#the thing is though I Dont Know. i dont know. i dont think so and i can't blame everything on it but like i dont know what else it could be

[rawme-price]

the 141 teaming up with another force for reasons, and said force owns a fucking behemoth of a dog.

like, gaz is convinced its just a wolf but everyone calls it a dog. its big enough to easily come up to his waist. its wearing a vest and collar, though, so he lets it be. theres a mission to be executed, no need to worry about the dubious dog vs wolf status of some other teams pet.

except it suddenly becomes very important when the mission goes sideways and gaz is stuck under a pile of rubble with the dog. it barks and whines at him, nosing at the concrete where his leg is currently trapped. no matter what he tries he cant get it to move, his comms are busted and he's starting to freak out. pain shoots arches over his nerves, makes focusing on anything difficult.

so when the dog disappears from his vision and a fucking person he's never seen before enters? gaz accepts that he's lost too much blood and is now hallucinating, soon to die. you loom over him for a second, hair wild and body massive, before turning to the concrete slab. with a huff and a growl, you push the concrete just enough for him to slip his leg out.

gaz takes a moment to just breathe, gather himself as the sounds of gunfire continue around them. when he opens his eyes, the dog is back, tugging insistently at his tac vest. his leg is totally fucked, but that doesn't seem to be an issue when the dog bodily hauls him over its back and carries him. holy shit, what kind of training did this thing have?

he hardly even thinks about the human he saw, convinced it really was some odd hallucination. that is, until he wakes up in the dead of night, never able to sleep properly in hospital rooms. he expects to see the other teams dog, it had refused to leave his side since the mission.

instead he sees you. your eyes glint under the dim moonlight, unblinking. he jolts, makes to grab for his knife then remembers hes not in his own room. the movement causes you to flinch, a startled bark escaping your mouth that makes gaz freeze. that...that sounded just like the dog. looking closer, he can actually see you wearing a dog collar...no fucking way.

"please dont tell them!" is the first thing you say, rushing to his side. "theyll be so angry if they know i let someone see me!" you sound frantic, the urgency enough to kick gazs brain back into function.

"don't tell who, exactly?" he looks at you, maybe a few years younger than him, notices the intricate scars encircling your arms. "my team. please, ill be in so much trouble." that has him pausing, looking up at you.

"they knew?" he recounts all the times your team made a joke at the dogs expense, harmless comments about it being a bit of a dumb beast, that now sound cruel knowing it was you in there. "they knew, and their keeping it a secret? why, they got something to hide?"

you purse your lips, look away with a low whine. "...theyre....traditional. people dont appreciate their methods, im not supposed to tell anyone im a shifter."

[jacksabbotts]

✧ cold cut — ❪ part five ❫

. ᵒ . ➛ PAIR . dr. jack abbot ( the pitt ) x fem!morguetech!reader . ᵒ . ➛ SUMMARY . in which one compliment, one coat, and one very stupid scalpel cut send you spiraling back into jack abbot’s orbit—bleeding, babbling, and absolutely not prepared for what he says next . ᵒ . ➛ TRIGGER WARNINGS . lowercase intended!!! graphic injury ( scalpel cut, blood ), medical imagery ( stitches, not graphic, er setting ), mild medical anxiety, emotional spiral / anxious overthinking, self-deprecating inner monologue, implied crush / unrequited feelings ( perceived ), power imbalance ( attending physician x hospital staff ), flirting in a professional setting, profanity

. ᵒ . ➛ AUTHORS NOTES . dont look at me! the jacket is my way of edging them before we get to the actual edging 😏😅 the jacket has earned its way to the castlist. it is a main character now

. ᵒ . ➛ WORD COUNT . ~ 2.3k

JOIN THE JACKSABBOTTS 1K EXTRAVAGANZA

masterlist | series masterlist | dividers by @cafekitsune | join the taglist

the coat was back where it didn’t belong—on your desk, draped like a memory you couldn’t fold shut.

you didn’t put it back on ( even though he told you to wear it ). you’d thought about it, thought maybe the extra warmth would keep your brain from spiraling—but the weight of it on your shoulders made it worse. you couldn’t breathe with it on. so you'd placed it carefully in the corner of your desk, hoping it would stop staring.

it didn’t.

you had a body on the table. male, late fifties, post-op complications. nothing traumatic. nothing you hadn’t seen a hundred times before. you went through the motions : pulled the cart into place, adjusted the overhead light, unzipped the bag. the hum of the cooler, the click of your pen, the rustle of latex gloves—routine, familiar, grounding.

still, you kept glancing back.

'don’t look at me like that,' you muttered, tugging the sheet down to expose the man's torso. 'not you. him.' your eyes flicked to the desk. 'the coat. it’s staring again.'

you sighed and looked back at the body. 'you ever have a doctor who ruined your entire emotional equilibrium with one compliment and a jacket? no? lucky you.”

the corpse didn’t answer.

'not that i think it was a real compliment,' you added, setting up your scale and camera. 'i’m not delusional. he was just being polite. a guilt offering. like a sorry for making you feel like a walking pathology specimen last week kind of thing.'

you adjusted the camera. 'still. he didn’t have to say it. it suits you.' you rolled your eyes and shook your head. 'that’s the kind of thing that short-circuits a girl’s brain, you know?'

click. photo taken.

'i’ve been thinking about it for two days,' you continued. 'you know what that means? i haven’t watched any tv. i haven’t listened to my podcasts. i—' you hesitated. '—i forgot to label the scalpels last night. me. the scalpel-labeling queen. not my idea, im not that self-absorbed.'

you peeled back the id band on the corpse’s wrist, checked it against the log.

'i’m pathetic,' you mumbled.

the body, to his credit, said nothing.

'anyway, let’s get your sample. then i’ll stop rambling and let you enjoy your eternal rest in peace and silence and climate-controlled perfection.'

you reached for the scalpel.

and you weren’t looking. not at your hand. not at the angle.

you were thinking about his hands. the way they’d stitched your palm last week. the way he’d said your name—well, okay, nickname. still. his voice had dipped when he said it.

and that was when it happened.

a sharp slip. a hiss of pain. the blade biting in—clean, fast, too deep.

you dropped it with a gasp.

blood bloomed through the glove almost instantly.

'oh, come on,' you groaned, grabbing a wad of gauze with your good hand. you applied pressure, but it wasn’t enough. the blood was already dripping onto the floor, your shoe, the tray of sterile tools.

you turned to the body again, holding up your bleeding hand. 'well, congratulations. you’re the first dead guy to see me have a full-on medical spiral in real time.'

still no reply. obviously.

'don't look so smug. this is your fault, you know.' you pressed the gauze tighter. 'if you’d just let me stay distracted without bleeding about it, we wouldn’t be in this mess.'

the corpse was unmoved.

you looked down at your hand. it was a mess.

you were going to need stitches.

which meant only one thing.

you were going to have to go upstairs.

the elevator ride to the er felt like ascending to your own personal hell.

you kept your hand cradled close to your chest, gauze pressed tight, blood still seeping through the layers. the pain was manageable. the shame? not so much.

you should’ve waited. should’ve radioed someone. should’ve done literally anything else but walk yourself, in your oversized morgue scrubs and haunted raccoon eyes, up to the one place you’d been aggressively avoiding since the beginning of your shift. since he told you it suited you. since your entire brain short-circuited and your hand decided to follow.

the er doors slid open with their usual groan, and you stepped into the chaos like a deer crossing a freeway at rush hour.

don’t panic, you told yourself. just get someone other than jack abbot. anyone. a resident. a nurse. a vending machine with first-aid supplies.

you made it five steps before you heard your name.

'hey—morgue girl?'

she, dana, appeared at your elbow like a horror movie jump scare, coffee in one hand, chart in the other. her eyes scanned you—then dropped to the soaked gauze in your hand.

her whole expression shifted.

'what the hell did you do?' she asked, half-concerned, half-amused.

'i—uh—i had a moment,' you mumbled. 'it’s fine. i’m fine. just need some stitches.'

dana’s brows lifted. 'sure looks like more than ‘just’—wait, you walked up here like that?'

you nodded. she blinked. 'jesus,' she muttered, then turned and called over her shoulder. 'hey, jack!'

'dana!'

but it was too late.

jack appeared from bay two, chart in hand, brow furrowed—until he saw you. everything in his expression changed. his shoulders straightened. his steps quickened.

you wanted to sink into the linoleum.

'what happened?' he asked, voice low, serious, and somehow ten times louder than anything else in the room.

'i—' you lifted the gauze. 'it’s not that bad.'

he didn’t answer. just reached out and gently took your wrist in his hand, tilting it so he could see. the pressure was feather-light. his fingers were warm.

he pulled the gauze back.

blood bloomed. fast. too fast. you felt light headed. his jaw flexed. 'bay three,' he said, already steering you toward it. 'i really don’t need—'

'bay. three.'

you opened your mouth to protest—too late. he’d already turned, barking over his shoulder to dana, 'get one of the kids to cover four and five. i’m taking care of this one.'

dana blinked. 'uh, i could grab shen? he’s—'

'no.' jack’s voice sliced clean through the noise. final. '’ll do it.'

you flinched.

dana raised an eyebrow but backed off with a knowing smirk, already halfway down the hall.

you didn’t move.

jack turned to you, hands already gloved. 'go.'

you followed because your legs didn’t have the spine to disobey. the curtain swished closed behind you, and you found yourself once again in the crash room. the scene of the crime. the battlefield of coats and compliments and feelings.

he gestured to the bed.

you hesitated.

'up.'

you climbed onto the gurney like you were being sent to the gallows.

you watched him gather the suture kit. watched the ease in his movements, the confidence in his hands. prepped a tray of supplies with practiced ease. you stared at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact like your life depended on it.

'you—you don’t have to,' you said, voice shaking as you stared at your shoes. 'i mean, you could ask one of your residents. i’m sure they’re—'

'i trained them,' jack said flatly. 'doesn’t mean i trust them.'

you blinked. 'but—'

he stepped closer. took your injured hand with such deliberate gentleness you nearly forgot to breathe. 'they’re still learning,' he said. 'you’re not a practice body.'

your heart stuttered at that.

his fingers were careful. gentle, even—but his eyes? still sharp. still on you.

the sterile silence stretched while he prepped the stitches. you watched his hands work, the burn in your palm nothing compared to the burn in your face.

he didn’t speak again until the needle was in his grip.

'so, how’d it happen?'

you tensed. 'it’s—uh, it’s nothing, really. just a—uh—a stupid slip. happens all the time, you know, just one of those days and the scalpel was, um, sharp—obviously—and it just—'

'try again,' he said, without looking up.

you swallowed.

'tell me the truth,' he added, quieter this time. 'you’ve done this job for how long? three years?' your heart stuttered because that? there was no reason he'd know that. and that meant that he'd asked about you. he'd purposely tried to find out information about you.

'four.'

'exactly. so i doubt you just forgot how to handle a scalpel overnight.' he glanced up, brow raised. 'what really happened?'

you shriveled under his stare. your mouth opened. closed. opened again. and then it all came out at once.

'i—okay—i was distracted, alright? i was cleaning the table and i just—i wasn’t thinking straight because someone told me to keep their stupid coat and then they told me it—it suits me—and i couldn’t stop thinking about it which is ridiculous because i know you were just being polite and trying to be nice and maybe like, not feel guilty for yelling at me which is fine by the way, i wasn’t mad or anything but it just got in my head and—and—then i knocked the tray over and i grabbed the blade without looking and now we’re here—so.'

silence.

utter silence.

you didn’t breathe.

your eyes were huge.

because, oh god, what had you just said? why had you said that?

and jack abbot was fucking grinning. not smirking. not smoldering. grinning. like a goddamn kid. like someone just handed him the sun.

'jesus christ,' he muttered, shaking his head. 'you’re unbelievable.'

you buried your face in your uninjured hand. 'i know, i know, i didn’t mean to say all of that, just—forget it—'

'no way.' he was beaming now. 'you think I gave you my coat because I felt guilty?'

you looked at him like he’d just accused you of grand larceny. 'well—yeah?' you squeaked. he huffed out a laugh—soft, warm, real. 'morgue girl…'

'what?'

he bent forward slightly, still holding your hand with one of his own, the needle paused in the other. you blinked up at him, still reeling, still red, still trying to play catch-up while he tugged the last stitch tight.

he cut the thread with a flick of surgical scissors.

then he looked at you. really looked.

and he said, voice low, not flirty, not teasing—earnest. 'yeah, okay. the first time i gave you the coat… that was guilt. i’ll admit it.”

you froze. 'but the second time?'

he leaned back on his stool, hands braced loosely on his knees, head tilted like he was debating how honest to be.'that wasn’t about guilt,' he said.

he glanced away for half a second—then back. 'that was because i didn’t like the thought of you freezing half to death down there. not when i could do something about it.'

your lips parted. no words came.

'i’ve worked in this hospital for years,' he went on, almost to himself. 'plenty of people down in the morgue. most of ‘em i barely remember. but you?' his eyes caught yours again.

'you’re the first one i’ve ever gone downstairs for.'

you felt your breath stick in your throat. your fingers twitched. your skin felt too warm under the er lights.

'i didn’t mean to mess with your head,' he added, softer now. 'but i’m not sorry for noticing you. not sorry for the coat. and i’m definitely not sorry for wanting to make sure you’re warm.'

you whispered, 'why?'

his smile curved slow and dangerous.

'because i like you cold,' he said, standing. 'but i like you warm a hell of a lot more.'

then he brushed his knuckles—very gently—down your cheek. just once. he chuckled again, shaking his head as he went back to stitching you up—like he hadn’t just said the most unhinged thing in the world.

and then he walked out like he hadn’t just wrecked your soul and left your brain in seventeen different emotional pieces on a hospital gurney.

your brain fizzled out.

your brain short-fucking-circuited. completely. full system shutdown. he left the room like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t just said those words, hadn’t just looked at you like that, hadn’t just touched your face like you were something gentle.

and you were still sitting on the damn gurney with your hand bandaged and your heart trying to claw its way out of your chest like it was auditioning for a medical emergency of its own.

what.

the actual fuck.

was that.

you replayed it. again. and again. and again.

because I like you cold. but I like you warm a hell of a lot more.

who says that?? who says that and then leaves?? who says that to you, the awkward morgue tech who talks to corpses and can’t look a resident in the eye without breaking into hives?

your ears were ringing. your skin felt like it had been dipped in lava. you could still feel the ghost of his knuckles on your cheek. like it had been branded into your nervous system.

you kicked your feet a little off the side of the gurney.

you wanted to scream into your hands. or crawl into the nearest biohazard bin and never return. or maybe pass away quietly in the trauma bay because that would be less humiliating than what just happened.

you glanced down at your bandaged hand. still there. still throbbing. still very much stitched up by the man who just emotionally detonated you like a code blue in your chest cavity.

you whispered to no one :

'…what the fuck.'

and then immediately clapped a hand over your mouth, because oh my god, that had come out aloud.

you peeked toward the hallway. no one. thank god. except—was that dana? you scrambled off the gurney like it had caught fire.

you needed to get out. away. back to the cold, back to the dead, back to your lane.

because this?

this was too warm. too dangerous. too much. and the worst part?

the worst part was how badly—how embarrassingly badly—you wanted him to say something like that again.

