and Clyde ya’ll were not. 

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “There’s nothing that can keep us apart,” you said. You stuck out your pinkie finger. Tyrone looked at it and laughed, shaking his head and licking his lips. 

“Really?” He asked.

“Yeah, so you know I’m serious,” you said. You pushed your hand into his chest to urge him to do it with you. He shook his head again and wrapped his pinkie around yours. 

“So what you gonna do since they dropped the hammer?” Tyrone asked. 

“I don’t know,” you said. You tucked your legs under you, holding down your dress so no one got a free show. You played with the hem. “I wish they’d see me as an individual instead of an extension of their dead hopes and dreams.” 

“I feel that. You’re just gonna have to prove that you grown now,” he said with a shrug. 

“There’s nothing I can do. They’ll only see me as a goody two shoes who’s always ready with a smile. Like, I don’t have feelings or something? I’d have to rob a bank or have…” You trailed off as the intrusive thought came to you. 

You became very interested in your dress as you played with the rolled hem. “Have what?” Tyrone prompted.

You hummed and shrugged. “Lost my train of thought. Point is, I’m tired of living and dying by their own expectations,” you said. 

The thought didn’t leave you though. In fact, the more you turned it around in your head, the hotter it got in the room. Your imagination ran away from you, providing images of a naked Tyrone standing over you. Bending you over. Calling you dirty names. You shifted on the bed as the images became a little too vibrant.

You usually indulged in your fantasies late at night, safe and comfortable in your head where no one would know except you. It was harmless to be as nasty as you wanted, getting yourself worked up and needy but ultimately not doing anything about it. Could you imagine trying to order a sex toy and have it sent to the house? Trying to hide the buzz buzz as you got yourself off? It was either the towel on the pillow or your own fingers but once you felt awkward, it was hard to get back into the mood. 

“So don’t live by their expectations. What do you wanna do?” He asked. 

You glanced at him. He treated it as seriously as possible and that only made your heart melt. He was the bestest friend you could have hoped for, growing up together. But would you always be someone he grew up with? Forced to talk about his conquests over and over and wishing it were you? 

You licked your lips and faced him. You sat up straight and looked him in the eyes. Your heart thundered in your chest. You felt the steady beat all over, thumping in your arms and in your head. Now or never. 

“What would you say to a crazy idea?” You asked. 

Tyrone shifted to allow you more room on the bed. “What kind of crazy idea?” He asked slowly. 

You smiled at the mistrust in his voice. You were kind of known for some out of pocket schemes. It was not your fault that Mrs. Edwards came home early that one time. How were you supposed to know? 

You lost a bit of your nerve, looking down at your fingers. You gripped your dress hard, your fingers pressing the thin fabric. “What would you say if I asked you to take my virginity?” 

You risked a glance at him. He was frozen solid, gaping at you. After a moment, he blew out a breath. “Wait, what?” 

“I am tired of doing what people expect of me. Nothing is ever good enough and I never get anything out of the deal. I want something for myself. I want to have sex. I want to have sex with you,” you said. 

He tilted his head so you forged on, explaining why you wanted to have sex. “And I know it might be a little weird considering we’re friends but I’m pretty sure you’re not seeing someone right now? Right? Because I’d rather it be with someone I trust, at least the first time…” You rambled. You were rambling and you couldn’t make yourself stop. You heard the words. You said the words. But you couldn’t find a way to disconnect your brain from your mouth. “And you’re totally free to say no. Like, we can totally forget I asked.” 

After you crawled into a cave or yeeted yourself off of a cliff, surely you could be around Tyrone and not think of this stupid situation. 

You opened your mouth to ramble more because he was just sitting there, but he captured your lips with his. His hands cupped your jaw and pulled you into it, moving your lips against his. Your hands gripped his, but not to push him away. You held him there and kissed him back. Tyrone ran the tip of his tongue to trace around your lips. You gasped and he pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You have no fuckin’ clue how long I been wanting to do that,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

“Wait, what?” You asked. Your head was pleasantly fuzzy. Like you were full of fluffy clouds. “You’ve been wanting to kiss me?”

“Every time I see you. You got kissable lips,” he said. He made his point by kissing you again, humming low in his throat. He pulled away and ran his thumb across your lips. Each pass of his lips on yours or his calloused fingers on you only made your head fuzzier. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling yourself get more and more worked up.

“Why didn’t you ever say? Especially after ninth grade!” There was once upon a time where you two had danced at the high school you attended. You had found a dark-ish corner away from the chaperones and told Tyrone that you’d never been kissed. He had laid one on you, probably not well now that you thought about it, but it had been so precious to you. He ended it by saying, “Now you have”, and walked away. 

The memory was always bittersweet. But hell, it was still your first kiss. 

“I was a dumb ass kid. I didn’t know how to tell you I liked you more than a friend,” he said. 

Warmth spread from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. This lonely torch you’d been holding for Tyrone wasn’t one sided. You looked into his molten brown eyes and smiled, not knowing how to properly process this new information.

In fact, it blew you away that you were here at this moment. Who knew your holier-than-thou parents were good for something? 

“And now?” You asked.

Tyrone removed his hands from your face and you missed them instantly. He grabbed one of your hands, pulling it across his lap so that you could cup him. You gasped at the sheer size of him. Despite common myths, you have seen a dick before. But you’d never touched one. Held one. Sucked on one. 

Your mouth went dry at the thought. You wanted to suck him, but what if you were bad at it? Your lip rolled in between your teeth and you bit down, wondering the mechanics of it all. 

“Well, you did ask me for something huge. Are you sure?” He asked. His voice held a strange, raspy quality to it. You flicked your eyes back to him and he was breathing a little faster. Oh shit, he really did like you. How the hell did you miss it? 

“I’m very sure,” you said. You pressed your hand in more, stroking him over his basketball shorts. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he opened them and grinned at you. 

“I’ll do it. But I want you to promise me that you’ll tell me if you don’t like something or if you want to stop, okay?” 

You nodded. “I promise. I’m a big girl, I can use my words,” you said. Your hands still moved over him and you must’ve been doing something right because his breaths left him in quick bursts. He rubbed his face and gripped his jaw, eyes tightly shut. 

“Okay, okay,” he said. He stilled your hand on him and moved it off. “Okay, okay. Virgin. Have you done anything? Gotten eaten out?” He asked.

You sighed and shook your head. “Yeah, I just snuck them up to my room while my dad was busy in the kitchen,” you said.

Tyrone chuckled. “Okay, smart ass. Give me a minute. I’m like…I don’t wanna just jump on you even though I want to,” he said. He stood up and rubbed his hands together, jumping in place. 

You giggled. “I thought I was supposed to be the nervous one,” you said. And you were! Your nerves were shot. Your hands trembled thinking of what the hell you were about to get into. You had fantasized it so many times, wondering who it would be. Sometimes wishing it were Tyrone. And while you didn’t think it would be all glitzy like they do in the movies, you did think you’d be married. Or at least in a steady relationship.

As you looked at Tyrone though, you were glad it was with someone you were comfortable with. Someone who took your usual anxiety from 100% to about 65%. 

Tyrone smirked. “If you knew the thoughts I be having about you…you might run out that door,” he said. “I’m trying to do this right.” 

You reached out and grabbed his hand. “Don’t treat me like some glass doll,” you said. You titled your head and stared him down. “You forgetting I know all your nasty little secrets?” 

Tyrone chuckled and squeezed your hand. “Shut up. That’s different. I ain’t care about them, but I do care about you. Don’t ever treat this shit as casual,” he said. 

You sucked your teeth. “Not you too. I promise, I’m not going around opening my legs for any man that wants it,” you said. You were about to go on a tirade about how it was your body and your rules. Tyrone shut you up with another kiss, tugging on your bottom lip. 

“The thought of anyone else in between your legs makes me angry,” he whispered against your lips.

“Angry?” 

He nodded and continued to kiss you, sliding his hands up and down your arms. His warm, big hands chased away any lingering chill from outside. He slowly knelt so that he wasn’t bending at an awkward angle. 

His knees sank to the floor and he nestled himself in between your thighs. His hands continued to travel down, squeezing your hips, your outer thighs. Your hands held on to his shoulders, kneading and massaging his back. He moaned into your mouth and a delicious tingle went up your spine. 

“Mhm, so don’t say that shit no more,” he said. 

“You can’t expect…”

His hands crept closer to your pussy and you ended your sentence on a squeak. Heat rose up your neck and cheek. “Relax,” he said. You took a few deep breaths, nodding, but you were as stiff as a board. Tyrone stopped moving his hand and kept it on your thigh.

“You gotta relax. And let me do this for you,” he said. His thumb pressed into your thigh and your body caved in. He somehow zeroed in on a knot and his thumb worked it out. “Oh fuck,” you said. 

“Mhm, you’ll feel better in a minute. But you gotta relax for me,” he said.

Sure, as if you could snap your fingers and relax. Wouldn’t you know it, anxiety was a light switch you could flick on and off at your leisure. Tyrone must’ve seen your thoughts play across your face, because he chuckled. 