🔖  .   @Princesssunderworld  @mayabbot  @Imherefordeanandbones  @Arigoldsblog  @oldmanbunnylover  @I-mushi  @autumnleaves1991-blog  @lovelexi717  @peggyofoz  @qtmoonies  @nfwmb-gvf  @britt217  @babybatreads  @cheekym8s  @bitteroceanlove  @spooky-librarian-ghost  @dr-yapper  @yutasgem  @keseqna  @gardeniarose13  @witchbitchlovesdilfs  @sotragedynut  @robbyrosierobinavitch  @anglophileforlife @flyinglama  @reignbooks8506 @kmc1989  @sillymuffintrashflap @letstryagaintomorrow @caterpillarskimono @maiamore  @chuiisi  @madzleigh01 @qardasngan @Imightbeinsanebutwtv  @Shadowfoxey @foolishseven @anxiousfuckupon  @Lumpypoll  @Coldmuffinbanditshoe  @blueliketheseaa  @Justfaefaeee  @sweetdayme4427  @404creep  @yourdaydreamerfan  @ddrawers96  @m14mags  @generalstarlightobject  @twiddledeedumsworld  @dlljdhsh  @jetless  @Thedamnqueenofhell  @Topnerd03  @misshoneypaper  @abllor @Loud-mouph @cannonindeez @nubecita040 @Sabi127  @Coleground  @sevenberry   @idontcarenoughtonamethis  @beebeechaos  @cwzham  @homebytheharbor  @Sammiib444  @painment  @namgification  @Cherry_cosmos  @catmomstyles3

[mindless-existence1]

Kpop Demon Hunters

Humanized!Saja Boys x Reader Headcannons

Summery: Fluff and Smut headcannons about the Saja Boys as boyfriends (separate)

Authors note: I FINISHED WRITING THIS AND THEN IT DELETED AND I HAD TO REWRITE THE WHOLE THING anyway requests open

This includes Jinu, Baby, and Abby pt2 will have Mystery and Romance

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jinu Fluff

Hes the most used to being a human but that doesnt mean hes any good at the whole dating thing.

When you first start dating any of his "smoothness" goes straight of the window and he becomes very nervous around you

Eventually though he becomes more relaxed and really shows his true self.

I think his love langue is a mix of gift giving and physical touch

Hes the type of guy to see something that reminds him of you and he gets it

Doesn't let you pay for anything cuz hes there for you

And being an idol is a stressing thing so especially after a big preformance all he needs is to cuddle

His favorite thing is cuddled up under a huge blanket after practice and just getting to have a break with you

Jinu smut

Definitely a switch in my mind he has that dominant vibe but there are times he wants to be taken care of

After really good performances hes dominant, hes on an adrenaline rush and feels on top of the world

I see him as a soft dom because hes worried hes going to hurt you in some way

But if he gets really mad or upset he just needs a good fuck and he just lets himself go

His aftercare is immaculate tho dont get me wrong he cleans you, gets your anything you want/need, a hot bath, etc

The opposite though is when hes upset and wants to get taken care of.

Other times is when hes tired from a preformance or practice.

Kinks he has:

Over stimulation: This shows up in when hes taking care of you and tries to get as many orgasms out of you as he can

Dirty talk: When hes worked up he cant stop talking, he'll whisper in your ear when hes pounding into you

Praise: whether hes top or bottom he'll praise you but also likes getting praised when hes a bottom it makes him come so fast.

Baby Fluff

Very straight forward with how hes feeling I dont see him as the innocent "baby" figure he shows

Despite the fact we know "all demons do is feel" his feelings for you are...different. Demons arent really used to romantic attraction.

So even though hes confident doesn't mean he knows what hes doing. After the first few dates he starts to figure things out.

Its a lot of trial and error but one you get into the groove of things its great.

His love langue is quality time, since he is busy a lot whenever he gets to actually hang out with you its his favorite thing

Definitely a pda enjoyer, hes likes showing you off hes a prideful man and hes proud of his partner

One thing he really enjoys being in a relationship is the comfort that comes from it.

At the beginning he wasnt sure what he was feeling but he now enjoys the warm fuzzy feeling he gets when he sees you

Baby smut

A dom. Thats the truth of it.

Like i said hes not innocent and to be honest I can see him as the freakiest of the group.

At the very least hes a power bottom, there are times he is too tired to do all the work and controls from the bottom.

But whenever you want to take charge he lets you just so he can tease and give condescending praise/degradation

"Aw my poor baby, are you all tired? Already we just started. Do i have to do everything around he? Just be the good slut I know you are and let me fuck you yeah?"

His aftercare is amazing he'll code switch entierly and become his most affectionate after sex

Kinks of his:

Bdsm, hes the freakiest and is into a lot of stuff that falls under this category, hes up for almost anything and gets off to you letting him do all that stuff he wants

Dirty talk, hes a rapper very good with his words and it comes out here, like i said before he is into degradation and a mix of praise but hes very talkative

Public sex, not directly in the public eye but he gets off to being risky and doing it in places theres at least a small chance someone finds you

Abby Fluff

Hes like a really big himbo teddy bear. Unde the beefy abs hes just a baby.

Like Baby and the other guys (except Jinu) hes not used to romantic attraction at all so hes very attentive in learning how to be a good boyfriend

Very protective as well hes the type of guy to always have a hand on your waist or holding yours when walking or in a crowded space

Likes to show off his strength and just kinda in general so sometimes he'll just pick you up or will do something for you randomly to show off

Love langue is physical touchs in words of affirmation. Hes a big dude so a lot more to cuddle and he just likes the closeness of it.

He always has a hand on your in some way whether that be your thigh, waist, back, hand, anything he just likes being close and that touch is nice.

Words of affirmation is more receiving then giving he really likes hearing that hes doing something right as a boyfriend and you love him

Abby Smut

A service top. He lives to serve and in bed he'll do anything you ask anything you want he'll do.

One of the easiest to get to bottom, hes there to please and rarely indulges in himself so bottoming doesnt change much for him.

I feel hed be a bit worried to hurt you because hes beefy and he was a demon so that keeps him from being rough as well.

When he gets overwhelmed by emotion (anger or sadness or happiness or whatever) he will get a bit more rough but its followed by the best praise

One of the best at aftercare, he'll do everything you ask whether its rubbing your sore legs or getting you snacks

Kinks he has:

Mirror sex, not a kink persay but he really likes doing it where he can see everything thats happening not just his pov

Different places, likes having sex in different places either around his room or "house" (its more of a penthouse i perfume but whateves) not in public like Baby but he likes knowing your his everywhere

Mutual masturbation, he likes seeing you masturbate. Not only does it turn him on but he also gets to see what you like and talk you through it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pt2 with Romance and Mystery is coming comment if you want to be tagged in it!

[jyunhology]

what’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ smg (f)

summary: mingi worries about whether you’ll still be his without the extravagance of being an idol. you don’t hesitate to show it.

a/n: based off a dream i had with mingi <3 also i dont think mingi has explicitly said why he like rings - im sure he just likes it as an accessory. dont read too much into this, it’s just a hc! also i realise i talk quite a lot about chrome hearts in this and rightfully so i shouldve made this about woo but... the mingi worms took over TT

wc: 2.1k

It wasn’t any secret that Mingi loved his jewellery. On top of necklaces and chain bracelets, he always kept his rings close to his heart.

They don’t just contribute to his explosive, alluring stage persona, but also grounds himself to the performance, to the photoshoot, to whatever schedule he was fulfilling.

The way the rings enclose around his fingers are there to remind him that the hands — which have carried himself in B-boying classes, or have manoeuvred over the control panel for his FIX OFF projects — are the very hands that have clinched this dream, this opportunity to share his music and dance with the world.

But ever since he’s met you, the weight of the rings feels odd to him, regret filling his bones when he thinks back to the first time you held hands three weeks in. It was a messy encounter along a hiking trail — you had forgotten to bring a jacket, he had forgotten the warm soup he so meticulously cooked — overlooking the city of Seoul.

You were giddy with feelings, too afraid of shattering the moment with a trivial complaint about his chunky jewellery digging into your skin.

And back at the dorm that night, Mingi feels a rush of elation bubbling up from beneath him after experiencing your warmth: the kind that makes you grin wide. But when photos from Dispatch show the indents of the Chrome Hearts motif and a gemstone embedded in your skin, is when the guilt seeps in.

The next few dates are scarce, but spent with empty fingers. Though, when he’s not twining his hands with yours, he’s fidgeting with his own; sweaty, nervous, jittery.

What if you didn’t like the off-stage, softer Mingi? What if you only preferred his tough-guy presence? What if you only liked the embellishments that made up who he was on stage? You had been a fan before getting together with him.

He spends the next few weeks like this — in a dilemma, anxious for whether you’d like him for him. Until your Instagram story repost has his heart sinking to his feet; it could’ve been the long day of rehearsing and performing, or it could’ve been Mingi’s silent unease that made him do a double take on the pictures. 

He could’ve sworn those were your hands; the same hands that his fingers go over like constellations and the hands he melts under like chocolate; his saving grace during horror movies (not that you were any better, hiding in his chest) and bad days at the dance studio.

But they could also be someone else’s: adorned with rings that boasted more slender, prettier versions of Chrome Hearts motifs with a cool set of nails that he feels a tug at his chest.

What difference would it make if he had all the shiniest rings in the world, but couldn’t be accepted? It was a stupid thing to feel insecure over, he knows, but he can’t fight the nagging feeling inside of him.

So when you’re meeting up with Mingi at his dorm later that night, you’re wondering why he’s so quiet while he receives you in the doorway, with San and Seonghwa shooting you wary glances, eyes narrowed as they watch you scurry behind your boyfriend to his room.

It’s not until halfway through a movie that you can’t stomach any more animosity lingering in the atmosphere, pausing the video on the laptop to face Mingi. And for someone who’s a proud T (even if MBTI tests aren’t inherently accurate), you’ve never seen him so flustered before.

“What’s going on, Mingi?” You frown, placing the laptop far from the both of you before settling in between his legs. A bold move for a new, blooming relationship like yours but gods, you’d do anything to keep someone as bright, as heavenly as Song Mingi close to your body and closer to your heart.

Gone is the energetic rapper on stage; instead, you’re faced with the quietude of your lover, eyes shifting and hands fiddling at whether to tell you about his worries.

“Whatever it is, you know we can handle it together, right?” Without looking, your hands reach out for his. It’s like your body knows — the natural lean into him when he starts speaking, a gentle smile ghosting on your lips. The heat crawling up your neck both in shyness and amusement when he makes a cheesy joke, unfiltered laughter falling from you.

With your tender voice in his head, Mingi hardens his resolve in telling you what’s on his mind, but he feels your fingers play with his rings, seemingly feeling around with hesitation.

“Why’re you wearing your rings right now, Min?” Min, he likes the new nickname, but soon calms his heart from any other distractions.

He takes over your embrace, letting his hands wrap around yours as he brings them to his mouth. A kiss, light like a whisper makes your breath hitch. So enamoured with you, that he doesn’t see your painted fingers.

“Your… story, that’s you?” His voice is soft, spoken like he’ll break the tension. Your head tilts to one side. “Insta story.”

“Oh—” You squeal, excited that he’s finally said something about your appointment today. “Yes, look!”

Your wiggling fingers are what makes Mingi pull away from the back of your hands, spread out across his larger palms as he observes the little charms, the unique textures and most importantly, his rap signature, Fix On, mirroring the design he had for the MAMA awards.

And here he was, assuming things about you like you hadn’t given him a burned CD of his favourite songs after the first month. Like you didn’t stay up after a night shift crafting a handmade paper gift for your second monthsary. You are as, if not more, infatuated with Mingi as he is with you, and he never wants to doubt you ever again.

“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?” It isn’t until you’re saying that that Mingi realises the furrow in his eyebrows and the blurriness of his vision. All it takes is one tear drop to fall from his eyes before you’re pulling him into your arms, letting him soak your shirt with his tears and apologies.

“I’m sorry— I—I thought,” Mingi regains his breath after a short time, leaning into the support your hands created. “Nevermind, it’s lame.”

“Hey no, anything that makes you cry isn’t lame. C’mon, what is it?”

“You’re gonna laugh.” He sniffles with a pout.

You lean in for a peck, something that relaxes his shoulders and eases his heart. “I won’t, Mingi.”

He admires your determined expression, not knowing you were shitting bricks as you thought back — was the CD corrupted? Did you accidentally use your sketches of Mingi when making the gift and he’s weirded out? The last thing you wanted was to upset him.

“I thought… I assumed it was someone else in your story. That— that you were going out with someone else who wore cool rings like me.” You nod along, wondering where he’s going with this when you feel the coldness of the metal on his fingers.

Something clicks in you; it’s out of place, it’s something that doesn’t exactly belong in a room that’s meant to shield you from everything.

“That if I laid myself bare to you — without the heavy chains around my neck, or the revealing clothes, or the sensual way I act on stage — you wouldn’t like it.”

You open your mouth to say something but he continues, “I’ve seen what some of the fans say, project an image onto me, that sometimes they’re surprised I can cook, or that I can have in-depth conversations about things I’m passionate about. Or that I can get together with someone… and like them enough to stick with them.”

It isn’t a stretch with what Mingi’s saying. You have seen your fair share of fans who take it too far sometimes in TikTok comments and on Twitter, that you can’t help but feel guilty for not doing more.

You stay silent, not because you don’t have anything to say, but because you think your words would come out as shallow, as mere band-aids to a harsh wound.

So you wordlessly remove the rings from his fingers, slide them off one by one to place them on the bedside table.

There’s one left that lingers, a ring on his fourth finger that no doubt doesn’t fit your smaller ones, but you put it on either way. It’s a bit of a funny sight, the ring swaying with each move of your hands, but your sentiment is there.