“Do you have any fuckin’ idea how sexy you are?” He asked.

“What?” You asked. The question caught you off guard. You knew you were gorgeous, you knew you were working with some thick thighs and a pretty tummy. But sexy? Somehow, you missed the memo about sex appeal. You swore that guys could see “virgin” stamped across your forehead.

“Mhm. Whenever you walk out the house in one of these dresses, I just keep picturing how you look underneath. If that pussy nice and pink and wet.” His voice went deeper, harsher, bringing with it dark, carnal promises.

Your thighs tingled. Your hands shook. You bit your bottom lip to keep from moaning like a ho. Tyrone kissed your jaw, then moved up to your ear. “You nice and wet for me? You want me to play with it right?” He asked.

“Yes, yes, play with it,” you said.

Tyrone moved his hand up. Your thighs were burning hot from where they rested against each other. Tyrone nudged you to open your legs. He hummed while he kissed along your ear. “I wonder if you taste as good you feel.”

You dropped your head against him. “You can’t be saying shit like that,” you said.

“Look at you, with your little potty mouth,” he said.

“Shut up, Tyrone!” 

He only laughed and finally, blessedly, reached your core. He played with the edges of your panties, seeing the way you squirmed and moaned. He slipped his finger past the material and cursed under his breath.

“Damn, all of that for me? How you gon’ run home to Daddy with panties this soaked?” Tyrone asked.

You stuttered out a response. How were you supposed to form a coherent sentence when his fingers were on you? His fingers glided in between your slick folds, pushing past your pussy lips, and tracing the outside of your clit.

Your eyes bugged out of your head. Your mouth dropped in a tiny little ‘o’ and Tyrone’s eyes narrowed as he took in your expression. He kissed you once, too quickly for your taste, and smirked at you.

“You gotta stop being so damn cute,” he said. “Makes me want to do all kinds of nasty shit to you.” 

You moaned, picturing those disgusting things. His thumb rubbed over your clit and you scrunched up your face in pleasure. 

How was it that this felt infinitely different and better than when you did it to yourself? He knew exactly what to do, taking cues from your moans and grunts and pretty gasps. You sent up a prayer, thankful that this was with someone experienced. Then again, God probably wasn’t listening right about now.

Tyrone traced slow circles on your clit. You looked through your lashes at his smug face. He knew he was driving you wild. You hissed and jerked when he got to a particularly sensitive spot. “Shh, shh, breathe,” he said. 

He held your gaze as you took in deep breaths. Your belly flipped and tightened, the beginning stirrings of something naughty making its way to the surface. Your gaze traveled down. Tyrone’s hand was completely under your dress. It was somehow hotter that you couldn’t see what he was doing to you.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” You moaned.

“Mhm, pray to him for mercy. Because you ain’t gettin’ that shit from me,” Tyrone’s raspy voice was like its own arrow of desire. Your thighs shook. Your feet dangled over the side of the bed. Your toes curled. 

“Tyrone, please,” you said. You gripped his shoulders. His smooth brown skin shone with its own light. 

“Let me take these panties off,” Tyrone said.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you said. 

Tyrone stopped rubbing your clit. “No,” you growled. What the hell was he doing? You were so close! Your belly still felt tight, overripe like at any moment you would burst. 

Tyrone chuckled and lifted your dress. The fabric drew across your thighs like scorching fire. You hissed. You were on a precipice and any movement would hurt or hinder. You didn’t want to find out which. 

Tyrone pushed your dress up to your hips. Then, he grabbed the top of your panties and moved it down. He held you as you lifted up and slipped them off your ass. He smiled. “Never thought I’d get to see you like this,” he said.  

“I’m glad it’s you,” you said and smiled.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he said. “Remember to breathe for me.”

He kept your gaze as he pushed your legs over his shoulders. He grabbed your hips and pulled you forward until your ass was half hanging off of the bed. You cried out and he kissed your thighs until you calmed down.

Your heart beat in your pussy. The throb throb throb drove you mad. You were needy. You needed something more, anything more. 

Tyrone blew a breath across your wet pussy and you cried out, jerking your hips. Tyrone only locked his arms around you, curling his biceps around your thigh. “Oh fuck,” you moaned. 

Tyrone flattened his tongue and licked you from your pussy to your clit and back down again. A choppy moan left you. Your back bowed off of the bed. Your hands gripped the front of your dress. It wasn’t enough to hold so you moved your hands down to grip the bunched up hem. 

He ran his nose through your folds. He inhaled. “Smell so fuckin’ good, got damn,” he said. “Pretty ass pussy.”

He then drew his tongue in a slow circle around your clit. Locked as you were, he didn’t leave room for movement. You barely wiggled. Squirmed underneath his sinful tongue. With each new circle, he moved in closer. He tongued you closer to your clit and you whined and moaned and cried.

Your belly tightened once more. A cresting inferno built and built, radiating waves of heat throughout your body. 

Somehow, this too was more potent coming from him. Your body jerked out of your control, twitching every which way, as he created magic around your clit. He slurped up your juices. Slurped it loudly and greedily. He tongued it all down, getting his juicy lips wet with your essence.

You spoke in tongues, muttering and chirping. Tyrone’s tongue moved downwards, rimming your entrance and pushing his tongue inside.

“Oh god. Oh fuck. Tyrone, Tyrone,” you moaned. Your hands flexed. You searched for Tyrone’s head, his neat cornrows were going to get messed up tonight. You palmed him anyway, pushing his head into your pussy and started to gyrate on his mouth. 

“Mhm, mhm,” he encouraged. “That’s my good girl.”

You came with a loud yell. You could barely breathe. The sounds and words were dragged out of you. A hidden instinct buried in your DNA to say something, to help ride this awe-inducing wave. A flood of pleasure moved through you. 

Tyrone held you down through it all. His biceps flexed with your movements back and forth. He still ate you out, flicking his tongue around your nub. 

“F-f-f-.” Fuck it, you couldn’t say it. 

You flopped onto the bed, spent. You moaned as you twitched and calmed down. Tyrone leaned up. You looked at him. His face was slick across his jaw. A spit chain drooped. He licked his big lips and moaned.

“Ready for this dick?” He asked.

You sniffled and nodded. “Please. Please, I'm so ready,” said.

“You don't’ need a break?” He asked.

“Hell naw. Please,” you said. 

He nodded and placed a wet kiss on your thigh. He cleaned off his face on his tank top. He stood up. He grabbed your hands and pulled you into a sitting position. You put your chin on his stomach and looked up at him. 

He sighed and rolled his neck. “What I tell you about lookin’ so cute?” He asked. 

“I can’t help being cute,” you said. 

“Lyin’ ass. Yes, you can,” he said.

You sucked your teeth. “How am I supposed to do that?” 

“Ion know. Burp or something,” he said.

You giggled and hugged him around his middle. You grabbed a handful of his ass and squeezed. 

“You really have no idea,” he whispered. You grinned. 

He stepped back and pulled off his shorts. His dick bobbed twice, standing at attention. He was definitely thick and long and perfect. Your shyness tried to budge back in. Your heartbeat sped up thinking of that getting inside of you. 

He twisted and leaned over. You admired his body as his muscles bunched. He was solid, stocky. A thick man with amazing thighs and ass. Cool air blew across your pussy and you bit your lip. Fuck. 

He grabbed a condom. Watching him was its own brand of sensual torture. His fingers moved deftly to open the package. He rolled on the condom, pulling the latex over the length of him. He pinched the top. 

He stalked closer, running his eyes over you. “Let me take this dress off,” he said.

You smiled and nodded. He helped you pull it off. Your bra went next. “You’re so damn sexy,” he said. 

He palmed your breasts, rubbing and pushing them together. He leaned down and brought your nipples into his mouth. He moved between your boobs, suckling and placing that warm mouth around the peaks. 

Your legs jerked up. You wrapped them around his waist. His shirt got trapped beneath your legs. He pulled it out and the shirt draped across his chest. His dick brushed against you and you cried out. He was so close to giving you what you needed. Your nails dug into his sides. He ignored you. He played with your nipples until you were a bumbling, squirming mess. 

“T-T-Tyrone,” your teeth chattered.

“Mhm, I know. Ready for me?” He asked.

“Yessss,” you moaned. 

“Sure?” He asked. He rubbed his dick through your arousal. You soaked him instantly. There was so much on you. The cool air hit across it on your skin. You knew exactly how much of a mess you made. It made you hornier. How did you go through life without this? Without this feeling?

Without this obsession running in your veins. This deep-seated need. This lustful shot of adrenaline threatening to burn your skin off. 

Tyrone’s hand wrapped around your hip. His other hand guided his dick towards your entrance. He pushed in and you gasped. He slipped in thanks to how wet you were. But fuck! He filled you completely. 

“Breathe,” he commanded. He stopped and moved his shirt out of the way. “You gotta breathe.”

You nodded. He helped you take deep breaths. “That’s right. Be a good girl for me. Good girls get dick,” he cooed. 

That should piss you off. But you wanted to be a good girl for him. You wanted to listen and get praised some more. 

Your breathing evened out. Tyrone leaned down and kissed you. As he kissed you, he pushed in. Your hand flew to his chest, pushing at him. Fuck. It kind of hurt, but it was a good hurt? You could tolerate him pushing in. You clenched around him and he hissed. 

He sank inch by inch into you. He cursed the whole time. “Fuck, feel too good. Feel too good,” he muttered. “Gripping the shit out of me.”

The praise made you moan and you clenched around him. A drop of his sweat fell onto your chest. Your own sweat slick skin pebbled in the cool air. 

Tyrone moved out and then pushed back in. The slide in would hurt briefly but then morph into pleasure as you felt him move inside of you. He was deep, stretching you out. Molding your pussy to the curve of his dick. 

He began to speed up. He flipped his shirt up and held it in his mouth. He moaned. “Can still smell you,” he said, though his voice was muffled. 

Both hands held onto your waist. He moaned as he sank deeper, you welcoming him better. “You okay?” He asked.

“Yuh,” you nodded. 

“Sure?” 

“Yu-uh,” you moaned. He was doing nothing more vigorous than moving back and forth, but he felt amazing. He filled you up. He hit that deep seat of emptiness inside of you. A place you hadn’t been able to get to on your own.

The feeling brought tears to your eyes. He twisted and brought you down on his dick a little faster. “Ohmygod,” you cried. He reached a spot that made you explode all over him. 

You cursed the heavens, you cursed hell. You cursed the world in between. You felt large. Humongous. You felt like you could grab the world with both hands. Power and pleasure suffused you. You moaned out loud, heedless of anyone who could hear. 

“Oh fuck, so tight,” Tyrone hips jerked. His fingers dug into your hips. The pressure made you moan. He jerked and thrusted one more time, going as far as he was able, and you felt him pulse inside of you.

You imagined him filling you up with his cum. You moaned as the thought made your pussy throb. Tyrone twitched and panted on top of you. He left you slowly, sliding out in a way that wouldn’t hurt you.

You missed him immediately. He wiped his sweat on his shirt and took off the condom. He tied it and threw it in a nearby trashcan. 

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You flopped onto the bed. Looked up at the popcorn ceiling. Were there words to describe how okay you were? How fantastic you felt? “So good,” you murmured. 

And you did feel really good. You expected to feel shame after having sex. You’d avoided it for so long, you started to feel like a freak for still being a virgin at your big age. But you didn’t. You were mostly sore. You were going to feel this in the morning and right now, you couldn’t care less. 

Tyrone left for a moment and you just focused on your breathing. On trying to recapture that euphoric feeling of that orgasm. Chasing after it like the wayward string of a balloon. 

He returned and placed a warm cloth against your pussy. You hissed at the unexpected sensation. He cooed at you while he cleaned you up. You smiled at him. “You didn’t have to,” you said.

“Yeah, I did. I was raised to clean up after myself,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. He left once more, getting rid of the washcloth. He took off his shirt and hopped into bed with you, pulling you chest to chest. He rubbed your back and looked into your eyes.

“You’re so cute,” he said.

“You are,” you said. You bumped his nose. 

“How you really feelin’?” He asked.

“Honestly? I feel really good. Sore, but tired.” 

“Would you want to do it again?” He asked.

“Hell yes! Are you kidding? There’s so much I want to try,” you said.

Tyrone laughed, shaking his head. He pecked you on the lips. He moaned and then pressed in for longer, licking your bottom lip and rolling it between his teeth. 

“Mm, does that mean I can get back in that pretty pussy?” He asked.

You caressed his cheek. Running your thumb across his supple skin. “That’s exactly what that means.”

&&&

Psst, there's more! The Secret Tyrone Files

[vrisrezis]

Gojo x reader x geto MAJOR spoilers for jjk chap 236 I’m rlly not ok with Gege rn 😭

He hears a voice. A voice so distinct, yet a voice he seemed to have forgotten. Yet he remembers it so clearly.

“Late as usual, eh? Satoru.”

It’s your voice.

But then another. Another that feels more familiar, but still one he never thought he’d hear again.

A voice he’d hear be the real him, again, anyway.

“Cut him some slack y/n-chan.” geto sighs, with a smile and hands in his huge pockets with those dumb oversized yoga pants.

Satoru opens his eyes, seeing the two people he adored with his whole sense of self. Everything he’s ever done, even after you two left, had been for the both of you.

But it takes him aback, seeing you.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves suguru. It was a blessing to see him, even when things got complicated. But he hasn’t seen you in… what? Ten years?

Satoru feels the need to push back his tears and smile it all down, just like he always has.

You’re eighteen. So is suguru. So is he. Back when it was simple. Back when even though things had changed, you three promised one another that you’d be there through thick and thin. Whether satoru was stronger than the both of you or not, you all loved eachother the same.

In a way, you had been the glue that stuck the three of you together. Even when suguru was losing faith, you always got him out of his funk.

The world took you from them too soon. Due to the negligence of the higher ups, both you and haibara were taken from them. From nanami. From shoko.

Once Suguru had lost the only positive things in his life, he had completely lost himself. You were no longer there to lift him up, you were no longer there to get him out of that damn shower, no longer there to help him get some sleep, no longer there to help him eat.

It was hard on satoru too, but even he can’t imagine what it was like for suguru.

Suguru loved you so much, when he lost you, he couldn’t handle it. He has decided the world was better without non shaman. It’s because of them, you were taken from him.

Satoru will never forget the day of your funeral.

“Y/n is dead, and everything is worse now.” Suguru told him, that very morning.

They were both broken, but in different ways.

Satoru on the other hand, wanted to make the world a better place for jujutsu sorcerers like you. He wants people to get stronger, to surpass even him, so that the world could be better for them. He hates the higher ups, and seeks to protect children like yuuji from them, because he failed to protect you from them in that way.

Satoru lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, standing up. For the first time in his life, if he can even call it that, he gives you a wobbly grin, diving in to hug you. He needs to feel you again. Smell you again.

He needs to know you’re really here with him.

“Dawww…” you say, your voice almost teasing. Now that he thinks about it, it definitely was.

Even under these circumstances, you never change.

“You miss me?” you say, wrapping your arms around him too, not admitting how much you missed him as well. He nods with a sniffle, “more than anything.” he whispers, before pulling away.

Suguru smiles at the moment between you and satoru.

“It’s too bad you lost, you know.” you say, “I was watching and everything!” you whine, and satoru gives you a light smile. “Maybe I should’ve shown off a little before going down like that, then.” he says with a grin.

“But honestly, it was fun.” Satoru admits.

“Well, I’m a little jealous..” suguru says, “but if you’re satisfied with that, then I guess I’m happy for you” suguru gives him a close eyed smile. Satoru had forgotten how much he missed seeing it.

Satisfied, huh?

“Honestly, if you were still there on my side, cheering me on, maybe then, I would’ve been satisfied.” Satoru says with a more genuine smile.

Suguru laughs, and satoru fails to notice the tears well up in his eyes upon hearing those words.

All this time, suguru thought satoru hated him. Hated him for everything he’s done. He wouldn’t blame him for it either. When suguru saw you for the first time, he thought you’d hate him too. But looking back on it, he should know you better than that. He should know satoru better than that, too.

“Is that so?” he asks, his shaky voice seems to give him away.

He nods.

“There’s been many times, I’d wish you were still there with me. Watching me raise my students, with a proud smile.” Satoru feels his own voice get shaky, looking at the man he loved.

“Man,” you let out a lighthearted sigh, “you’re both idiots, you know?” you say with a carefree grin.

Satoru turns to pout at you, “yeah, well! Whatever…” he rolls his eyes. “I’m sure it’s easy for you to not have any regrets when it comes to us, huh? You’re always so perfect at relationships and communicating and all that garbage.” he says, sticking out his tongue. Suguru can only laugh at him, as if he missed seeing satoru like this.

“You’ve got it all wrong, satoru.” your grin becoming soft. Something he hasn’t seen in god knows how long.

“I do have my regrets with you both. Well, only one.” you say, looking off to the side. Both boys look at you in anticipation. ‘So even suguru doesn’t know?’ Satoru wonders to himself.

“Honestly, I never had the balls to say it to either of you at the time, or even suguru this past year. However,”

you look at the both of them, a fondness in your eyes that both boys had missed seeing. You never did get this emotional and vulnerable, not often anyway.

“my only regret, was not being able to marry the both of you.”

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bad Reveal AU Chapter 2 Part 2

As promised! Here's the compilation of every snippet I've written for the 1000 follower ask game. I added an additional 300 words to the end to round out the scene.

Story Summary: Danny loves the Waynes, loves living with them. After the GIW, after his parents, he never thought he'd be able to have this again. A family, a home.

Then he overhears a conversation.

The Waynes aren't just the Waynes. They're the Bats, part of the Justice League. And the Justice League works with the US Government. The same government that runs the Ghost Investigation Ward.

It was all a lie.