It’s something that looks out of place, but it’s not heavy like Mingi’s rings had been on him before. Now they hold a promise, an oath —

“I know I can’t experience even a fraction of what you feel, but I’ll carry that weight with you, okay? What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours.” The chill of the rings no longer burns his fingers, and so it doesn’t make him shiver when you plant your hands on his cheeks.

“And I’ll die trying to tell you I love not just the Mingi on stage, but also the Mingi who forgot the soup at Naksan and the Mingi here in this room right now.”

There’s a bout of silence. Mingi gasps.

“Hold on... you just said love—” Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn hot. You’re not sure how to respond.

“Fuck, did I?” You mutter to yourself, suddenly self conscious as you look off to the side, but Mingi is beaming, mouth stretched to a pretty, gummy grin. And he can’t help but tackle you into a hug, making you yelp out in surprise at the sudden weight on you.

It’s today that you learn that Mingi’s love is silent. His love is burying kisses deep in your neck until he’s sure it’ll materialise as moles in your next life. His love is the unconscious adjustment of his big ring on you, pressing down with pure force until it closes around your fourth finger more snugly.

On another day down the months, Mingi’s love is the modest rejection of your own Chrome Hearts ring, a cheap dupe you got at a flea market that you thought was a steal.

He’s pushing your hand away gently. “It’s okay, baby. I know how much you like this ring. You basically wear it everywhere.”

You playfully glare at him and elbow him lightly. “Take it, Mingi. I want you to have it.”

“Why?”

“Well, just ‘cause! Can’t I give my boyfriend a little something?” 

He giggles like a schoolgirl — enough to make the members in the seats in front to look at each other with puzzled expressions — but your loving touch grounds him.

He doesn’t think about the discomfort of sitting at the back of the six-seater car, nor the fact that your ring struggles to go past his second joint (“That’s called the proximal interphalangeal, by the way.” He nudges back with a google search pulled up).

Thighs touch, exchanging the kind of heat that sears your skin and warms your heart. Your arm loops around his, playing aimlessly with your well-used ring on him.

And Mingi’s heart-wrenching love turns into devotion sooner or later. A soft kiss to your hair in the car, a simultaneous promise to use rings only on one hand on dates, and a proud wiggle on his finger on a live when Dispatch catches pictures of a rusted ring years later.

“Well, ATINYs, it’s because it’s a gift from someone. A someone who once said ‘what’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours’, and a someone who gave me her favourite ring even though she uses it everywhere.”

The comments went rapidly just as Mingi shows a sliver of you resting on the studio couch after a night shift, eyes softening at your image reflected on the phone.

“But you know, between you and me, ATINY,” Mingi leans in with a smile, whispering, “if she somehow grows out of using rings, I’ll still try my best to get one on her fourth finger.”

You smile, half asleep.

“And maybe it’ll be a Chrome Hearts ring, too.”

A giggle escapes. Mingi yells in surprise. His cheeks turn pink. The last thing the fans see is a hand covering the camera, rust staining the silver of your replica and looks a little worse for wear.

But it doesn’t matter, not when he knows you love every aspect of him. Not when Mingi now knows that you ground him in performances, in photoshoots, in schedules.

And his fingers, his heart feels a little lighter, trusting you’re right there to remove it all just as he would for you. All but one — a promise to make you his forever.

by. janus, from me to you ♡ / slightly off-topic but i had a bit of trouble writing this but im kinda happy with how it turned out. the fact that while resting in between writing, i would come across exact comments about how they didnt know mingi could cook etc.. so im going to change that bit by bit!

[rafeys-angel13]

blood work comfort

- request a fic - masterlist -

——— ⋆·˚ ༘ * doctor!rafe x bambi!reader

you had never liked getting blood work done. ever. it was the worst thing anyone could do to you. it was torture.

when you met rafe, you expressed your opinion on the subject. he chuckled fondly at you and told you he’d help you overcome your phobia. you disagreed, adamant that he wouldn’t be able to help you.

but here you are, sat in the doctors office. you and rafe have been married for a year and together for 4.

“alright, sweetheart… you ready?” he asks softly, scooting his chair over to you. you shake your head, your legs swinging off the edge of the creepy table thing. “i know it’s scary, but i’d never hurt you— would i?” he looks up at you, a gloved hand resting on your thigh, making you cringe.

“no… but i still don’t want to do this.” you mumble. all you want to do right now is bury yourself in his arms and never come back out.

he gets out the band to wrap around your arm and tears immediately prick in your eyes. his concerned expression becomes deeper when he sees the scared look on your face.

“no don’t panic, bambi…” he tells you soothingly, giving your cheek a soft kiss. you sniffle and let the tears fall down.

“i dont wanna do it” rafe cringes as the sounds of your cries fill the room. he continues to tie the band around your arm, trying to ignore your panicked tone.

“i’m sorry but it has to happen. we need to get to the bottom of what’s the matter, this is the only way…” he says firmly, yet his face shows no sign of annoyance.

he sorts out the needle and what he needs, much to your dismay.

“no rafe, i can’t” you whine and shake your head.

“yes you can, doll… of course you can” he reassures you with a small smile, kissing your flushed cheek yet again. “stop crying… you’re making me feel bad…” he chuckles, and you pout.

“you should feel bad, this is torture.” you sniffle, making rafe chuckle.

“i’m sorry, sweetheart… it’s for the best though…” he gives you a few soft kisses to your temple and holds up the needle for you to see. “look at how small that is… it’s literally going to be a tiny prick. i promise. i’ll be as quick as i can, okay?” the look in his eyes makes you feel slightly more comfortable, he looks confident that it will be okay.

you lean forward and bury your face in his neck. “just do it.” you mumble, he smiles fondly as he hears the pout in your voice.

“you remember that dress you saw that you liked the other day?” rafe asks gently, his voice quiet and smooth.

“yeah…” you respond with your voice muffled.

“how about after this… we go buy it. i was thinking about it, and i think you’ll look so pretty in it.” his voice is a low rumble, you can hear it as you’re pressed against his neck. “can’t stop thinking about you in it…”

“yes please…” you respond, your voice a little happier than before. he pulls away and grabs a cotton ball, pressing it on the inner side of your elbow. “what?” you ask, confused.

“all done, honey.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“oh…” you smile, watching as he wipes away the extra blood and puts a band aid over the small poke.

“i’m proud of you, sweetheart” he gushes and pulls you into his lap. “how was it?”

“i barely felt it… i thought you were still doing something with the band…” you smile, resting your head against his cheek.

“i’m glad it didn’t hurt… i was trying to be as gentle as i could… your precious…”

[dollfacefantasy]

dont think ive ever tried requestig from you (hello i love the way you write) and if its okay could you write old man logan with like a daddy kink... or one where hes being a little cocky or teasing her about liking it while shes sat on his lap

older bf!logan howlett x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fingering, daddy kink, in public, slight intoxication a/n: thank you so much <3 i hope you like it, i feel a little rusty with logan lol

i just can’t get you out of my head.

the words blared through the club’s speakers with a beat of drums thumping behind it. pink and blue lights swirled around the dance floor to the rhythm.

normally, logan stayed outside places like these. he sat in the parking lot behind the wheel of the limo until the bachelorette party or group of drunk twenty-something’s came staggering out, ready to be driven to their next destination.

but tonight he’s inside. he’s in a booth in the back corner of the room, drink in hand. that group of drunk girls with IDs that show they’re not far past twenty-one are here too. half of them are seated at the table next to him. the others are out on the dance floor, hips rolling and arms raised as they dance along to the song.

his eyes lingered on one in particular. you.

you’re out there in your shimmery dress you’d bought last week, heels on your feet that boost your height several inches. he watched from a distance as you laughed and spun around to the song. your hand stayed linked with your friend while the two of you danced.

he had tried to get out of coming here with you tonight. as much as he loved you, he was often wary of flaunting your relationship to your friends. he didn’t need people seeing you, young and vibrant and in the prime of your life, with him, someone who couldn’t be hurdling any faster towards the end if they tried.

but you’d begged and pleaded, thrown in some puppy eyes and claimed that some of your other friends would have plus ones as well. so here he was.

and even though this wasn’t really his scene, he couldn’t deny that he liked watching how your skin glowed under the lights. and how your body bobbed around in perfect time to the music.

when the current song ended, another one started up, but your dancing came to a slow stop. your eyes found his across the room. you grinned before starting to make your way back to him.

your walk was bouncier than usual, still going along with the beat of the music. you did a little spin and swayed your hips extra. your friend trailed along behind you, but she diverted in paths to go to the booth beside the one logan occupied.

“having fun out there?” he asked once you were within range of his voice.

you nodded quickly. “mhm,” you hummed, doing one more twirl before plopping down in his lap.

his arm came to loop around your waist while his other hand smoothed out the skirt of your dress, making sure it wasn’t riding up and giving a show to any other set of eyes in this place.

you smacked a breathless kiss on his cheek. “did i look good out there?” you asked above the loud music.

“‘course you did. you even gotta ask?” he said. his voice was much lower than yours. husky and rough, spoken right into your ear.

that same coy smile you had out there reappeared. “i know i did. i saw you watching me. and you looked less grumpy than normal,” you teased.

“oh yeah?” he said, raising his brows to indulge you. “well, knowing i have the prettiest girl in this place all to myself does make things a little more tolerable i guess.”

that brought a giggle out of you. you looked away and brought your drink to your lips, swallowing down some more of the bright green liquid inside.

maybe if logan had a better head on his shoulders he’d tell you to ease up on the drinking since you were clearly already a little buzzed. but at the same time, if you wanted to get tipsy and cute, who was he to tell you no? he’d be the one taking care of you anyways.

you plucked the cherry out from your glass. sucking it into your mouth, you detached the small bulb from the stem. he watched you swallow it down before you tugged on his collar and brought him in for a kiss.

that saccharine syrup was all he could taste as your mouths made contact. you weren’t being coy about this. the kiss wasn’t a chaste peck, far from it. your tongue swiped against his own as your breath fanned out over his face.

“you gettin’ antsy? feeling ready to leave soon?” he murmured as you began to pull away.

“maybe…” you said.

“ah-ah. not gonna be a maybe if you’re kissing me like that,” he said, taking hold of your chin.

you bit your lip and looked at him, lashes fluttering over your dilated pupils.

“but i might wanna dance more…” you said.

“really?” he asked, his voice lilted enough to let you know it was a challenge. his hands came to grab your waist and boost you to your feet. “be my guest.”

“wait-“ you whined, hooking your arm around his neck to keep you there. “not yet.”

“and why’s that?”

“causeeee…” you said with a subtle pout.

his hand delved south to give your thigh a rough squeeze. “what’d i tell you about whining?” he asked, his voice quiet and raspy.

he could see that switch flick in your eyes, that spark that would soon be a full-fledged flame.

“because…” you went to correct yourself. “i’m still catching my breath from before… and i want daddy to take care of me.”

you were so easy. he shook his head slightly and let out a low chuckle.

he hummed in feigned realization. “i see,” he said. his hand on your waist slid around, rubbing over the small of your back down to your hip in a massage of sorts.

“mhm. my legs are tired. and i missed youuu while i was out there,” you mumbled, slotting your face against his neck.

“my poor baby,” he said.

he shifted a little in the booth, shifting his position enough that your lower half would be almost entirely shielded by the table. you were already separated from your friends by the partition between booths. and two of them had made their way over to the bar again, meaning you’d have a couple of minutes to yourselves guaranteed.

his fingers dipped underneath your skirt and found your panties in seconds. he wouldn’t waste time while you were out in public. they swiped over the cloth a few times, almost testing the waters.

“you’re lucky you have me, huh?” he said as his digits hooked under the garment and pulled it to the side. “i don’t know how you get through nights out on your own.”

you whined softly against his throat, spreading your thighs a few inches.

“i know,” he whispered. “daddy’s got you right now. you don’t have to worry.”

his fingers slid into your slick warmth. you inhaled sharply as he filled you up in one go. he just held them there for a few moments. you wanted more though, and you wanted it now.

you tried rocking your hips a bit to get some friction, but his other hand held you still.

“be good or you’ll have to wait until you get home,” he said.

it was quiet and curt, but it was the only direction you needed. from then on, you kept still.

you gasped quietly as he drew his fingers back and then pumped them in again. your body remained motionless though. you stayed in the same position as he began thrusting them at a consistent rhythm. in and out, in and out.

the music in this place was loud enough to conceal any tiny noises you let slip. all your little squeaks and whimpers were reached logan’s ears only.

“i can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he mocked quietly. “never knew my little girl could be so dirty.”

your nails dug into the shoulders of his suit. “fuck, just need it,” you whimpered.

“i bet you do. if i made you go out there to dance for me some more, you’d be lost, wishing my hands were all over you, giving you something to grind on instead,” he rasped.

your own hand flew to your mouth to muffle the noise threatening to come out that would undoubtedly be louder than the others.

his breath on your neck combined with the music thumping throughout the place and the liquor in you had your head spinning by now. even through the haze though, you could feel release creeping up on you.

you looked at him, wide eyes pleading for permission.

“ask me, baby. ask like you’re supposed to,” he said.

you peeled your hand an inch or two away from your mouth. just enough to squeak out. “please, daddy. please. please. need to cum.”

“good girl,” he praised. “let go, sweetheart. let me feel it.”

your legs went taut beneath the table and your hand clamped over your lips once again. you could only hope no one was looking over here as you let yourself hit the high. your eyes rolled back as you melted into his strong arms.

he held you close and worked you through it. he turned enough that you weren’t exactly in plain view of just anybody. his fingers kept at their task until your walls no longer spasmed around them.

“atta girl,” he said, pulling them free. he gave you a squeeze to coax you back down to earth. “did so good for me, honey.”

you sat up just a little bit before nuzzling further into his neck. he chuckled and wrapped both his arms around you, giving you a couple of moments to calm down.

after a minute, you pulled back and looked at him. your forehead shined slightly with a sheen of perspiration while your eyes had that faint fucked-out look.

“you still want that last dance?” he asked knowingly.

as he expected, you shook your head. you were more than ready to stand from the booth and head home now.

[meiguicha]

3.30 A.M

Phainon x Reader

While the rest of the world sleeps, you remain awake as you realise it's all too easy to love Phainon.

//i will be on the news if i dont get him that is a promise not a threat. no angst im kissing him on the forehead and holding him like a plush toy in my arms. also no proof read its phainon loving hours

It's quiet now. The revelry and chaos of the waking hours have long since died and yet here you are, far too awake and confused to even consider slumber as an option.

Looking off to the side, standing tall on your nightstand is a small vase carrying a bundle of flowers in its embrace. Light falls onto the soft powdery blue petals, revealing the veins of life beneath its gaze. Yet it isn't the flowers that has enthralled you so but rather the vessel that holds them. A note lays in your palm, neat handwriting scrawled across, the very source of your sleeplessness signing it off.

For the past months, you've been eyeing it at Theodoros' place and yet could never bring yourself to get it.

And perhaps you haven't been the most subtle about your longing for it, you're certain Theodoros had more than just noticed and has even started leaving it out for you to stare at like a soggy wet cat left out in the rain.

Yet still, the reason for this very vase being in your house is not one borne from your own action. Simply, you found it on your doorstep with this very note. Though some would exercise some caution in accepting random gifts off their doorstep, the moment you saw those flowers, you knew who it was from.

The pads of your fingers ghost over the note once more, trying, attempting to discern a deeper meaning from such an action.

'I noticed you kept looking back at this vase when we went out earlier this week, and you've been mentioning wanting to get some flowers for your room so I thought you would enjoy these!!

Don't worry, I checked the authenticity and it's a genuine artifact!! Looking forward to hanging out tomorrow <3

Phainon'

He even signed it off with his name, as if there's anyone else in the whole of Okhema who would even do this. As if there is anyone else in the whole of Amphoreus who would even think of ending a letter with a heart so casually.

Seriously, getting things for you like this, writing cute notes like this, it's almost like he wants you to fall in love with him—

It's weird. You don't understand what this feeling in your chest is.

Staring at the flowers, at the forget-me-nots, at the vase and the note, something in your ribs turns. Maybe it's always been there and maybe all this time, all it needed was a little push for you to realise.

How long you've felt like this, you don't know, you don't have to know. Merely the thought of that smile you have always loved, decorating his face in that boyish joy as he totes around the vase, hands so carefully placing such longing blooms into it, even a fool would be lovestruck.

Your head buzzes with static, instinct pulls at the tendons of your form; lets you reach for your teleslate and type out a message.

'Can I see you?'

A text bubble pops up immediately before disappearing, the three dots blink at you, almost taunting as it once more disappears. It's clear he's read it, but the teetering and tottering between response and absence is driving you crazy.

You spend who knows how long merely staring at the screen, bright light searing into your eyes watching the bubble pop in and out. Until eventually, it disappears altogether.

Tomorrow, all you can do is reassure yourself. Tomorrow, you'll figure it all out.

Turning off your teleslate, you're ready to resolve yourself for a restless slumber when there is a soft knock on your door. Hesitant, as if afraid, knuckles lingering on the wood before it comes again, just as cautious.

Your gaze shifts to the device by you once more, nothing. And for a moment, you almost wonder whether the knocking is but a delusion of your mind. Yet still, no matter your doubts, you make those tentative steps closer, closer, bring yourself to the door if only to cast away the doubt on your shoulders.

The sight that greets you, that welcomes you, is no one else but the very person in your thoughts. His hair is disheveled, face slightly flushed as he leans against the frame.

"Did you—" Dumbly, all you can do is ask, pretending that the dumbfounded look on your face is not at all there. "—did you run here?"

"You asked whether you could see me," He smiles, voice wavering ever so slightly.

To have come all the way here, in such short time, and what is clearly home wear, he seriously dropped everything just because you asked.

With a breathless quality to your already soft words, you just manage to shyly meet his gaze. "Thank you, for the vase. And the flowers."

Phainon's eyes, his gaze and regard are warm. When they bask over your form, a sensation perhaps only similar to that great star fills your very form and guides your veins. It makes you almost shy, nothing more than a teenager scribbling the initials of their crush and their own onto their homework.

"I love—" You have to catch yourself before your clumsy mouth spills what you can't handle. "I love them."

"That's great! I'm glad."

The corners of his eyes crinkle together, cheeks flushed ever more as he rubs the back of his neck. A small laugh even escapes his lips, and more than anything, you can't understand how seeing him like this can make your heart feel so full.

It is simple. So, so simple.

And as here he stands in front of you, real, whole, these emotions you have barely processed feel as though they are seeping out of your every orifice the more you dance around them.

As if sharing an illicit secret, quietly, you step closer, reach for his hand as you murmur, "Have I ever told you how much you mean to me?"

"Because— what you make me feel, how you make me feel, is not something I feel like I can ever explain." Squeezing his hand tighter, your eyes naturally meet his.

In this very moment, there is nothing else but you. Reflected in those sky-blue eyes, that which hold the greatest joy of them all, there truly is nothing but ardent and ever-devoted beholding.

"I don't know when you've become irreplaceble to me, whether as a friend or..."

Before you can finish your sentence, you're scooped into an embrace, arms wrapped tight around you as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against the tender skin, and yet so gentle that you can feel that organ in your ribs shudder. All you can do is return the gesture, to snake your arms around his form and feel his response through your chests.

""You don't know how happy I am to hear that from you," Radiant and hoarse all the same, Phainon's very words are sung into your skin.

A wet feeling tinges your nerves, and as he holds you tighter, until you can feel his heart knocking on the doors of your own, he whispers against you. "I was grateful I could be your friend but knowing that you feel the same..."

"Let me see you, please,"

He listens, and just as you suspected, tears dew at his lashes. Bringing a hand to cup his face, you meticulously wipe away his tears and even as his very breath splinters at the base, he lets you do so with no complaint or qualm.

Despite the tears, the joy on his very being is unmistakable, shining through everything.

And now, as Amphoreus sleeps, you smile knowing that it really is that easy. What's there to understand?

"Let's be happy together, Phainon."

[lilhughesy]

°•*⁀➷ YOU & LUKE — umich hockey au thoughts

warnings! slightly suggestive!

times you were caught on the ring doorbell!

- hockey house keeps a ring doorbell just in case

- but like 90% of the time, everyone uses it as a mini vlog camera

- the boys giving each other small updates like:

“on my way to practice, first one leaving because all you fuckers take too long”

“just came back from class… pretty sure i slept through the whole thing so i think i gotta convince bear somehow to give me her notes… if you guys have ideas on how to convince her, please let me know”

“yall im piss drunk rn- i dont even know if im making it to my room”

- but on some occasions, there’s a thing or two caught on the camera that definitely was not meant to be

- and it’s always you and luke together

- although there’s a few times where you are caught saying something out of pocket when you’re with one of the other guys

- especially when you’re with mackie or rutger

- or the one time you were with luca…

“Luca like he gave me a look!” You exclaimed as the two of you approached the front door before pausing momentarily, “Like, I’ve had these feelings for Luke for so long and I don’t know if we’re just hooking up or if he actually likes me too!”

Luca’s eyes widened slightly as he searched for his keys in his different pockets, “Like what kind of look?”

You imitated the look by giving a small smile with softened eyes filled with admiration and love, “This kind of look!”

“Oh girl, he definitely likes you if he looked at you like that,” Luca chuckled while pulling out his lanyard with various keys on it before a voice spoke out of the small ring doorbell,

“You and Lukey are fucking?!!” Mark’s voice exclaimed from the small speaker, though he spoke so loudly that it broke up a bit, “I have that shit on camera! That’s proof!”

You glanced at Luca before your entire face turned bright red, “Mark, I swear to god!”

“No, no, no- I have that on video! I fucking knew it, now come inside and tell me everything!!” Mark’s voice rang out again as Luca opened the front door.

Your head dropped as you slowly walked through the door and past Luca, who only gave you a short comforting pats on your upper back,

“Good job.”

“Shut up, Luca.”

- that was embarrassing but luckily when you caught mark up on your situation, he deleted the video from the camera’s history

- so hopefully, luke didn’t see it either

- after that you tried being more careful on what you say in front of the camera

- especially when you’re talking with luca, mark, rut, or ethan

- who were the ones who were more aware of the situation you were in

- but sometimes you couldn’t keep your excitement hidden and you forgot about the little ring camera

You quickly slipped on your shoes, carefully not to be seen by the other hockey players after leaving Luke’s room. You had spent the night with him at the hockey house for once — something the two of you rarely did since you had your own place. Which guaranteed privacy for the two of you, but after studying late into the night together, he told you to spend the night rather than going home so late.

And as usually, things happened between the two of you.

You quietly opened the front door and softly closed it behind you, hoping that no one would’ve heard your movements.

You sighed, relieved that you got out of the house without being caught. Your shoulders relaxed as your mind went back to the things Luke had whispered into your ear last night and even early in the morning. The low rasp of his morning voice mixed with the words he spoke, had your stomach doing flips and your heart racing.

Your arms wrapped around your middle as you bounced lightly on the balls of your feet, feeling giddy and happy at the thought of Luke. It was the same feeling that you felt as a young teenager with your first crush.

“Oh my god,” You giggled as your hands formed small fists to your sides to squeeze out your excitement, “Is he even real?”

You paced on the small spot on the front porch as you danced with the memories of the night before, of his strong biceps bracketing your head and the soft kisses he left on your hot skin.

The screen of your phone lit up with a text notification from Luke,

lukey pookie: Sorry that you had to leave so fast :( I hate hiding you but you know how these guys are

lukey pookie: I had a great time with you :) You’re amazing and perfect in every way <3 See you later?

You reread the messages a few times over before jumping a few small jumps. As your heart soared at his texts, your cheeks were sore from smiling and they were dusted a light shade of pink.

“Luke Hughes, the things you do to me!” You breathed out before typing out a response and walking away from the front door to head back to your place.

As you were walking you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, with a notification

eddie!!: No way you and Hughes fucked when we were ALL home and sleeping

eddie!!: Idk if I should applaud you guys or be disgusted for that

eddie!!: And stop forgetting that we have a Ring Camera!!!!

eddie!!: Also it’s adorable how happy Luke makes you, it makes me happy that you two found each other. You guys deserve it. You make him just as happy btw

- and from there you basically stopped saying anything in front of the door to the hockey house

- you didn’t want to risk ANYTHING

- whether it be the guys finding out more about you and luke, or luke seeing how giddy you get at the thought of him

- but just because you were extra careful around the ring doorbell, doesn’t mean the rest of the guys were

It was late at night and you had spent your evening at the hockey house since Tyler and Dylan were cooking dinner and insisted that you joined. The entire evening was filled with laughter and sneaky little glances at Luke, and Luke stealing a few touches here and there when no one else was looking. Whether it be a squeeze to your thigh, hands on your hips as he walked behind you, or the backs of your hands brushing against each other.

Luke, as always, offered to walk you home afterwards — which you were never one to decline. He opened the front door for you, motioning with his head for you to exit the home first. You stepped out, immediately being greeted by the crisp night breeze and the gentle light from the small lamp hanging above the front door. Luke closed the door behind him and flipped his cap to be backwards on his head.

He gave you the same small smile with the sparkle in his blue eyes as he looked down at you, fully admiring you without hesitation.

“Hey,” He said softly, “It’s finally just you and me.”

You reciprocated the same smile back at the tall hockey player, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“So, I guess I can finally do this.”

His left hand gently cupped your waist as he carefully guided you towards the outer wall of the house, pining you against it with his right arm supporting his weight above your head. Luke had his eyes fixated on you, his pupils dilated while you took a sharp inhale as you back contacted the siding.

The hand on your waist slowly travelled up your side, his fingers just barely skimming over you as they made their way to hold your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” Luke asked, his voice just slightly above a whisper.

You nodded eagerly, “Please.”

His eyes softened as his gaze melted with yours before he leaned down to press a kiss on your lips. Your arms wrapped themselves around his neck with your wrists crossing behind his head as you pulled him closer.

“I’ve been dying to do that all night,” He mumbled against your lips before pecking you again, “Just can’t do it with all the guys around.”

You giggled, feeling your cheeks getting warmer, “You should stay the night at mine.”

“You think?”

“You fuckers forget we have the ring camera!” Tyler’s voice rang out from the door, “Y’all need to get a room and it better not be Hughes’ room inside this house!”

Luke covered your body with his larger one from the camera, in attempts to minimize your embarrassment, “Oh shut the fuck up, T Dukes- Why the fuck are you even watching the cameras anyways?”

“You better be safe and wrap it tonight!” Mackie chimed in with a snicker, “Can’t have baby Hughes running around just yet!”

“Fuck off Mackie!” Luke groaned as he guided you down the steps, “Y’all need to get a life and stop stalking mine!” He added as the two of you walked down the driveway.

You burst into a fit of giggles as you got further away from the house, “They definitely know now.”

“I think they’ve known for a while honestly,” Luke chuckled before pressing a kiss to your hair as his fingers reached to intertwine with yours.

[binmeister]

Any thoughts about the Saja boys with a Deaf reader? I can imagine them not understanding what hearing aids are or not understanding KSL, except maybe Mystery (thats mostly because I headcannon him as selectively mute.)

Some loose thoughts and HCs for this, pardon if this isn’t super clean!