AO3 link

Tumblr Links: Chapter 1, Previous

Word Count: 2.6k

-----

Three days later and they were all ready to tear their hair out. Barbara had found nothing new on the Fenton parents, even after Tim and Bruce joined her in the search. Apparently everything about the Fentons had been hidden behind the best digital security they had ever seen. Everything except the basics. And the firewalls were so good that they were almost invisible which is why no one had noticed them before.

Danny’s room lacked any sort of clue. They opened every drawer and went through everything they could find, only for nothing even slightly unusual to turn up. Definitely nothing like the bizarre energy weapon he’d used.

Jason had asked around as Red Hood to see if he could find any leads on the weapon. But every rumor lead to a dead end.

They could find nothing that might lead them to the people who wanted to hurt Danny. And Danny never came home.

Dick was currently in Danny’s room, again, trying to find anything. He was under the bed searching for hidden compartments in the frame or box spring when sharp footsteps sounded in the hall. A moment later, Alfred cleared his throat from the doorway.

“Master Dick! I believe you were instructed to leave the cave so you could rest.”

Dick pushed himself out from under the bed and sat so he was leaning against the bed frame. He flashed a dazzling smile. “Sorry, Alfred. I just had the idea to check the bed frame for any hidden messages or compartments. Wouldn’t have been able to sleep without doing it.”

Alfred sniffed. “We have already been over every inch of this room. You will not find anything new and you know this.”

Dick sighed, letting the smile drop away, and rubbed his face. He looked down at the carpet as he picked at it. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. I just keep seeing his face. He was certain we were going to hurt him, Alfred. My own brother. How could I have failed him so badly?”

Alfred’s shoes came into view as he walked further into the room and sat next to Dick. “You haven’t failed him, Master Dick. And you know that. His fears were his own; based on experiences from before he ever joined this family. And we did not know there were problems to address. But we do now and I have full faith that you will solve this and bring Master Danny back home.”

“I wish I had your optimism, Alfred.”

“Then I shall just have to have enough for the both of us. Now, if you insist on being useful, Titus could use his afternoon walk. Normally Master Bruce or I take care of it…”

“But with B injured and the house full, you’ve got enough to handle. I’ll take care of it, Alfred.”

“Thank you, my boy. Now, help an old man up.”

Dick laughed; it wasn’t sincere, not truly, but he knew it’d make Alfred feel better. “Don’t even pretend you can’t get up on your own.” But he still did as requested and helped Alfred to his feet.

“When you’re my age, you will know what troubles I face.”

“Sure, Alfred. Now, where is Titus right now?”

Ten minutes later, Dick was outside in the late spring sun throwing a tennis ball for Titus. The dog was delighted with the game.

He rather felt like it should be raining or overcast or something. Not a balmy spring day with birds singing and bees buzzing in the clover. Danny was still missing; it shouldn’t be a nice day.

His next throw went much farther than he planned, and Titus bounded away.

Dick groaned and collapsed to the ground. He threw an arm over his eyes as he bit back his tears. Everyone was relying on him to hold it together. Damian was on a hair trigger and he was the only one who could keep him in line consistently; Tim was sunk deep into his research and barely surfacing for another energy drink every few hours; Jason and Bruce couldn’t be around each other for more than ten minutes without someone starting to yell. Duke was spending more and more time on patrol trying to find any information on the meta angle.

And all of them came to him to complain about the others. His family needed him. He couldn’t fall apart.

When a shadow fell over his face, he cracked open an eye expecting to see a cloud covering the sun. Instead he screamed and jumped to his feet as he came face-to-face with Clark.

“Warn a guy next time!”

Clark, the bastard, just laughed at him. “Hey, Dick. Didn’t expect to find you here.”

Before he could reply, Titus returned, ball clenched proudly in his mouth. “Good boy,” said Dick as he petted him. “Ready to go back inside?” To Clark, he said, “Most of us are staying at the manor right now. What brings you here?”

“We’re worried. Bruce called in saying he had an injury that would prevent field work for a few weeks. At the same time, Tim told Kon he’d be unavailable for Young Justice missions until further notice. And Damian canceled a sleepover with Jon with no explanation. So I made two of Ma’s pies and decided to come over for a visit. What’s going on?”

Dick sighed. “Danny’s gone. He discovered who we were.” He let out a hysterical laugh. “And apparently thinks that because we work with the US government it means we were just pretending to like him to gather information so we could turn him over to someone who would hold him against his will and torture him.”

Clark landed and pulled him into a hug. Dick clung on tightly. “Why does he think that?”

Dick shrugged and, reluctantly, pulled away. “Apparently his parents betrayed him once already. I think…” Dick closed his eyes and whistled sharply. “Come, Titus.” He held onto Titus’s collar and began walking away from Clark towards the manor. “We think he already has experience being held and tortured. And that it was his parents fault.”

Clark’s sharp inhale proved his horror at such a thought.

“Yeah. So now Danny’s gone and we have no idea how to search for him. Did B tell you he’s a meta? We knew he had some powers, but clearly we missed some because now we suspect invisibility, density shifting, and flight. So we’re trying to find the people who want to hurt him. But we keep hitting walls!” Titus whined when his grip tightened too much. Dick winced and let go immediately to pet the dog. “Sorry, Titus. You’re such a good boy.”

Clark draped an arm around his shoulders. “Well, why don’t you take me to the cave and you can go over everything you know. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes will help.”

Dick shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt. And maybe seeing you will remind Bruce he knows how to do more than grunt when people ask him a question.”

Clark winced. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse, if I’m honest. Danny shot him with an energy weapon before density shifting out of the cave. So now his newest kid is missing and he’s too injured to go out and search for him.”

Clark let out a low whistle. “Yep. That’ll do it.”

Dick pulled out his phone and opened the group chat. A quick text ensured everyone who was around would make their way to the cave. “I’ve told everyone to meet us in the cave. We’ll swing by the kitchen to get some plates and cutlery for the pie. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Clark ruffled his hair. “You know me, I’m too midwestern to show up anywhere unannounced without food.”

Dick gave a half smile, unable to muster up anything warmer.

Clark tried to keep up a stream of small talk as they swung by the kitchens to gather the plates. But Dick just couldn’t keep up with it. His mind was just too far away, on a young boy with blue eyes who loved hugs and had fit into the family so smoothly.

When they got to the cave, Tim didn’t even look up at the sound of the elevator doors opening. Dick followed his lead and ignored him, instead going straight to Bruce.

“You’ve got a visitor, B!”

Bruce only grunted and didn’t look up from his laptop.

Clark hid a smile. “I’m sure Alfred raised you better than that, Bruce.”

“Indeed I did,” declared Alfred with a sniff from where he was making notes in Bruce’s medical chart.

Bruce’s head whipped up at the sound of Clark’s voice and Dick bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Clark? What are you doing here?”

“Been worried about you and the kids, so I made some pie and decided to come on over. Kon and Jon are both waiting for updates as well.”

Apparently the appearance of Clark and Kon’s name was enough to finally drag Tim from the batcomputer for the first time in days. “Is Kon okay?”

Clark gave him a fond smile. “He’s fine, lad. It’s you—all of you—we’re worried about.”

Bruce looked away. “It’s Danny.”

Clark nodded and sat on the foot of the bed. “Dick’s told me a little. Let’s wait for the others to join us and you can all tell me everything.”

Dick checked his phone. “Babs said my text woke her up and don’t start discussions without her.”

Clark looked at him sharply. “Barbara is here, too? You really meant it when you said everyone’s been staying here, didn’t you?”

Dick shrugged. “Yeah, well, it’s Danny.”

Tim laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, he’s the only one who all of us like pretty much all the time.”

Clark frowned as he looked around at the people gathered, but didn’t say anything.

Alfred bustled in with a chair. “If some of you would help me set up chairs for everyone? We might as well be comfortable as we talk and eat.”

“Of course, Alfred,” said Clark, seeming relieved. “Be happy to help.”

Honestly, with how many people were there, it only took a minute. Jason and Stephanie arrived just as they were finishing up.

“Duke messaged me,” said Jason. “He’s on his way back from patrol.”

“Damian?” asked Dick.

“I am here, Richard,” said the boy as he walked into the medbay. “I apologize for my tardiness. I was with Alfred the cat and didn’t notice your message immediately.”

Dick went to his side and ruffled his hair. He ignored Damian’s glare with years of practice. “Glad you could make it. Come on, let’s get you a slice of pie.”

“I’ll start slicing,” said Clark.

By the time the pie was sliced and everyone had a piece, Barbara had arrived.

“Where is Duke?” asked Bruce.

Tim pulled up the tracking information on his laptop. “Looks like he’s only twenty minutes out.”

“He’d’ve said something if he’d learned anything new,” said Jason. “I say we just start sharing now. He’ll be back before we get through it all.”

“Agreed,” said Bruce.

Clark nodded and looked around the room. Dick just knew he was cataloging how exhausted they all looked. “What can you tell me about what happened?”

“Daniel lost his mind and attacked Father,” said Damian.

“Listen here, Demon Brat,” argued Jason, “you know damn well that’s not what happened.”

And when Tim backed up Jason, it became a shouting match. Dick buried his face in his hands. A headache was forming and he knew if he tried to intervene, he’d just make it worse right now.