I feel like the eras where they had been alive and human it was extremely rare to have come across someone who was deaf or someone who wasn’t “normal” - heavy on the quotations

Their time as demons maybe theyd come across one or two deaf demons, a lot of mute ones, but maybe not as many known deaf ones bc telepathy was a thing so some demons didnt talk using their vocal cords anyway so it wasnt uncommon for someone to never talk or have an uncommon way of speaking

I also believe in selectively mute Mystery, but I dont think he knows that KSL exists - Im thinking of some of your first interactions is you being a little confused on him not even mouthing words; a way you had been taught to understand people was to lip read and subconsciously your mouth would make the same shapes even though the sound would be inaccurate - so you communicate with the tiny notepad you bring around or with your phone, scribbling down what you wanted to say or typing it out and showing him

Out of all the guys I think Mystery or Romance are the fastest to learn KSL, mystery because it ended up a useful tool for him to communicate and Romance bc.. i just picture him as someone who would care enough to do so

There’d be a day where Romance surprises you as he speaks to you and signs at the same time, revelling in the way your eyes light up and you happily sign back at him your signs a little messy with your shock and he teases you that maybe you should work on your signing bc he couldnt understand you, you’d playfully smacked his shoulder after that

Jinu was confused, that was for sure - saw you fiddling with your hearing aids and was confused on why you were wearing a strange looking in ear, were you an idol or performer? But then he realises that when he spoke out to you, your eyes were laser focussed on the way his mouth moved and he would unintentionally slow his speech which lead you to huff at him like ‘how dare you, im not dumb’ - you’d signed it at him rapidly, voice making little incomprehensible protests as well and then it clicks to him that the hand gestures you were making had meaning with the emphasis you put on some motions

Honestly can imagine Jinu going to a public library and trying to learn about it but not knowing what exactly he was trying to learn, so he pesters Rumi about it til she breaks and teaches him the basics of it (HC is the girls had learned at least basic KSL bc they seem like the type who want to be able to communicate with all of their fans)

Abby my sweet bulky man, has absolutely no clue how you exist bc i highly believe in the era he lived in , it was you HAD to be the strongest to survive so hes surprised youve lived until adult hood with being deaf and unable to be majorly alert with your surroundings especially sound

You’d have given him a brief explanation on how much your can hear - maybe it varies where youre able to hear a little clearer with the assistance of your hearing aids but theres still a noticeable ‘sound’ in the way you talk with your voice and hands that would make them all realise that you were deaf: tries his best to learn KSL or is more mindful of the way he talks or moves his mouth so that its easier to lip read

I feel like out of all of them, Abby struggles the most to learn KSL but he puts in some of the most effort bc he’s starting to be able to understand you - just his execution is clumsy so he signed a cuss word at you once and you were laughing soundlessly at him to the point of tears and hes confused and flustered

Baby was perceptive, probably clocks the fact youre deaf the fastest aside from Mystery and he notices that sometimes youre furrowing your brows at him when he talks because his voice had gone too low that your hearing aids had actually struggled to pick it up - the way his mouth is usually in some kind of smug smile didnt help either because it warped the shape of his mouth and you looked a little upset at yourself for struggling to understand him

He’d pluck your phone from you to type what he said, or if your little notepad was in your hand he’d gesture for you to give it to him and he writes what he said instead - though he does become more mindful as well on his annunciation of words instead of being a little lazy in how he speaks

Highkey.. i dont think Baby learns KSL in full or even most of the basics but he does absorb the common signs you use so hes able to understand you at least, maybe a little more bc he likes the way your eyes twinkle when his hands sign along with some of the common words he uses

I am a believer that Baby would he the type to check what cuss words existed in KSL and refuse to believe anything else

[rawme-price]

We need a part two of the malnourished gator!reader plsss 🙏

(no rush tho)

On it boss🫡👍

Malnourished gator!reader who spent the rest of the day and night in the private medical room, not allowing any visitors. They give you an IV drip for essential vitamins, and you think that's it, but a nurse comes in with a clipboard. She asks you alot of questions, ones you personally know are for risk assessment for things like eating disorders and suicide. You've learned from ur mistakes in high school, though, carefully crafting ur responses to be acceptable without a blatant lie.

Do you find urself obsessing over food? No, not at all. Do you deliberately avoid certain foods over others? Well i have foods i dont like, but so does everybody. Do you hold a poor self-image? I dont mind myself, I like the way I am.

All carefully practiced, trimmed and clipped from times you prefer to forget. Its actually pretty easy, falling into that mindset. Something about the sterile white room, the slightly judgemental look of the nurse, the tug of the IV in your arm. It feels oddly nostalgic in a way you know wont end well.

Ur handed a handful of pamphlets, the nurse rattling on about dietary changes. You dont pay attention, really, until suddenly "Alright, im going to let captain price know he can come back. The rest of this treatment is relevant to him."

You have to stop urself from shooting up, mindful of the IV and the fact ur still very dizzy. Besides, shes already human and humans hate when you make sudden moves. "What?! No, he doesnt need to know about this." You hiss, frantic. The nurse doesnt listen, and in seconds a knock is sounding at the door. How did he get here so fast?

The next half-hour is mortifying. The nurse goes over with price the exact details of everything ur expected to eat, and u can tell by the set of his jaw that he'll make sure it happens. This feels horrible. Having to be fed like a child? Seriously?

It makes you want to lash out, but the more reasonable part of ur brain tells u not to. So you endure and stay silent, and stay that way the entire walk to ur room. You dont care if the silent treatment is childish, you cant stomach the thought of talking to price or gaz right now. Even as price talks to you, tail swaying and letting out the occasional snuff, you dont react. Or when gaz shows up near ur room, chirping a greeting and asking if ur okay. You just duck into ur room, lock the door, but you can sense gaz a bit farther out, hovering.

So u pace and pace ur room, tight circles in the center from where you pushed everything against the walls. Its horrible, you cant rest properly or even sit down. Will they make you eat in front of them? Will you have to eat in front of the other soldiers on base? You dont think you can even stomach the amount of food discussed.

Something horrible and rancid is blooming in ur chest again, sprouting through the mud, the seed planted years ago. You feel uprooted in a way you never did back home. You look down at ur claws, at ur scales, feeling too monstrous to even exist in this body.

You cant do anything, so you pace and pace and pace. The one time you tried to leave ur room gaz was coincidentally down the hall. So you just...dont leave the rest of the day. Or. That was the plan until a knock came to ur door.

"its price, kid. Lunch time, doctors orders. Come out." Hes blunt, gruff. He sounds like hes willing to force you out, but you feel frozen in fear and anxiety.

[evilkitten3]

#i honestly dont get the implication here#im reblogging because its good art#and also maybe so someone can tell me why kakashi is nervous that sasuke heard about his revenge for asuma#i feel dumb

in pt one kakashi tells sasuke not to go seeking revenge on his brother. sasuke goes "wtf do you know" and also offers to kill everyone kakashi cares about so kakashi can understand what he's going through. kakashi goes "well sure but everyone i care about died already", which even then we knew wasn't true bc of gai and the dogs and also he seems to get alone with asuma and kurenai ok, but shippuden made it worse by introducing yamato, who has a deep personal tie to kakashi and calls him senpai

then in shippuden shikamaru threatens to desert if tsunade doesn't let him go avenge asuma (which in hindsight is pointless bc none of the three of them separate or together are capable of taking on tsunade anyway so she could've just. let them desert and then arrested them herself. she was literally right there) and tsunade says "i'm not sending three chuunin to take on two of the biggest threats to the village right now when all we really know about them is that they apparently can't die", at which point kakashi pops up completely unprompted and goes "ok what if i babysit tho" and tsunade i guess decides she'd rather be getting drunk than dealing with this so she allows it

meanwhile once sasuke learns where he should actually be aiming his vengeful wrath, kakashi basically goes "ok clearly this means i should kill you"

to sum up:

asuma - died in battle, asked shikamaru to keep an eye on his gf and unborn child (chouji and ino were there also), was buried and mourned as a hero of the village. shikamaru ultimate blasts hidan's body to pieces and leaves him to wait until his sacrifice-powered immortality runs out and he dies of starvation. this is possibly the most unpleasant death in the series and definitely the most drawn-out. we actually never learn how long this will take, so he might still be stuck in that hole waiting to die

the entire uchiha clan - slaughtered in middle of the night (probably closer to evening tbh) by the guy who was supposed to be their next leader, their deaths were used to torture the only person spared multiple times for the explicit purpose of egging him on to vengeance to fulfill their murderer's suicide-by-baby-bro wish, were effectively completely forgotten by anyone aside from said survivor to the point where his own teammates didn't know anything about the slaughter, and also btw it was ordered by the village higher-ups bc the clan was sick of being discriminated against in the village they helped found and were going to do a coup about it. sasuke eventually discovers this after fighting his brother until he literally dies (btw he was sick and overexerted himself on purpose to give sasuke the. cathartic release of thinking he'd murdered his own brother), at which point he swaps tracks, hunts down the mastermind, and asks to know if what he was told was true. he gets a "wow i can't believe your brother told you that. what a traitor" and decides he's fine with killing this guy, which is not helped when the guy reveals that he's stolen eleven magic eyeballs from sasuke's murdered clan, at least one of which belonged to someone sasuke knew personally. sasuke has a mental breakdown bc he's going through a lot right now and says fuck this stupid baka village, and kakashi who has also just found out about the whole state-sponsored genocide thing decides to try and kill him (this is after sakura also tried to kill him - unclear if sasuke was aware of that at any point but like i said he was having a really bad day - but she did it bc no one bothered to tell her the truth so as far as she knows sasuke is just crazy now. kakashi brilliantly then sends her away from the fight so she can continue not knowing what's happening even though her not knowing what's happening just nearly got her chidori'd in the back. but g-d forbid women be involved in the story they're main characters of ig)

so yeah sasuke's a bit miffed

He didn't want to be put on Torture City again, Sasuke.

[thetrasha]

hiii tasha! i hope ur doing well :)) oof this is my first request for your blog ,,,,

law with fem reader who is a pastry chef? considering he hates bread to death this idea came to mind hehe, it might be interesting

buuut feel free to ignore this if you dont feel like writing it (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠) ive read almost all your works i think and i can tell you put a lot of effort and all of your passion into your blog, so i wouldnt want you to do something you dont want to. take care

ps your writing tastes like my favourite kind of soup . do whatever u wnat with that infoidk

Hello my dear reader (❁´◡`❁) I am indeed doing quite well even though it's getting unbearably warm here (sigh). It is what it is... I hope you're drinking enough water!! Thank you so much for sending in your first request on this blog! :D Means a lot to be able to write this for you~ Especially because you've been so loyal to my silly little works 🥺Thanks for sticking around and sharing your thoughts, so happy my passion is received well LOL

PS. That's a strange compliment, but hey, I'll take it. I hope this right here is some good fucking soup then (This was so much fun and it's a lot lighter than what I usually write, I hope you like it!! It's a lot of comedy too hooray)

As always, take care as well (✿◠‿◠)

I c o o k e d (you're very welcome)

Sweet As Pie

includes: pastry chef/ baker reader

feat. LAW

You haven’t been a member of the Heart Pirates for terribly long – maybe eight to nine months at this point – but you’ve been integrated into the team quite well, thanks mostly to Law. He was the one to recruit you after Bepo has taken a quick liking to your family’s bakery back on your home island. You remember it like it was yesterday… how you helped out at your father’s little shop, watching your mother arrange the baked goods and greet every customer with a smile just to hear that pirates have docked at the harbour. Most people were terrified to hear that ruthless buccaneers have emerged from the depth of the ocean in a submarine and they started barring the windows to their homes and businesses with planks, but you were located in the city centre; you’d been too late.

You shooed your dear parents away, thinking that you’d save them from falling victim to a bloodbath, but you were picturing a different sort of person running into the business when Bepo walked into your little bakery.

You could only chuckle at your expression back then, mouth agape and totally in shock, presumably. And then your eyes sparkled, eager to feed and befriend the humanoid polar bear who was shyly asking for some supplies and fiddling with an empty wallet while he was at it.

…Who could judge you, honestly? Bepo was just too cute!

You immediately took a liking to him, not yet aware that he was a pirate. You’d just assumed that he’d needed all that food for hibernation… even if polar bears don’t need to do that… and it wasn’t winter, either. Still, you couldn’t deny his requests and handed your goods over, dismissing his apologies immediately. He tried to barter and offer some things he’d picked up on his adventures, but you were having none of it.

Until the Surgeon of Death walked in.

You froze up, gulping at the man whose bounty poster you were more than familiar with… There was no marine base anywhere nearby, which meant that lots of posters ended up on display near the city hall on the regular, just to keep citizens like you informed. Law had made his way through all of the North Blue at that point, having just started sailing the Grandline… and his infamy was horrifying. Your knees were shaking at the sight of him, believing that the sword he carried would soon be lodged deep into your chest while he he robbed you all of your livelihood. At the time, you didn’t know, however, that Bepo and Law belonged together –

– which meant you looked indeed pretty stupid when you instinctively jumped in front of the polar bear whose origin you couldn’t know, shouting at a known pirate to leave both of you alone and that you were now out of supplies. You even tried your absolute hardest to deceive the pirate captain that led this godforsaken submarine here, claiming that your parents were both members of the Navy and that he’d better turn his ship around now…

You didn’t even realise that you were crying in fear, hiccuping on your own snot like a child, until Bepo rested a paw on your shoulder and wiped your face down with his fur.

And Law, apparently, saw something in you that day.

You didn’t know what he saw, certainly, but you’ve been recruited as a bit of a back-up chef. Well, they had a cook, but it turns out that storing lots of perishables – things an actual, real chef would need to use to whip up a meal – on a submarine wasn’t really the smartest idea. They couldn’t carry fresh produce, milk, eggs and meat when they were travelling through the deep ocean for days on end… you may be able to outrun the Navy quite efficiently with that strategy, but it doesn’t boost crew morale by one bit.

You used those perishables to make things that could be frozen but still taste delicious and those things would always offer vital calories to a hungry group of pirates. Adding someone like you to the crew was just a natural consequence, Law had thought all along. He was, however, glad that it was you and often told you that you should take pride in your work. He made you feel welcome despite his distance, always there to praise you when you needed it the most. And, most pleasantly, he was also quite nice when you talked to him. He was perpetually stressed but your captain never took it out on any of you.

In fact, he was most likely to take it out on himself, you noticed.

So… even though Law usually gave you an allowance to buy whatever you wanted, you decided to use your own funds to stock up even more and take over the entire kitchen for today.

You were eager to help out after they all made you feel like you were part of the team. Shachi and Penguin even taught you how to perform basic ship maintenance! You’d turned into a proper pirate and you were genuinely happy that you could see the world. Because you had no bounty, Law even allowed you to write letters to your parents every once on a while, thanking the crew for surfacing briefly just so you’re able to hand a Newscoo seagull a handwritten letter and see it off with a wave. You’d always make a large meal after that with the chef.

...But what none of the other Heart Pirates knew: Every night when Law caught you sneaking off into the library, when he was grabbing either a medical journal or a book about local flora and fauna you’d find on the next island, you were going through all the cookbooks on the sub.

You’d often talked at night, but you kept this one thing a secret. He might know what you were up to at all times because you loved sharing these things with him, but he’d never know that you were about to become a masterful cook as well as a killer baker.

That’s why you were able to stand your ground as the sole chef in the kitchen today, once again showing gratitude for everybody’s care towards you when you sent away another letter that told your parents more about your grand adventures… and how happy you are now that you’re seeing the world.

You were dying to show everyone what you’ve learnt and combine all of your skills to make this culinary experience truly worthwhile for everyone.

You’d thought about it all – there would be three rounds, totally cliché. Appetiser, a main course and dessert. And everything would be absolutely delicious!

Shachi watched in amusement as you kneaded a delicately fluffy dough to perfection, all the while keeping an eye on the fish filet you were grilling. The kitchen looked like a total mess, but your total zen did give him the chills. He’d offered his help, but you firmly declined. You wanted this to be a surprise for everyone, but it seemed that it just wasn’t meant to be.

“Wow, this smells heavenly, (Y/N)!”, Penguin commented with a drool as soon as he entered the battlefield that was your workplace right now. He’d tried touching the potatoes you were boiling, but you swatted his hand away with a colourful spatula and a glare.

These two… they were always goofing around. If you hadn’t been the target of their terror, you would have laughed at the way they were lusting after the crème chiboust you’d just put in the freezer.

“Shoo! Shoo!!! Go away or I’ll call the captain!”, you whined, pushing Shachi out of the way which got flour all over the two of you, just to see how the bread you’d put into the oven was doing. You smiled as soon as you saw that it was almost done.

You were ready to get your mittens, but another presence startled you.

Law was casually leaning against the door frame, watching the chaos unfold. Shachi and Penguin had handprints all over them because they kept running into each other like idiots, but the captain certainly didn’t have the energy to entertain these two.

“Oh my God, try this, Sha-”

“Hey!!”, you huffed angrily, pushing a mitten into Penguin’s chest, “You can’t have this! I’m making éclair, I need every bit of frosting I can get!!”

“It’s caramel. This… this is amazing!”, Shachi echoed enthusiastically.

You smiled bashfully, feeling your gaze avert away from them. You knew that you were good at what you did, you’d learnt a lot when you were still an apprentice under your parents, but you’d really outdone yourself here, you thought. Your eyes briefly met Law’s and he nodded bluntly, though the hint of a smile could be seen on his lips. You swore his eyes looked a lot softer, too.

“Thank you… That’s all I did before I became a pirate.”, you fondly looked at everyone, and if there wasn’t the ghost of a certain someone looming behind Shachi and Penguin, they would have blushed at your sweet and joyous expression, “Ah!! The fish!!! You guys are distracting me, go away!”

“You’re very versatile, (Y/N)-ya. I’m proud of you.”, Law spoke up, putting a hand on his two subordinates shoulders and pulling them back from the stove – which made them both gulp. The captain continued without paying them a second thought, “Can we take anything to the dining room for you?”

You nodded, watching the fish filets carefully before you flipped them around. The aroma of the rosemary you’d put on them immediately filled the room, almost lulling another member of the crew towards the kitchen, but Law firmly blocked anyone’s track before they’d consider bothering you.

You suddenly put on your mittens and hastily explained what you were doing, “Yes! I’m still perfecting the main dish and the dessert. I hope you guys will like salted potatoes and fish, and I’m leaving my prized éclairs for last. I’m really proud of them! But I’ve just baked a fresh bread as an appetiser. The garlic butter’s over there, you can just take it. Thanks.”

All three eyes darted down towards the warm tray you’d just pulled out of the oven… a large loaf pan sat in the middle of it, almost hypnotising them.

Law’s eye twitched. And he tensed up.

Penguin could just smile awkwardly, looking back and forth between your cute face and his captain’s clearly disgruntled one, “Oh, uh… Law actually h-”

Penguin felt as if the air got punched out of him when Law squeezed his shoulder full-force, wheezing at the pain and cutting himself off rather quickly. Shachi just whistled, not daring to look at either of them, instead licking his lips at the sight of a plain wholewheat loaf of bread…

“Thank you very much, (Y/N)-ya. I’m sure it tastes as good as it looks.”

You just beamed up at him, continuing to work your magic in the kitchen while the three men left the room.

Somehow, Shachi and Penguin were snickering.

You couldn’t join the crew for the appetiser, but as soon as you rolled out the fish, you noted the expressions of horror on everybody’s face. You were suddenly self-conscious about your skills, your smile turning into a frown… until you noticed that they were all looking at Captain Law who was peacefully munching on a thick slice dripping with garlic butter. It was totally overloaded!

Now that they were so obvious about it… yeah! You, too, were surprised that Law ate with all of you in the first place, he usually ate in secret in his study, but you didn’t want to make him feel weird about his habits, putting the filets on the table and offering some perfect potatoes to along with it. Maybe he just really liked garlic butter.

You felt the captain’s stare on you, but you just munched on your own food now.

Yeah, you’d definitely have to make it again for him.

Other than that brief moment, dinner was totally normal. Everyone chatted with each other and everyone who gave you a compliment was echoed by a chorus of agreements. The captain nodded along – and even though you didn’t expect him to have a sweet tooth, he even ate one of your pastries… somehow, you felt your heart skip a beat at such a simple gesture.

You shook your head as soon as you remembered that embarassing moment. Law had caught you staring at him with a goofy smile and he’d blushed bright red before he pulled down his spotted cap to hide his face from you. You scrambled to save face, too, attempting to look around the room while enjoying the taste of your éclair filling…

Right now, despite everyone’s protests, you were doing the dishes. Today, it’d technically be Bepo’s turn, but you couldn’t make your cute fur friend work a sweat like that. Besides, most of the plates had been licked clean, which was pretty satisfying. Though you couldn’t take care of your parents’ bakery like you’d hoped, you were on a much more exciting path now. If you looked outside the bullseye windows, you could see entire schools of exotic fish swim by, and the occasional whale would be there, too. An every time you’d surfaced to explore an island, bringing Law closer towards achieving his own goals, you loved travelling alongside the crew. They were your family now, too. Shachi and Penguin were like your annoying older brothers – they protected you from harm and included you in most activities, but they were also an embarrassing duo to be around. Bepo was definitely your adorable baby brother.

Well, there was someone…

“If I knew you were serious about this, I would have helped you. You need to rest. Now, preferably.”

You dropped a plate in shock at hearing that voice so close to you, but your captain quickly switched the falling object with a nearby kitchen towel.

Your face heated up in shame, but he either didn’t even see it… or he chose to not acknowledge how sheepish you were right now. He just stood there, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing as if he was silently scolding you. To he credit, he probably was, but he had the decency to let it slide on this special day.

“Did you like it?”, you asked meekly as you picked up the kitchen towel, putting it behind you on a counter you’d just wiped down.

“Hm? Oh… yes, of course. I’m very… I mean, I liked it.”

Your captain was so awkward, but you liked his unfiltered brutal honesty. The man you’d been so afraid of back then truly was nowhere to be seen these days. Law was just… so raw, so himself. It soothed you.

“I’m glad. I saw how you were munching down on the bread, I’m sorry I made such a small loaf.”

Law nodded, swallowing dryly.

You clapped your hands together in excitement and beamed up at him, “It really means a lot that someone appreciates the plain stuff around here. Thank you, captain."

You two heard Bepo, Shachi and Penguin pass by the door, giggling to themselves.

Law turned his head with a glare, but once his eyes focused back on you, his cheeks turned pink.

He sighed, clenching his fists in nervousness.

“(Y/N), I… I don’t like bread.”

“Huh?”, you tilted your head. Every thought was wiped from your memory then and there.

“I dislike bread.”

“I understood what you said, but… I saw you eating it. With my own two eyes. Live. I… Do you want me to make a gluten free version next time? It’s not easy, but if that’s an issue, I can-”

Law took one step closer towards you, eyes meeting yours in a heavy stare.

“I don’t like it in general.”, he grumbled.

“But…?”

“I ate it because you made it.”

You blinked, feeling your lips curl up at that. He was… that’s exactly why everyone liked Law, even if he had trouble accepting it.

“I appreciate it…”, you muttered, kicking your feet.

He’s always been so thoughtful and caring. Funny how he doesn’t see himself like that at all, projecting those traits onto everybody else because he just can’t seem to view himself in a good light, but you’ve seen it in the way he treats people – friends and foes alike. Despite what the rumours suggest, he’s never been cruel. Intimidating… maybe, but all you get to see these days was a guy who kept taking notes on all kinds of plants in the dead of night while you were asking him about various dishes. Sometimes, you just talked about your adventure; maybe you threw in some personal anecdotes. Whatever it was, you’ve always thought highly of Law and trusted him with your whole being. He’s shown you the world and you… really liked him.

Perhaps that’s what startled you so much about him – he was… actually so sweet. The way he looked at you right now, for example… his eyes were always filled with admiration. These eyes do not belong to a cruel monster, they have such a raw sadness to them. Deep down, you know that he’s hurt. You don’t know if he’ll let you mend those wounds, but he’s always trying to patch you guys up for the most ridiculous things, so…

Someone really needed to take care of him.

“You could have still told me. I… would have made something else, just for you.”, you offered shyly, wringing your hands in bashfulness.

“You already do so much, (Y/N)-ya. More than you realise.”

“Says you.”, you chuckled as you shook your head in amused disapproval, “You’re always nagging everybody, demanding that we should take care of ourselves… I want to repay you for the kindness you’ve shown me, Law. I wouldn’t be the same person without you.”

He drew in a breath, eyes straying away from you. You swore he briefly bit his lip, too.

“That’s because… I…”, he coughed and you immediately handed him a glass of water, pouting when he dismissed you, “I, uh… I only scold you.”

He cringed, shoulders tensing up. He knew what was coming.

“HUH?!”, you shrieked, almost crushing the glass in your grasp.

His eyes widened, taking it away from you and putting it away on an abandoned sideboard.

“I… didn’t mean it like that.”, he admitted quietly.

“You only scold me?! Why? Wait! No! You scold everyone, you don’t have to lie-”

You were pulled into an awkward hug all of the sudden. He was patting your back like you’d just gotten accepted after a professional job interview, but you melted into the hug nonetheless. You, too, wrapped your arms around his torso and let his tall frame engulf you whole. For someone who didn’t know how to hand out affection, he was surprisingly comforting.

The Law you knew was just naturally soothing like that. Always calming.

“I… Is your heartbeat arrhythmic right now, too?”

…?

…Oh.

“You’re really bad at this, Captain.”, you giggled, letting go of him. He slumped in on himself, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, “But… yeah. It is.”

Law gulped, but hugged you much more naturally now. This time, he just held you… like he knew you wouldn’t reject him now… or misread his ‘signals’.

“I can’t believe you made me eat bread.”, he sighed into your hair.

“Hey…! I didn’t know. But now I know why you drenched it in garlic butter.”

“That obvious?”, he asked sarcastically.

“That obvious, Law.”

You couldn’t see it, but his eyes were alight with… love.

[cherry-flavoured-thot]

✩ Friends With Bedefits ✩

✩ Fandom: Date Everything! ✩

✩ Pairing: Betty x F!Reader ✩

✩ Rating: Explicit ✩

✩ Word Count: 1.4k ✩

✩ Summary: You've come to realise that Betty has seen more of you then you originally thought. Included all the failed attempts to make yourself cum. You're too embarrassed to look her in the eye, meanwhile she's trying to get you to let her help with your problem.✩

✩ A/N: im not immune to the sexy bed. dont judge me.

Betty loves when you spend time with her. You're a good listener and are more than happy to talk her ear off when she asks to just hear your voice. Albeit you start to stumble over yourself when she compliments what a lovely voice you have. Although she's noticed that you've suddenly turned shy. That even though you'll still address her with the usual candour, the second your eyes meet, suddenly you're looking straight to the floor.

Not to mention the way you rub your palms together and sway back and forth on your feet, hurriedly rushing through the conversation to attempt to hide away elsewhere throughout the house before eventually coming straight back to her. She can't recall doing anything of late that would have you quite so flustered, the latest was when she complimented how good a pair of jeans fit around your ass and gave it a playful pinch. To which you have yet to put them back on much to her disappointment, but you seemed to stop keeping your backside out of her reach at least a week ago now, so it can't be that.

"As much as I find it so cute how shy you get, I've gotta know what's brought this on?" She questions you when you come to see her later on. Your eyes search around the room again, settling anywhere but on her. You seem to squirm in place at the question, she can feel the heat of embarrassment radiating off your body like a warm blanket.

"Ah well, I just had a thought about... well..." she waits for you to finish finding the words, "how much you've seen given that you're my bed and all."

"I get it. It's super vulnerable right? But I'm not going to judge you considering you didn't know." You've unintetionally shared some of the most intimate moments a person can with her, so the sudden shift makes sense. "Is there something specific?" However, the way you fall silent when she asks makes her realise exactly what you were so flustered about. "I see. If it makes you feel better, I liked seeing that." You practically squeak at her words.

"Umm..." not even being able to find exactly what to say to her in that moment. Only spluttered words of what could make a sentence fly out of your mouth and she seizes the opportunity to press you further.

"I just wished I could have done more." She means it, if you weren't so skittish when it came to physical affection, she really would have pounced on you before now. "I mean it was really hard having to hear you get right where you need to and end up frustrated. I wanted to help you out so badly." Many a night she heard as your fingers failed to quite scratch the itch. You'd huff and roll over into bed, wet and wanting, deciding to simply go to sleep instead. Poor thing. She would have gladly helped, reach with her fingers the places yours couldn't. Taste you in a way that would have you crumbling into her.

"So you saw every time?" You manage to ask eventually. It's exactly as you feared. That she's seen you in more compromising positions then any other being that walked the Earth. You can't even think about how she's not the only one, you might pass out if you think too hard.

"I saw enough to know a sweet girl like you needs someone to help take care of your needs." Your breath hitches at her words. "And I'm more than willing." You seem to go through several internal monologues while standing in front of her before finally meeting her gaze.

"You don't have to do anything." You're starting to rub your palms together, only for your hands to end up encased in hers.

"Oh but I want to." Want is burning behind her eyes and the sight of it makes you quiver. "I'd rile myself just imagining getting the chance to show you a good time. And now the chance is here." She drops her voice nice and low. "Just say the word and I'll make it happen."

"Please," it sounds so pleasant coming from you, the little plea. Especially combined with that heated look you give her, mind racing at the thought of what she might do to you.

"What nice manners." She can't wait to hear more of them. "Lets get you out of those clothes and nice and comfy." She steps back to let you undress but her eyes don't leave your form. You feel ever so hesitant at first but eventually start peeling back the layers of clothes on your body. "You can leave those on, I'm more than happy to take them off you when you're nice and ready." She calls out when you're down to just your bra and panties. She closes the gap between you, pressing her lips to yours, when she pulls away you feel her look you up and down. "You're gorgeous, you know? I can't believe a pretty thing like you is alone in her bed all the time."

"I can't believe someone as pretty as you is my bed." Your reply makes her smile. She kisses you again.

"You're so sweet, it's making me want to eat you up." She leads you to bed, having you lie back into the nestle of pillows at the top, having your knees upright. "But we'll get to that part," she slots herself between your legs, littering kisses from your lips, down your jaw and then to the side of your neck. Her hands slide up your back to unclasp your bra with ease, giving her free access to continue her journey down to your chest. Her tongue slides against your left nipple, when you gasp at the sensation, she continues before sucking the nub just enough to make you whine. She moves onto the right to do the same thing, before going further down your body.