“Enough!” said Alfred when it became clear the others wouldn’t calm down on their own. “We will go over it one at a time. Master Richard, you may start.”

So Dick gave all the information he knew. When one of the others indicated they wanted to add more, he let them. Alfred made sure no one overstepped. Duke arrived partway through and described what he saw when Danny disappeared and used his powers.

When everyone was finally satisfied they’d shared everything they knew, Barbara pulled out a tablet to show Clark the footage of the confrontation in the cave.

“And you don’t know where he got that weapon?” asked Clark after he watched it twice.

“No clue,” said Tim. “We’ve searched his room a dozen times since then, but there’s nothing even remotely like it.”

Jason nodded. “And I’ve been asking around. No one I can find has ever heard of one like it.”

Alfred added, “Even I was unaware he was in possession of such an object.”

Clark hummed as he replayed the last few seconds of the video where Danny density shifted through the stone. “He brought it with him when he left.”

“You’ve thought of something,” said Bruce.

“Could he have hidden the weapon inside something? Like a wall or the floor?”

Bruce hummed as he thought. “Is that even possible?”

Dick shrugged. “We know very little about what he can and can’t do.”

“Want me to take a look at his room with my X-ray vision?” asked Clark.

Bruce nodded. “Please.” No one commented on the begging tone in his voice.

And for the first time in days, Dick felt hope rising in his chest.

“And do we have any idea what he meant by Jason being in trouble, too?”

Jason shrugged. “Probably has something to do with how I died. I’m apparently the only one who can sense Danny’s empathy, too. And I mean supernatural empathy, not the normal person kind.”

Bruce agreed. “I found the most information on Amity Park when I found my way to supernatural message boards. Zatana is looking into some things for me as well. But it always leads back to ghosts. Though why Jason alone is of interest when others in the family have also died is uncertain.”

“I see. Well, I suppose we’ll find out when you get him home. Who wants to show me Danny’s room? We might as well start there.”

Of course, no one was willing to sit this one out. The biggest argument arose when Bruce insisted on pushing himself to his feet. He refused the wheelchair Alfred tried to insist he use, but a raised eyebrow and pursed lips did get him to take the crutches.

Dick and Jason exchanged a smirk at the scene. Alfred always got his way.

So, the entire group made their way out of the cave and through the halls of Wayne Manor until Clark stopped in the doorway to Danny’s room.

He let out a low whistle. “Whatever his powers are, he can definitely hide things in other objects. He’s left a lot behind.”

“Can you tell what they are?” asked Bruce.

Clark shrugged. “Some of them. There’s another item that looks like that blaster he had. Some…rope? I think? A tool box in the floor. A case that’s probably lead-lined. And a lot of stuff that I just can’t identify. I mean, a random cylindrical object. Some rectangles, maybe external hard-drives?”

Damian stepped forward, gripping the handle of his katana. “Then we will smash the walls to see what he is hiding.”

Dick rushed forward to put an arm around Damian’s shoulders and stop him from doing anything.

“Indeed not, Master Damian.” Alfred gave the boy a level look. “We want Master Danny to have a home to return to. And what sort of welcome would he feel if he came back to a destroyed room? Master Bruce, Mr. Kent, I am aware you have other collegues who can density shift. Could one of them be prevailed upon to come and remove the items?”

Damian scowled and kicked at the floor. Dick bit back his smile. The kid really did care about their missing brother, whatever he said.

Clark nodded. “I’ll call J’onn, Alfred.”

-----

Part 3

Several of you guessed this is where I was going to take it the minute I introduced Clark. Didn't see anyone mention J'onn, though. (But that might be because I was sharing such small segments, so fewer people were speculating.) Let me know what you think!

I've finally gotten around to making a Subscription Post for this fic, so follow that if you want notifications!

@hailsatanacab also started a fill for this prompt that I absolutely adore, so check that out here! (It hurts, it hurts so good.)

[actuallysaiyan]

Hi Bacon!💚 I just saw your valentine event and I think the prompts are sooo sweet! 💕I would like to request Giyuu from Demon Slayer trying to plan the perfect Valentine's Day for reader but everything falls through! NSFW please🫶🏽

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, use of aphrodisiac, slight nipple play word count: 1.1k pairings: Giyu Tomioka x Fem!Reader summary: Giyu tries desperately to plan this beautiful day for you, but he swears he's got the worst streak of bad luck. Still, one thing ends up in his favor.

Giyuu knows how important Valentine’s day is for you. He thinks it’s a fun holiday as well. Before he met you, he might have dismissed it and called it stupid. But he sees the way you look at the decorations and the candy and chocolates that are now in the stores. He knows that you are so enamored with everything that has to do with this beautiful holiday that celebrates lovers.

So this is why he knows he’s going to have to pull it together and get ready for the big day. He practically begs not to go on any missions when the time comes. Some people call him callous and mean, others call him whipped and others(mainly Mitsuri) call him so sweet and romantic for planning such a big day for his lover.

Yet when the big day comes, things start unraveling at the seams. Things are breaking down before they can even be built up. The florist that he was planning to get the flowers from somehow really messed up on his order. Instead of a beautiful bouquet of roses and carnations, they end up being just a bunch of mismatched end cuts from someone else’s order. The florist tries to apologize, stating that something happened to his shipmen, but Giyu is so angry and decides to move onto the next phase of his mission.

He checks in with the restaurant that he has reservations with. His heart wrenches when they tell him there must have been some sort of mixup because they do not have his name on file. He’s not sure what else could go wrong from here, and yet he is trying to remain calm. As a show of good faith, the restaurant gives him two take-out meals on the house. Giyu figures he’s going to be able to fix this valentine’s day yet.

But it’s when he reaches your favorite candy store to see that they are completely out of stock, this is when he realizes the whole day is ruined. He’s going to need to improvise if he wants this to work out well in his favor. So he decides to head to an apothecary for something a little more…naughty. He purchases what seems to be the last bottle of an aphrodisiac.

On his way home, he’s a little more than upset at how his plans ended up. He’s ready to tear the hair out of his head. But he knows he’s got a little bit of a plan left. He finds a store near your home and manages to get some candy. With the last of his supplies, he tricks his way towards where you live. It’s not the romantic valentine’s day he was planning, but it’ll have to do.

When you see him, you’re quick to invite him inside. You and Giyu don’t always get time together, so for you just having him home with you tonight means the world to him. He frowns as he thrusts the gifts in your direction, his face stating a different story than what you’re feeling.

“My, my! You really shouldn’t have,” you tell him, sitting down on the couch.

As you open up the gifts and see the chocolate and the dinner that’s for two, you are so delighted. Then you notice the bottle from the apothecary and you inquire about it.

Giyu blushes, “Uhm…” 

You smile, “Yes? What is it?”

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

Your cheeks heat up as well. You read the ingredients, noting that it seems to be fairly innocent and probably won’t pose any health risks. So you open it up and you can smell how sweet the scent is. Before Giyu can even react, you drink a little bit of it. He gasps and tries to take the bottle from you. He hadn’t even really been that serious about it.

“W-what did you do that for?!” He asks, and you giggle.

“It’s for us. For tonight, right?”

You were right. Still didn’t mean he wouldn’t be completely overwhelmed by this product. Instead of worrying about it, he decides to take a step in your direction. He takes a sip of it too, noticing how he shudders and all the hair on his body stands on end.

It takes mere moments for it to hit you both. In a frenzy of kisses and tugging on clothes, you two find yourselves entangled on the couch together. Giyu moans as he presses searing kisses to your skin. His lips attach to your neck first, leaving marks all over the tender flesh there. You wrap your legs around him, tugging on his hair a little. The sounds that fill the room are your moans and pants as Giyu worships your naked body.

“You’re so beautiful,” his mind is so clouded by lust. 

You whine the moment he cups your breasts. You watch through hooded eyes as his thumbs rub your nipples, making you whine even louder. Then he leans in to suck on one of them. Spit coats your nubs as he switches from one nipple to the other. You can barely contain the sounds you’re making as the aphrodisiac courses through your veins.

Giyu’s about to spread your thighs and get on his stomach when you beg him to fuck you. There’s a pink tinge on his cheeks, but he’s heard you. He’s not about to deny you what you want. His hands fold your legs up to your chest, and he watches as your pretty little hole dribbles just for him. You’re already so wet and he’s only kissed you and sucked on your nipples.

With one hand, he guides his throbbing cock to your folds. He teases you both, dragging the head up and down against your labia. You beg him more than once to put it in, and just the sound of your voice is beginning to make his head spin.

“This what you need?” He asks, a teasing tone to his voice as he presses the tip inside of you.

The moment he begins to slide inside of you, it’s the moment you both know that the aphrodisiac is a strong one. Immediately your walls begin clenching around him, desperately trying to milk his dick. Giyu moans loudly as he bottoms out, his heavy balls plush against your ass. He takes a shaky breath, trying not to cum just yet. Then slowly, he begins his pace. It’s sensual and deep, the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix. He leans in to kiss you, and your tongues rub and roll together hotly.

“Guess this wasn’t the worst valentine’s day,” he confesses. He chuckles when he sees the confusion on your face.

“I’ll tell you later, for now…”

He thrusts deeper and harder into your tight cunt. “I’m busy right now.”

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing #5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Shorter list this time, but longer points. I expect this one to be more divisive, but it is what it is, and this is what ‘no one tells you’ about writing, after all. This one’s all about feedback and how to take it, and give it.

1. Not everyone will like your book, no matter how good it is

I’ve said this before, granted, but sometimes you can have very arbitrary reasons for not liking an otherwise great story. For example: I refuse to watch Hamilton. Why? Because everyone I knew and their dog was trying to cram it down my throat when it came out and I still don’t really like musicals, and didn’t appreciate the bombardment of insisting I’ll like it simply because everyone else does. I’m sure it’s great! I’m just not watching it until I want to watch it.

It can be other reasons, too. I won’t read fanfic that’s written in first person, doesn’t matter how good it is. Someone might not watch a TV show because the primary cast is white or not-white. Someone might not watch a movie because an actor they despise is in it, even if the role is fantastic. Someone might not watch or read a story that’s too heavy on the romance, or not enough, or too explicit. I went looking for beta readers and came across one who wouldn’t touch a book where the romance came secondary in a sci-fi or fantasy novel. Kept on scrolling.

Someone can just think your side character is unfunny and doesn’t hear the same music as everyone else. Someone can just not like your writing style with either too much or not enough fluff, or too much personality in the main narrator. Or they have triggers that prevent them from enjoying it the way you intend.

How someone expresses that refusal is not your job to manage. You cannot force someone to like your work and pushing too hard will just make it worse. Some people just won’t like it, end of story.

2. Criticism takes a very long time to take well

Some people are just naturally better at taking constructive criticism, some have a thick skin, some just have a natural confidence that beats back whatever jabs the average reader or professional editor can give. If you’re like me, you might’ve physically struggled at first to actually read the feedback and insisted that your beta readers color-coded the positive from the negative.

It can be a very steep climb up the mountain until you reach a point where you know you’re good enough, and fully appreciate that it is actually “constructive” and anything that isn’t, isn’t worth your time.

The biggest hurdle I had to climb was this: A criticism of my work is not a criticism of me as a person.

Yes, my characters are built with pieces of my personality and worldview and dreams and ideals, but the people giving you feedback should be people who either already know you as a person and are just trying to help, or are people you pay to be unbiased and only focus on what’s on the page.

Some decisions, like a concerning moral of your story, is inadvertently a criticism of your own beliefs—like when I left feedback that anxiety can’t just be loved away and believing so is a flawed philosophy. I did that with intent to help, not because I thought the writer incompetent or that they wrote it in bad faith.

I’m sure it wasn’t a fun experience reading what I had to say, either. It’s not fun when I get told a character I love and lost sleep over getting right isn’t getting the same reception with my betas. But they’re all doing it (or at least they all should be doing it) from a place of just wanting to help, not to insult your writing ability. Even if your writing objectively sucks, you’re still doing a lot more just by putting words on paper than so many people who can’t bring themselves to even try.

As with all mediums subjects to critique, one need not be an author to still give valuable feedback. I’m not a screenwriter, but from an audience’s standpoint, I can tell you what I think works. Non-authors giving you pointers on the writing process? You can probably ignore that. Non-authors giving you pointers on how your character lands? Then, yeah, they might have an opinion worth considering.

3. Parsing out the “constructive” from the criticism isn’t easy

This goes for people giving it as well. Saying things like “this book sucks” is an obviously useless one. Saying “I didn’t like this story because it was confusing and uncompelling” is better. “I think this story was confusing and uncompelling because of X, and I have some suggestions here that I think can make it better.”

Now we’re talking.

Everyone’s writing style is different. Some writers like a lot of fluff and poetic prose to immerse you in the details and the setting, well beyond what you need to understand the scene or the plot. Their goal is to make this world come alive and help you picture the scene exactly the way they see it in their minds.

There’s writers who are very light on the sensory fluff and poetry, trying to give you the impression of what the scene should look and feel like and letting you fill in the missing pieces with your own vision.

Or there’s stories that take a long time to get anywhere, spending many pages on the small otherwise insignificant slice-of-life details as opposed to laser-precision on the plot, and those who trim off all the fat for a fast-paced rollercoaster.

None of these are inherently bad or wrong, but audiences do have their preferences.

The keyword in “constructive criticism” is “construct”. As in, your advice is useless if you can’t explain why you think an element needs work. “It’s just bad” isn’t helpful to anyone.

When trying to decide if feedback has merit, try to look at whatever the critic gives you and explain what they said to yourself in your own words. If you think changing the piece in question will enhance your story or better convey what you’re trying to say, it’s probably solid advice.

Sometimes you just have to throw the whole character out, or the whole scene, whole plot line and side quest. Figuring out what you can salvage just takes time, and practice.

4. Just when you think you’re done, there’s more

There’s a quote out there that may or may not belong to Da Vinci that goes “art is never finished, only abandoned.” Even when you think your book is as good as it can be, you can still sleep on it and second-guess yourself and wonder if something about it could have been done better or differently.

There is such a thing as too much editing.

But it also takes a long time to get there. Only 10-15% of writing is actually penning the story. The rest is editing, agonizing over editing, re-editing, and staring at the same few lines of dialogue that just aren't working to the point that you dream about your characters.

It can get demoralizing fast when you think you’ve fixed a scene, get the stamp of approval from one reader, only for the next one to come back with valid feedback neither of you considered before. So you fix it again. And then there’s another problem you didn’t consider. And then you’re juggling all these scene bits and moments you thought were perfect, only for it to keep collapsing.

It will get there. You will have a manuscript you’re proud of, even if it’s not the one you thought you were going to write. My newest book isn’t what I set out to write, but if I stuck to that original idea, I never would have let it become the work that it is.

5. “[Writing advice] is more like guidelines than actual rules.”

Personally, I think there’s very few universal, blanket pieces of writing advice that fit every book, no exceptions, no conditions, no questions asked. Aside from: Don’t sacrifice a clear story for what you think is cool, but horribly confusing.

For example, I’m American, but I like watching foreign films from time to time. The pacing and story structure of European films can break so many American rules it’s astonishing. Pacing? What pacing? It’s ~fancy~. It wants to hang on a shot of a random wall for fifteen seconds with no music and no point because it’s ~artsy~. Or there is no actual plot, or arc, it’s just following these characters around for 90 minutes while they do a thing. The entire movie is basically filler. Or the ending is deeply unsatisfying because the hoity-toity filmmaker believes in suffering for art or… something.

That doesn’t fly with mainstream American audiences. We live, breathe, and die on the Hero’s Journey and expect a three-act-structure with few novel exceptions.

That does not mean your totally unique or subversive plot structure is wrong. So much writing advice I’ve found is solid advice, sure, but it doesn’t often help me with the story I’m writing. I don’t write romance like the typical romance you’d expect (especially when it comes to monster allegories). There’s some character archetypes I just can’t write and refuse to include–like the sad, abusive, angsty, 8-pack abs love interest, or the comedic relief.

Beyond making sure your audience can actually understand what you’re trying to say, both because you want your message to be received, and you don’t want your readers to quit reading, there is an audience for everything, and exceptions to nearly every rule, even when it comes to writing foundations like grammar and syntax.

You don’t even have to put dialogue in quotes. (Be advised, though, that the more ~unique~ your story is, the more likely you are to only find success in a niche audience).

Lots of writing advice is useful. Lots of it is contradictory. Lots of it is outdated because audience expectations are changing constantly. There is a balance between what you *should* do as said by other writers, and what you think is right for your story, regardless of what anyone else says.

Just don’t make it confusing.

—

I just dropped my cover art and summary for my debut novel. Go check it out and let me know what you think!

[obscure-imaginations]

Starscream Relationship Alphabet. No particular Starscream in mind. Can be Cybertronian or human reader.

Blacklist. | Commissions Open!

Dedicated to @sun-uwu-kong <3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Affectionate to the Well and back! He may put a halt in front of others, to save his reputation, but he’s affection-starved in private. He’ll be nuzzling and chirping at you for attention, giving you affection and needing it in return. Like a cat.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Starscream is a very chaotic best friend. He’s always ready to get into trouble with you by his side. He can be whiny and demanding of your attention but he's a good support- if you ever need someone to complain at, he’s there. He’ll most likely suggest, ah, *violent* solutions to your problems, but it’s all in good faith.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Sleepy cuddles are the best, so he can rest his wings around the both of you. But he’ll also pull you in for random cuddles throughout the day when the opportunity arises.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Starscream is too good for cooking and cleaning. He has other people to do it for him!

E = Effort (How much energy do they put into the relationship?)