She ends up hovering above your naval. She gazes up at you, a pair of fingers pressing against your clothed entrance where a wet patch was starting to form against the fabric. The friction makes you moan. "So worked up and we haven't even gotten to the good part yet. Don't worry baby I've got you." She presses a kiss to your covered clit, making you squirm in place but she doesn't linger for long. Hands reaching to pull the fabric down, getting you to position your legs so she can pull them off and throw them somewhere else in the room.

She doesn't waste anymore time, before you know it her tongue drags along your folds, reaching up to the sensitive nub and circling around it. You cry her name out from the feeling, she continues to tease you on her tongue in slow motions until she hears your pleas for more. She latches her lips around your clit, causing you to cry out at the sudden suction. She follows up with a finger sliding itself inside your dripping entrance, shortly after she adds another.

She wonders what you were thinking about on those nights where you tried your best to chase a fraction of what you were feeling now. Was there someone who had caught your eye? Or were you simply worked up and needing release? The fact that you still tried even with the inevitable disappointment that left you needy and thighs absentmindedly rubbing together to create any friction was enough to have her imagining being your savior.

But experincing it now, hearing the moans fall from your lips as your body arches into her, while your walls clench against her fingers with each thrust and movement of her tongue, it was better than she dreamed. "Betty, I'm so close!" Especially the way her name sounds coming from your mouth, need clinging to every word. Will you think about her from now on in your fantasies? The thought of her racing in your thoughts the same way you do hers makes her all too aware of how wet she is.

"Let go for me gorgeous," she pulls back just voice the words to you. Before wrapping her mouth back around your clit. She curls her fingers to reach your sweet spot, something that makes your thighs shake and makes your body jerk. It isn't too long after that you're seeing stars and letting out a whimper as your orgasm washes over you. She pistons her fingers and gives you a few last licks, letting you ride out your high. She moves away to look up at your dazed expression. "Are you still with me up there?" You nod. "Glad to hear it." She waits for you to eventually come down. And when you do, offers to give you a demonstration of how she manages to cum against her own fingers. Delighted with how nicely you ask her to show you.

[andy-15-07]

Only you in the spotlight

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1249| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

request:I had one in mind where the reader and pedro are together 3 years (she's 33) and when he starts filming Materialist she begins to get a bit insecure cause he's doing the movie with Dakota and fans are speculating about them and how good they look together and the reader doesnt show she is bothered but she cant sleep cause of it and one night she is on the couch scrolling though she comments and when pedro wakes up she reveales to him about the insecurity and she knows dakota is engaged bur still and somehow they get into a small fight about it and they dont speak for a day and he takes her out to dinner to make up and they talk about it and eventually make up? You can decide the end :)) @kellyxo1

They’d been together for three years,longer than most people in their circles stuck with anything. You, at thirty-three, had grown used to Pedro’s long hours, his endless travel, the strain of fame. Still, nothing had prepared you for Materialist. The buzz started small: fan accounts noting the chemistry between Pedro and Dakota “on set.” It wasn’t like anyone thought anything was actually happening,you knew Dakota’s engaged. You knew Pedro adored you. But what if they saw something real? What if you weren’t enough?

That night, sleep slipped away. You lay in bed, listening to the hum of the apartment, Pedro’s even breathing beside you. You slid from the warmth of the sheets and padded into the living room, flicking on the soft lamp. Your phone lit up with fan art and speculative comments: “Pedro and Dakota look like they belong together!” “I’m calling it now: new Hollywood power couple.” Your stomach knotted.

You tapped out a sarcastic reply under one fan tweet,something benign, teasing,but it gave you a small jolt of satisfaction. You scrolled another minute, then set the phone aside, staring at the muted TV screen. It was almost four A.M. When and how had you become so… paranoid?

By the time Pedro padded out in one of his oversized T-shirts, you had tears in your eyes. He paused at the door, blinking at you on the couch.

“Hey,” he said sleep-hoarsely. “This set late?”

You bit your lip. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He dropped onto the cushion beside you, careful not to touch. “You okay?”

“I,” You took a shaking breath. “I saw some comments.”

He frowned. “Comments?”

“On social. About you and Dakota. Saying… things.” Your cheeks burned. “That you were,” God, you sounded insane. “That people think you’re together.”

He was silent a beat, then wrapped a hand around yours. Warm. Solid. “Those people are morons.”

You tried to smile. “Yeah, but it got to me.”

He squeezed your hand. “I’m working. It’s a job.”

You nodded, eyes stinging. “I know. But it’s different with her. There’s… chemistry.”

He loosened his grip, a shadow crossing his face. “Chemistry on camera doesn’t mean anything off camera.”

You closed your eyes. “You’re sure?”

“God, yes.” He brushed a thumb over your knuckles. “I’m with you. I love you.”

You opened your eyes. “Then why did it hurt so much?”

He hesitated, jaw working. “Because I don’t want you insecure.” His voice cracked. “I want you confident in us.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I just… fear that all those people will see something I can’t, or want you more than I do.”

He sat back, sighing. “Y/N, look at me.” You did. “You are the one I want. Always have been. Always will be. Dakota’s fantastic, but she’s not you.”

You sniffed, smiling through tears. “You say that now.”

He gave a half-grin. “Do I need to prove it?”

Your eyebrows arched. “How?”

He stood and offered you his hand. “Dinner.”

“In the middle of the night?”

He ducked his head. “Not here. Somewhere … more flattering.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Okay. Where?”

“In ten minutes.” He turned and padded back to the bedroom, slipping into jeans and a clean shirt.

You shook your head, a warmth spreading through your chest. Maybe you didn’t have to be perfect. Maybe you just had to trust him. You splashed cold water on your face, brushed your hair into a loose bun, and met him in the hallway.

He led you to his vintage Jeep,windows down, breeze fluttering. You drove through empty streets, the city’s lights soft and blurry.

Finally, you pulled up outside a little late-night bistro, still open for staff. Lanterns glowed on the patio. He helped you out of the car and slid an arm around your waist.

“Thought we could use some real food,” he said. “And real conversation.”

You followed him inside. The hostess smiled, guiding you to a small table in the corner. He pulled your chair out, settled across from you.

The waiter came, and you ordered something comforting,pasta, garlic bread, red wine. Pedro chose a burger and fries, uncharacteristically casual.

When the waiter left, Pedro leaned forward. “Talk to me.”

You flicked a strand of hair behind your ear. “There’s nothing to say, really.”

“Bullshit.” He lifted his wine glass. “To us,fighting stupid insecurities.” He pressed the rim to yours. “And to how amazing you are.”

“Thank you.” You clinked glasses. The wine was warm, rich. You set the glass aside. “I hate that I felt like I needed proof.”

He reached across the table and captured your hand. “You don’t.”

“Then how do I stop it?” You studied his face, the flicker of lamplight in his eyes. “How do I keep this… irrational fear away?”

He squeezed. “You remind yourself I chose you. Every single day. And I remind you, too.”

Your heart fluttered. “I need more than words.”

He leaned close, his breath warm. “Okay. Then show me what you need.”

You swallowed. “Assurance.”

He smiled. “Good. ‘Cause I plan on giving you plenty.” He stood, pulling a few bills from his pocket and setting them on the table. “Come on.”

You left the money, just small bills. “Where are we going?”

He led you outside into the warm night. “Somewhere private.”

He drove you to a grassy overlook just outside the city. The skyline glowed behind you. He parked and climbed out, lifting you into his arms.

“Hey!” you laughed. “Careful, big guy.”

He set you down softly. “I’m always careful with you.”

He stepped close, unbuttoning your blouse with slow deliberation. You didn’t think, you just let him, your skin goosebumping. He kissed the column of your throat.

When your blouse fell open, he drew back and studied you. “So beautiful in this light.”

Your cheeks warmed. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

He shook his head. “Not crying. I want you hard.” His voice dropped. “Right now.”

You swallowed. “Out here?”

He shrugged, voice hoarse. “If that’s what you want.”

You bit your lip. “I do.”

He cupped your face, kissed you fiercely, then trailed his hands down to your waist, tugging you closer. Your lips moved together hungrily as his palm pressed between your legs, finding you wet, ready.

He groaned into your mouth. “Fuck.” His hand glided through your folds, warm and firm, teasing your clit. You moaned, fingers tangling in his hair.

He lifted you, guiding you back into the Jeep. The seats scratched your back through your skirt, but neither of you cared. He unzipped you, pushing inside with one deep thrust. You gasped, riding him as he collapsed the seat forward.

You found rhythm together,him filling you, you gripping him. Every movement made car doors slap, windows rattle. You pressed close, breathless, arms locked around his neck.

He grabbed your hips, lifting and lowering you until you both cried out, voices echoing against metal and glass. He came first, hollering your name. Then you followed, collapsing against him as your pulses thundered.

He held you close, forehead to yours, breath matching yours. “Love you,” he rasped.

You wrapped your arms around him. “Love you more.”

He kissed you soft, tender,no need for words now. The city slept beneath you, but you felt wide awake, held safe by the man you trusted to choose you, always.

He started the Jeep and drove you home under a sky full of stars, your insecurities tucked away behind you,for now, at least,buried in the warmth of his arms.

[juyofans]

Hi.. since you asked me to finish this reblog i am back.. (also because i hold this fic dear to my heart so. Let me reread) doing this the cat way! it's 8:40pm on a monday night and i'm listening to billie eilish!!

i mentioned in the first version of this rb that i could already tell this fic was gonna be good from the first sentence. i still agree with that btw!! i feel like it emulates Doom so much like yeah we're cooked bro LMASOWIEJFLWE

it doesn't matter anymore. you've lost the chance to figure out what it had meant.

this is like me forreal right now bc sunwoo's just another ex to me now. HELP

you've been selfish for long enough, you think, indulging in pleasures that should have never been yours. and no matter how tightly you want to continue clinging onto sunwoo's sweet words and empty promises, the little voice in your head drowns it all out in the end. 

FUCKKKK. what yall know about Selfishness (i say as they drag me into the void. the void where gravity!yn and fid!jungwon sit together)

also like. rereading this is reminding me of how i used all of this to cook up that hanahaki plot. i was like She needs to face her consequences and then i proceeded to come up with the most torturous plot ever im so sorry jungwon

you can practically feel the pensiveness in the buzzing. the bated breath, the knit brows, his finger tapping on the table as chanhee waits for your voice to replace the dialing tone over the speaker. you have half a mind to just let it ring.

yeah bro only you can make the sound of a phone call so torturous FAWKKK

something in your chest sparks, a flicker of a flame that lends itself to “we both know—” before you cut yourself off, catching the growing volume and thickness in your voice before chanhee can pick it out and lay it bare. “we both know it was never going to work out like how we wanted.”

the imagery... cat exploding gif..

Sorry i dont know how to do serious reblogs like this. I think u already know how i feel about ur writing though

(heat surges to the bridge of your nose, pressure builds at the back of your eyes. those three minutes had passed, so it was okay now, right? it was okay to let go?)

i forgot if u continue this imagery throughout the rest of the fic but the heat.. the flames.. Ugh...

“ah, i see,” jihoon nods faintly, a spitting image of a cool class representative, and you stifle a snort beneath a hidden smile. as if jihoon didn’t only just get accepted into yg entertainment two months ago. he’s lame as always.

HELP MEEEEDKWJELKFEW dont clock him like that

songs were stories, after all, even without the lyrics. like putting together parts of a puzzle and assembling it piece by piece, it was your job to find what part of the story was untold and fill in the missing words.

me trying to meet the word count on my cover letter for spotify (Sorry.)

sunwoo nods as he hurries to scribble down a few words onto the sheet of paper. the puzzle piece clicks into place. “that’s what i was thinking too. like there’s still something left to remember even if it’s all over, like…” “like even in the hurt, it’s still—“ “—love.”

subtle foreshadowing.. trips over a rock.

sunwoo insists again, but you can sense his fight against his heavy eyelids growing closer by the second, the yawn that he stifles every time he pauses, so you force down the confession, keep your wish tucked away within the flickering candlelight. he would know, right?

NOOOOOOODIWEJFEWJFLKWEFEW geumanhaja..

you contemplate, humming. “birds of a feather?”

JUNGWON i scream as u lock me in the wips closet.

but it wasn’t not really your sunwoo anymore, was it? not really. not since he became more than that kid in the practice room with a pen between his teeth and a metronome in his hand, not since he became synonymous with the brand his name was attached to. and it was unfair of you to expect those kinds of trivial things from someone so far out of your reach now, right?

tigger walking away sad gif..

“i mean, i’m fine,” chanhee says, a hint of ‘of course i take care of myself, who do you think i am?’ in the retort, “but.” he pauses, taking a breath, and you can tell he tests the words on his tongue before he speaks them. “are you sure it’s me you’re worried about?”

CLOCK IT.

the shirt scene is too long for me to copy paste but i just wanted to say you're my thirteenth reason and i will really be reconsidering my lack of commitment to sunwoo because you're making me miss him

"you and me together forever" LIKE HELLOODIWJEFLKJW. dont piss me off. i miss him and his stupid carefree childish energy like there's no thought behind his eyes

ugh i feel like this fic is what i tried to emulate in fid and it didnt really work out like that FUCK its ok i already posted it so i have to live with this regret.

“how could you!” he exclaims, pulling his hand away. “ye of little faith…” sunwoo’s voice goes grave and solemn. “don’t you want to see me in a sexy apron.”

now..hold on.. lightbulb flashing..

“if it doesn’t…” you don’t want to speak it into existence—they’ll do well, they have to. you try to form your words carefully, deliberately, so that they’ll be spoken correctly and convey exactly what it is you mean, but it all comes poorly anyway, clumsy and messy as you trip over your own tongue. “you don’t have to…you know.” your mouth goes dry. “stay.” 