A fair amount. Starscream can be caught up in his work and schemes, and he tends to be forgetful when absorbed in a project, but he always makes it up to you. He’s known for his dramatics so he has no qualms with declaring his proclamations of love whenever you need it. When you get his focus, he’s attentive to your needs.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Ooh… Unfortunately Starscream has some commitment issues due to trauma. It takes at least a decade for him to get comfortable with the idea. You’d be his conjunx much earlier than that, but actual marriage scares him a bit. But once he knows you're not going to leave him and you’re in this mess for life? You’re going to have the most theatrical wedding Cybertron has ever seen!

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Half and half. He can be brash and occasionally rude because he’s not always aware of his surroundings nor other people’s feelings. But he always makes it up to you, panicking if he accidentally hurts you in any manner. He’ll fold his wings and approach you like a dog who’s in trouble.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Starscream is touch starved. Once he’s alone with you, he’s demanding hugs and cuddles. He needs it desperately. His hugs are nice, even if his form seems rough around the edges.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Starscream expresses his love in different ways at first. Proclaiming that he’d kill for you is basically an “I love you”. After a few months he’ll gently scoop your face in his hands and murmur “I love you” softly with a light blue blush.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Everyone knows he’s a drama queen, and he secretly has self esteem issues. So yeah, he’s *very* jealous. It more so manifests in him demanding your attention at inopportune times, such as when Megatron is trying to give orders or Shockwave is giving a report. He will cling his servo to yours and squeeze hard to be subtle. He’s horrible with words when it comes to this but all he needs is a hug, a kiss, and an “I love you”.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He loves dramatically kissing the back of your hand, to be fancy. He enjoys receiving forehead kisses. “Real” kisses are often passionate in some sense- he puts his entire being into meaningful kisses.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Do not let this walking mech of chaos around children. He is a bad influence.

Same with my OC, Orbit. Megatron is usually getting on Starscream’s case for teaching Orbit bad habits.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Whining about wanting to continue cuddling. When he finally gets up he’s grumbly but he feels better when he gets into his morning routine. Sometimes he lets you help him get ready for the day.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Before recharging, he enjoys preening himself as the proud Seeker he is. He doesn't let you buff his wings unless you're ready to get spicy, but he will let you groom other areas. He’s proud of his visage even when he’s feeling more insecure.

He’ll wind down with you in his arms, rumbling his engines in happiness to have his conjunx to himself.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Starscream likes to think he’s mysterious. However, he tends to spew random bits of information when he thinks out loud to himself. Officially, however, he takes a little bit to give full details- especially about past traumas.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Starscream has the patience of a hungry bitlet. When he wants something, he wants it now!! He can never get truly angry at you, though, even when you mess up. He might pout when his pride is wounded but he always makes it up with plenty of chitters.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Starscream always saves every bit of information he gets. It’s instinct for him- for his plots and schemes. Now he uses that to his advantage to surprise you! If you see something you want in passing, he’ll get it for you… sometimes obtained legally. He remembers everything about you, down to your favorite pair of socks.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

When he realized that you actually love him and you aren't going to leave. Starscream’s ego makes up for his poor self esteem, so he talks big, but secretly, he’s very insecure. Having you to love him, *truly* love him, is a blessing from the AllSpark itself.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Starscream is protective in a subtle way. If anyone upsets you, he digs up the worst blackmail he can find to intimidate them into leaving you alone… permanently. If that doesn't work? He has his ways. Don't worry about the sudden influx of scrap or that weird red stain on the floor.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Ultimate effort. Starscream wants to make sure that you feel loved in every manner possible. Even the smallest gift is wrapped to perfection. Anniversary dates are the most romantic he can muster. Every day affections are always filled with love.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Starscream is vain and sometimes thinks he’s “too good” for some things. If you want to do something he’s snobby about, just go do it without him and he’ll learn his lesson- he always gets pouty when you're separated.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Practically as vain as Knockout, and that’s saying something. Seekers are a proud people. He’s always touching up his paints and buffing himself to pure shine.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He’ll never admit it out loud, but you’re the other half of his spark. When you're separated for longer periods of time, he gets so whiny and dramatic that even Soundwave gets concerned for his emotional health. (His trine will fall to their knees and praise you when you return /lh /hj)

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He talks about you to his trine constantly. Starscream tends to blabber without thinking much- he just likes to talk, and with a voice like that, who can blame him?- so the trine knows some exclusive details, such as those adorable pajamas you wore to bed three days ago.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Like with “U”, he’s snobby about certain things. He doesn't like cooking, or cleaning unless he’s prepping his own form.

In a partner… he dislikes when you don't pay attention to him. He doesn't demand your full attention at all times, but he demands acknowledgment!!

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Spreads his wings to take up the whole bed. He’s embarrassed because he can’t really control it. His wings also twitch on occasion, but it’s adorable.

[bloogers-boogers]

~Marriage au~ (part two)

So, I was drawing this post when the idea strikes me kabdksdhsls and now it’s a thing.

We all know the whole idea of Adam becoming a sinner, well that’s basically the start of the story. He becomes a sinner, he gets in the hotel, he manages to make a deal with Lucifer in exchange of his soul, BUT, that’s like way after. Why? Because in this au Adam soul was trapped to some random overlord, no, it’s not Alastor, Vox or Valentino. It’s somebody else just as powerful. The whole reason Adam gave his soul to him wasn’t outta free will, it was because this demon in peculiar has this ability to make people do things they don’t want to do (hypnosis?? Idk similar to Vox ig), which Adam was a victim of. He made Adam “willingly” exchange his soul for an offer. This was before he managed to get to the hotel. So now he’s trapped to this guy.

The only ones who can see Adam being chained are demons that are also on a leash that includes Alastor. And this is how Lucifer found out about it because he overheard Alastor taunt Adam about it with very subtle words but Lucifer caught on immediately.

Which is where the plot begins.

Lucifer takes Adam aside and starts making a huge deal about it which Adam refused to admit it was even true.

Somehow in the long run Lucifer managed to get Adam to blurt out the truth after many attempts to gain his trust or at least make Adam accept his help (didn’t take long tbh, kinda like 2 hours after the confrontation).

So they both went to talk to the demon who owned Adam and Lucifer wasn’t planning on leaving there until he managed to have Adam’s soul free. The bad thing was that this overlord was quite power hungry and the fact that the KING of hell seemed desperate for this soul alone was an opportunity he couldn’t let down (he kinda figured being the first man his soul would be priceless in comparison to other sinners which is why he caught him in the first place but he wouldn’t have guessed that King Morningstar would want it after the battle they had it was shown those two didn’t get along.) but anyways.

So he offered Adam’s soul for the exchange of Lucifer giving up on the throne which was laughable. Lucifer denied, obviously, and Adam just kinda accepted defeat. But Lucifer didn’t give up on that, they tried other methods from ancient scrolls to old rituals but nothing worked to set Adam’s soul free. Lucifer didn’t want to resort to this but he had no other choice by the looks of it. A soul contract is a very powerful thing which is why it’s almost unbreakable, but he was the king of hell. He had an immense power that COULD break a soul contract. But thats only if…

Adam spiritually gives himself to Lucifer in marriage in a holy union. Aka upon the eyes of God.

Which of course this is beyond breaking everything Lucifer stands for and his pride.

So this is where their deal commenced.

“Adam I will set you free, I will put my faith in God again to break that contract, my union with Lilith; everything I fought so hard to keep. I will sacrifice it all, myself, just for you to receive freedom again. But the only thing I ask for in exchange is your soul.”

“Seriously?! After literally everything we did to get myself free from that asshole you’re gonna get my soul stuck to you seconds after?! Speak of the fucking devil.”

“Adam for the love of my damn father! I’m literally sacrificing my marriage, connecting with my dad, throwing my pride away. Literally fucking marrying you! For a whole damn year! for your selfish underserving ass! I must get something back for it. Take it or leave it.”

Adam thought for a bit before shrugging. Yeah, it was a bitch, but it was unlikely for Lucifer to do something that bad when Charlie is involved in Adam’s self growth as a person.

“Okay. Deal,” he extends his hand towards Lucifer assuming it was a normal type of deal and the devil sigh.

Unfortunately for them, a holy marriage is supposed to be set in the tradicional terms.

He summoned a box with a golden serpent ring and kneeled down swallowing his pride and accepting Adam as his spouse.

“Adam, would you, the first man accept me; King Lucifer Morningstar as your faithful and loyal husband?”

This startled Adam of course, cause what the fuck was Lucifer doing.

Adam huffed incredulous, “Loyal I doubt it.”

Lucifer tsk sourly already regretting this but held it in. That could wait after their stupid church wedding.

“But sure, whatever…” Adam blushed embarrassed by the whole thing (after all he never experienced something like this before, a marriage proposal; considering he was already born married or given wives), offering his hand while Lucifer looked up a bit before his gaze fell back down to Adam’s fingers and gently slid the ring on his wedding finger.

Suddenly Lucifer and Adam appear in a church house with the grim reaper as their priest and the wedding begins.

“In the name of God, I, Lucifer Morningstar, take you, Adam, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. This is my solemn vow."

Adam blushed some more, he wasn’t sure why he was being an emotional bitch about it when all of this wasn’t entirely willing but still, he was actually experiencing a wedding in the point of view of a groom.

Adam wasn’t sure what to say but to replicate Lucifer’s vows.

“In the name of God, I, Adam, take you, Lucifer Morninstar, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. This is my solemn vow."

Lucifer bit his lip, feeling unsure all of a sudden. Was he really gonna do this just for Adam? He looked at his wedding band; the memories, the only thing he had left linked to Lilith. Once he accepts Adam as his, his ring would evaporate and his soul would forever be bounded to Adam.

He winced his eyes shut letting the reaper finish the ceremony.

“So I will repeat this again, in case someone is already rethinking this and wants to flee to the nearest exit which is right at the left end,” the grim reaper side eyes Lucifer, “Do you Lucifer Morningstar accept Adam to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“Do you Adam accept Lucifer Morningstar to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I-“

Adam also had his own doubts, his promises to Eve, the connection he once had for her, the faithful and love for the mother of his children. All of that smacked him in the face with each passing second of the ceremony. He hasn’t even thought of Eve in so long.

“I do.”

The reaper gestures Lucifer to give his ring.

Lucifer winced harder feeling a tear wanting to slip out as he starts.

“Adam, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he slid the ring on Adam. Already sensing the ring that belonged to Lilith turning into dust as he stepped back, falling off his fingers ready to be replaced with Adam’s. Shit.

Adam was given a ring to place it on Lucifer’s wedding finger. He gulped, awkwardly getting ready for his part.

“Lucifer, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he places it on Lucifer’s finger, sealing their bound.

They both watched as the gold of their rings brightened and tightened in their skin.

“I here by declare you; Lucifer Morningstar and Adam Morningstar: king and king consort of hell. You may kiss the groom.”

Adam flinched disgusted, Lucifer cringed while swallowing and mustering the courage to peck Adam quickly.

And that sealed it. In the eyes of the holy spirit they were married. The holy light washed over them as the church bells rang announcing their strong union. Adam’s contract with the overlord broke as the power of their holy union broke it.

After Adam’s little scene of being set free from his contract was done, everything vanished and suddenly they were at a hotel room, lighted by candles and seductive music.

They both looked around, Adam confused, Lucifer just startled by the abruptness.

“Yeah. This is where things get awkward,” Lucifer admitted.

So a week passes and they act like all of that never happened. Everyone at the HOTEL was oblivious of the whole thing but eventually the news spreads around and Charlie finds out from a sinner.

“King Morningstar! Congratulations for your beautiful groom,” he then bows at both Adam and Lucifer.

Lucifer tenses when it happens and notices Charlie’s odd stare.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about, haha, he must be a little cookoo,” he swirls his finger next to his head, nervous. Adam just face palms by how awful Lucifer is at lying.

Of course Charlie doesn’t seem to believe his bullshit so Lucifer quits it.

“Okay, it’s not what you think and it’s absolutely TEMPORARY,” he explains in a quickly fashion, “Adam was trapped, I offered my help, the guy wanted the throne I denied. Only method to get Adam free was something more powerful than a soul contract and that was a holy marriage. And now, we’re married. Temporarily.”

Somehow, and as weird as it was, Charlie and the rest kinda swept it udder a rug. So the whole incident was kinda not a big deal (bc it’s not legit if they don’t actually like each other, still weird tho), both acted like normal and normally they’d just tried laughing off any comments about their marriage. Until it actually becomes a big deal.

When Lucifer starts feeling awkward or annoyed when someone approaches Adam with all intentions on trying to fuck him.

“AHAHA! Wowie! How fun, now get your filthy hands off my husband.”

And everytime Adam would question that, Lucifer would shrug it off as.

“I have to keep the part.”

You can imagine the drama, mix and confusing feelings and new found jealousy. And all of that in this.

So yeah. Thats the au 😭

[hoesplay]

Hello ♡ may i request itoshi sae picking up his s/o from school But finds them being confessed to in the back of the building? Thank you!!

𝕊𝕒𝕖 𝕀𝕥𝕠𝕤𝕙𝕚 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 :( 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 ^^

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝟏𝟔𝟏 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐰: 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (+ a hickey might be hinted)

The situation you are in right now is something you foresaw. The moment you opened the locker and a red envelope fell at your feet, you rolled your eyes in exasperation. Classes ended and it was finally time to confront the boy who watched you with heart eyes. You couldn’t run any further from this problem. You knew that he had the biggest crush on you since forever. Everyone saw that and you are not blind. He was a good kid, you got to work with him on a couple of projects. Nothing significant happened, but lately the guy seemed to be more and more attracted to you. Despite your efforts to not give him false hope, there you are, in the back of the school listening to your classmate stuttering out a confession. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so friendly, but you felt bad shutting him down, when he was always so nice and considerate of you.

You made the effort to let him finish what he had to say, resisting the urge to interrupt him and cut to the point. It’s the least he deserved, you thought. No matter how much you missed receiving any type of attention, you still have a boyfriend that you love and stay faithful to. Because of how often Sae travels, you’re pretty sure most of the school isn’t aware that the two of you are in a relationship. Therefore, you don’t blame the guy standing in front of you for shooting his shot.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you realized he stopped talking, waiting for your answer. You took a second to choose your words, so you can turn him down gently. “I’m really flattered that you feel this way, you’re really nice. However, I can’t reciprocate them. I’m in a relationship.”, your answer was short, precise, and you were quite pleased with it. Now you can breathe lightly after solving this situation as amicably as possible; or so you thought.

“You don’t have to lie to me just so that I don’t feel like shit.”, this wasn’t the reaction that you were expecting; your jaw dropped a little. You questioned his statement. “C’mon, (Y/N). Everyone in schools knows you are down bad for that Itoshi guy, but he’s obviously not into you. I don’t understand why all the girls are mad about him, but I know you are different. If only you’d give me a chance, you’d see how well I can treat you.”

Unbeknownst to you, this entire ordeal was being watched. Talk about timing. Sae came back a little earlier from his trip and made his way to your school, baggage and all, in hopes of surprising you. After waiting for a while in front of the gates, he took the liberty to enter the grounds, in search of you; and there you were, staring dumbfoundedly at the boy in front of you, as if he spoke a different language. Truth to be told, in that moment his ego spiked upwards. He always knew you were gorgeous (he would die before admitting it), but the fact that other people are taking interest in earning a place in your heart is tickling his self-esteem. Furthermore, he trusts you completely, no one can snatch you so easily from under his grasp. He listened further for his amusement.

At your classmate’s words, your brain froze. How are you even supposed to respond? You tried to reason with him to save the little bit of the class camaraderie that’s left. “I’m not sure if the news reached you, but me and ‘that Itoshi guy’ are in a relationship.” It was all futile, since the boy who confessed started laughing, as if you told him the funniest joke ever. The gesture was insulting by itself, but his following words were damaging his ‘good guy’ appearance even further. “Yeah, you and the other female students at this school. Don’t be delusional. I don’t understand why you keep lying, just say you don’t like me for fuck’s sake. Am I that bad that you prefer to pretend you’re dating someone you never will?”. At this point you are lowkey offended. You came to the conclusion that he won’t take no for an answer, so it’s pointless to waste your breath trying to convince him otherwise. You took a turn to flee the scene, but the classmate grabbed your wrist harshly. Your dear boyfriend got restless, preparing to leave the spot from where he was eavesdropping to come to your rescue, but he wasn’t fast enough. Before he even made a move, you slapped the harasser across the face with all your force, shouting a loud “go fuck yourself”, before making a run for it.

In your hurry, turning the corner, you bumped into a familiar figure. No other than Sae, standing there looking all smug with a big smirk blessing his features. He was waiting for you to jump in his arms, but got jabbed in the sides multiple times instead, while you kept complaining how he didn’t even move a finger to interfere. “Why would I, you seemed to handle it pretty well by yourself.”, you realized you are too tired to further argue, considering you just had your boundaries overstepped, so you gave in to your urges and went in for the hug with an exasperated sigh. Sae’s embrace was warm, comforting, despite his usual cold demeanor. You felt yourself relaxing as he stroked your hair, placing a kiss on the top of your head. The silence was interrupted by your boyfriend’s raspy voice. “What are you staring at? Get lost, trash.”

He was probably talking to that boy, but you couldn’t find it in you to care enough to remove your head from where it was nuzzled in his chest. You’re sure that you don’t have to explain yourself, but something in you keept pushing blabbering words out of your mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before about this guy. I knew he had a crush on me, but somehow, I let it get to this point. I even was stupid enough to think he was a genuinely kind person.”

Itoshi pondered over his answer. “Yeah, you kinda are stupid. I should put a collar on your neck with my name on it.,” his joke was met with another slap on his shoulder. He caught your wrists, before leaning in and placing his lips on your neck, sucking on the skin and grazing it between his teeth. The next day, he did not buy you a collar, but he did purchase a lovely silver necklace that had his initials engraved on it.

After that, rumor spread like wildfire and soon everyone knew about your relationship with the famous footballer. The news, of course, got some backlash from some butthurt girls and from your classmate, who forgot your name and kept calling you a slut instead. Not that you would care anyway.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! :)