FUCK. FUCKKKKK. the way u phrased the middle sentence. ugh..

sunwoo is a star, you think—no, you know. you’ve known for quite some time now, how he was bright and shining and meant for things lightyears away from anything you could ever see, and yet here he was instead: inside your apartment late at night in your bed, talking about how he was ready to fall back down to earth to be with you. like you were tying him down to somewhere he was never meant to stay, he was never meant to be.

its giving my sunwoo healing fic (that will probably never get finished.. shibal..)

currently reading the voicemail scene and ugh. UGH..... he's so unknowing in this fic and it makes me so sad. i wish i had voicemails like this irl and not ones from the lady from my bank asking me to sign up for a credit card again

i want to know what ur reasoning was for framing the scenes like this. like ik they're before and after but like the specific reasons for where each scene is bc they dont seem chronological yk. or maybe u already mentioned/implied it in the fic but im too lazy to read into it MMSDLKJWFEW

the swingset scene is giving tornado warnings FUCK.

also spotify is giving me the worst soundtrack as i read this btw like its really happy music and idk where its coming from but i dont feel like changing it

maybe it’s the way it brings you back to that classroom and that swingset and everything you know you can never go back to; or maybe, despite the voicemail that you still come back to on the loneliest of nights and the wrinkled shirt that remains crumpled in the corner of your room, a part of you knows that the salt in the wound would be nothing compared to digging an even deeper, uglier wound in a cut scabbed over. that’s only what it could feel like, if you listened to him before you were ready. 

the scab imagery.. lets all just k!ll ourselves okay..

and usually when you wake up from a good dream, you fall asleep again soon after, just to catch the traces of the dream before it’s gone forever. but you’re trying, slowly in your own way, to not do things like that anymore. after all, eventually the shirt needs to become just another shirt, and your voicemail will one day go back to having no more recordings saved. 

me core (but im not healed im just indifferent about everything now)

it’s all wrapped up in pretty lyricism and intricate metaphors to keep the listener guessing for the true meaning, but you’ve always understood him best when it was through song

FAWKKK WHAT SONG IS THIS. is this something real that he's written or were u just making up stuff.. might be a fake fan for not knowing his solo songs

and yet you were the one who had smeared the paint before it could finish drying, the one who had felt so alone in watching the wear of a bridge you had deemed impossible to save. and at the end of the day, maybe the fault fell partly on both of you, stepping onto that unsteady footing together with the rope of the bridge fraying with the weight of time, but you were the one who had taken that last step to the other end without him even knowing.

fuck my stupid baka life.

lit match in your hands, you had burned that bridge for what you’d perceived to be the greater good, to destroy it before it could collapse and take both of you with it. an act of cowardice disguised as selflessness, you’re left to stare at nothing but the ashes and cinders you had set aflame. but in the wreckage, only after everything do you finally understand what that indiscernible emotion was in his eyes when he looked at you, what he had meant that night by choosing to love you.

HELL YEAH FLAME IMAGERY

your lip trembles as you press the phone harder to your ear, heat surging to the bridge of your nose, the back of your eyes. you try to keep your voice steady but it comes out watery instead, words spilling over before you know it. “hi. it’s me.” and despite everything, gravity fails, just for an instant, and you and sunwoo collide into each other once again.

^ my honest opinion reading that btw

erm i dont know how to end these. i feel like i've already said too much but like. ur worldbuilding is really good or whatever.. kicks rocks.. u made me want him again i hate it here

gravity (is the distance between you and me)

kim sunwoo x gn!reader

you tell yourself that this is for the best, that you’re only doing what needs to be done. even if it hurts now, even if it never stops hurting, maybe this is truth you’ve been running from this whole time. maybe this is just acceptance. — or: you break up with sunwoo because you love him, because you refuse to let him fall back down to earth with you; everything that follows after is an inescapable gravity.

idolverse!sunwoo x non-celeb!reader, exes!au, mostly reader-centric // 13.6k // angst with a teeny bit of fluff in between // told in alternating past and present timeskips, vaguely canon timeline but don’t look too close // 🪐fic playlist (for full experience)

if you enjoyed the fic, please leave feedback!

prologue. (love is…)

it occurs to you on a sunday night, the second-hand of the clock only a few ticks away from midnight, that this was never meant to be.

you try to not hear echoes of sunwoo’s voice in your head, admonishments scolding you gently to go to sleep, but it plays in your head regardless. truthfully, it had always sat on the edge of nagging, but you supposed that when it was him, it ended up more endearing than anything else: the pout in his lips, the scrunch in his brow, the worry in his eyes as he'd brush a strand of loose hair out of your face. 

there was always something else in his gaze, something you could never quite pinpoint—like he saw something you couldn't, like his gaze had stripped you bare of everything you'd put up to protect yourself. you try not to chase the rabbit's trail thinking about it, shoving the ghost of the memory beneath a quick, heated blink of the eyes.

it doesn't matter anymore. you've lost the chance to figure out what it had meant.

you almost laugh at the reminder; it seems you haven’t changed, even now. greed had always been your deadliest sin, despite everything. you want, and want, and want.

you want what you can’t have, you tell yourself, but you stop at the thought. that's not it. 

pause, rewind, play.

because the truth of the matter is, you just want what you don't deserve. you don’t deserve this—the sun-soaked kitchens, the teasing glances, the rhythmic sway in each others' arms as you wait for the rice cooker to beep, your timer set for the oven to ring, the world to finish turning from gold to dark blue to midnight. it's softness that makes your lungs collapse in on themselves, tenderness that burns your skin from even the gentlest brush.

you've been selfish for long enough, you think, indulging in pleasures that should have never been yours. and no matter how tightly you want to continue clinging onto sunwoo's sweet words and empty promises, the little voice in your head drowns it all out in the end. 

it's not supposed to be painless; it's rational, practical, inevitable, but so is snipping off the dead leaves off your plant after they've died, tying a tourniquet to a limb before cutting it off to prevent the infection from spreading. 

(it's for his own good. you should have done this a long time ago.)

so you pick up your phone, send a single text message to sunwoo, and wait; your knuckles turn white with the knife in your hands, like the first press of the blade to your skin. tie the knot tight, grit your teeth, you can never go back to what once was.

it's 12:03AM when your phone lights up again, eyes burning in the brightness. you can only watch as you bleed.

after. (love is sacrifice.)

chanhee calls you monday, the morning after.

it’s not so much that you weren’t expecting it, moreso that you were hoping that you’d be proven wrong, that maybe chanhee could have let it go, let it all play out without any extra fuss, but thinking back on it now, you suppose the mere thought of that was already a hopeless endeavor. phone vibrating on the counter, the caller id blares ‘choi chanhee’ in big white letters, predictably incessant. 

you can practically feel the pensiveness in the buzzing. the bated breath, the knit brows, his finger tapping on the table as chanhee waits for your voice to replace the dialing tone over the speaker. you have half a mind to just let it ring.

after all, what more could he really say? it was all over and done with, and he’d just be wasting his breath trying to convince you otherwise. but still, your phone continues to ring, and despite your better judgment, your finger slides to accept.

(if you were going to start it, you might as well go until the very end of the aftermath.)

“hello?”

chanhee lets out a sharp breath, his voice falling to a hush. “are you serious?”

not even a ‘hello’ back, you lament silently. your bottom lip catches between your teeth, nail picking at the loose skin on your thumb as you try to form a reply on your tongue. “about what?”

he calls out your name in response, exasperated. you can practically see the wrinkles knit tight in his forehead, each word stressed more than the last as he continues to scold you. “don’t play dumb with me,” chanhee retorts. “did you seriously break up with sunwoo?”

ah. straight to the point, as expected. you shift your gaze to the clock on the wall, focusing on the rhythmic ticking as it works its way through a new hour. your breathing slows to match, heart steeling, your voice thinning out into something you know you can control. “he told you?”

he scoffs, harsh breath crackling over the speaker. “he didn’t need to. he’s locked himself in his room since last night and won’t talk to anyone else. it isn’t hard to figure out when you were the last person he called.”

the influx of questions almost come pouring out before you bite your tongue—doesn’t he have schedules today? do you know if he slept last night? did he even eat at all since then— “oh,” you manage to breathe out.

“what are you doing?” he asks plainly. it’s a simple question, and it’s one you don’t know how to answer.

“i…” you chew your bottom lip, eyes picking out a small scuff on the side of your coffee table. funny, you don’t remember it being there before you had moved. “i’m not sure what you mean.”

“don’t do that, you know exactly what i mean,” chanhee counters back. “why did you break up with him? and don’t give me some bullshit excuse, because we’d both know you’d be lying.”

the clock continues to tick on the wall, and you drag your eyes over to it once more, its needle in a constant state of motion. three minutes. you could unravel the truth to chanhee in three minutes, at least the parts that really matter. choi chanhee is many things—nosy, opinionated, a gossip, but he isn’t tactless. no matter who he ends up spilling his complaints to about you and sunwoo and this entire situation, you know not a single word from his lips will ever reach sunwoo’s ears. no matter how close you and chanhee are, you would have ended the call then and there if you weren’t certain of it.

“it’s for the best,” you say softly, and it sounds so simple when you put it like that. like the nights toiling over sending that final text were all for nothing because this was just how it was meant to be, like you were just fighting the inevitable.

“you can’t actually believe that.”

something in your chest sparks, a flicker of a flame that lends itself to “we both know—” before you cut yourself off, catching the growing volume and thickness in your voice before chanhee can pick it out and lay it bare. “we both know it was never going to work out like how we wanted.”

you tense, waiting for chanhee’s incoming rebuke, but he goes quiet for a few moments before trying to speak again, slowly and carefully. “what happened?”

“nothing happened,” you stress, shaking your head, and you smear over the memory that flashes by, the hurt and loneliness that fades into nothing more than streaks of color and silence. “i just did what i should have done a long time ago.”

“you—”

“i have to go, chanhee.” choke it back. hold it in. “take care of him, okay?”

chanhee makes a noise of protest, but you hang up before he gets the chance to say anything more. you try not to look at the clock on the wall again—you already know those three minutes had passed a long time ago.

(heat surges to the bridge of your nose, pressure builds at the back of your eyes. those three minutes had passed, so it was okay now, right? it was okay to let go?)

on monday morning, six minutes past ten, you sit tourniquet-tied in a pool of dried blood of your own making, and you cry.

before. (love is youth—)

it all starts out as whispers at first.

rumors of a new transfer student spread quickly through the halls, jokes about new competition within the school said just as easily and nonchalantly as discussing the new main course added onto the lunch menu, or the latest news about which celebrity they think would make it onto dispatch headlines within the next year. it’s routine, at this point, their gossip becoming just another common occurrence during the school year. all of it is just too familiar, too predictable, your classmates’ voices droning on in your head as their gossip goes through one ear and out the other.

the new kid gets introduced during homeroom first period, and the whispers grow to a murmur. the clacking of the drumsticks from a couple kids in the back of the class stop, and the boys playing guitar in the corner of the room go silent, eyes bright and watching.

he introduces himself as kim sunwoo, an applied music major, and you wonder if he’s just another kid wanting to fulfill their idol dream—a trainee? a trainee-wannabe? there certainly weren’t a lack of those in the applied music department, and at a school like hanlim, most transfer students ended up being one of the two. repressing a sigh, you bury your head inside the crook of your arm, slumping against your desk. as if there weren’t enough empty desks scattered around the classroom belonging to students skating by their classes in favor of trainee and idol life.

you’ve heard too many whispering aspirations from other trainees about gaining fame and popularity, thousands of adoring fans loving them through their music, but you know it never really is about the music—it’s always just a means to an end, not that you could really fault them for it. everyone was working hard in different ways for their dreams, but after months of being paired with and surrounded by people who were barely around and hard to reach with a noticeable lack of passion for the same music you came to hanlim for, you’ve grown a little tired of it all. 

even the class president, park jihoon, couldn’t be excluded from that nasty habit. with more absences than attendances on his record, you had to wonder if all that struggle as a trainee at such a major entertainment company was worth it. but still, at least he tried his best at his job whenever he was here: leading the class, keeping everyone under control whenever they inevitably got frisky, and—(your eyes catch him walking over to the sunwoo’s desk and introducing himself)—making small talk with the new kids.

“where are you from?” jihoon asks, head tilted curiously. “seoul?”

sunwoo nods, and from the bits of conversation you overhear from a few desks away, it’s just as you guessed. the transfer to hanlim was only to get him one step closer to becoming an idol. you can see it all so clearly, another empty desk, another dream of wanting fame.

“are you in a company, then?”

“no, i…” sunwoo rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head half in a stupor. you can practically hear his thoughts in his poorly-veiled expression, the culture shock of the applied music department in a school like hanlim striking him swiftly. “not yet, i’m looking for one now.”

“ah, i see,” jihoon nods faintly, a spitting image of a cool class representative, and you stifle a snort beneath a hidden smile. as if jihoon didn’t only just get accepted into yg entertainment two months ago. he’s lame as always.

the boy sitting behind sunwoo chirps in after, asking him questions and starting up conversation along with another kid in their column. chin rested on your hand, you turn your head towards the window again, tuning out your classmates in favor of watching the clouds outside drift slowly along with the wind. 

(he was planning on being a trainee, after all; there wasn’t really a point in becoming invested in someone you knew you were never going to see much of again.)

except, a couple of weeks later, your teacher announces a month-long songwriting project, and sunwoo’s name gets called out next to yours as random pairs are chosen as partners. he meets your eyes from across the room, giving you a small nod of acknowledgement, and you try not to let the apprehension show on your face when you give him a polite smile in response.

you don’t even know if he knew how to write lyrics.

“so we’re writing lyrics given our assigned theme, right?” sunwoo asks after class, chair pulled up to your desk as you brainstorm for ideas.

you nod, peering over at his sheet cautiously. “do you have any ideas on how to start?”

“well,” sunwoo starts, lips pursed as he taps his pencil on his paper. “the theme is ‘love,’ right? so we could do anything about that, but…”

“it’s too broad of a topic,” you finish, frowning.

“yeah,” his eyes flicker to yours, mouth gaping open slightly, his eyes a little wide. “exactly.”

you hum in thought, a few seconds passing in silence before you pull your wired earphones out of your pocket, offering him an earbud after. you figured if you were partners, you might as well work hard together. “let’s start with this, then,” you try. “what do you think when you listen to it?”

songs were stories, after all, even without the lyrics. like putting together parts of a puzzle and assembling it piece by piece, it was your job to find what part of the story was untold and fill in the missing words.

sunwoo furrows his brows, leaning closer. the earbud wire dangles precariously over the desk, headphone jack connected to your phone in the middle. breath held, you try to ignore the close proximity in favor of focusing on the chords, the bass, the melody. even with just the guide melody, each note sounds like a confession, like a secret waiting to be unveiled, wanting to be stripped and laid in the open.

“it’s a sad song,” you comment, breaking the silence, “but it’s like…it sounds like there’s more to it than that?” you let the question hang in the air, looking at him half-expectant.

“it almost sounds…” sunwoo begins, trailing off as he mulls over his words.

“bittersweet?” 

sunwoo nods as he hurries to scribble down a few words onto the sheet of paper. the puzzle piece clicks into place. “that’s what i was thinking too. like there’s still something left to remember even if it’s all over, like…”

“like even in the hurt, it’s still—“

“—love.”

before. (love is lonely.)

party streamers littered on the floor throughout the living room, the metallic gold strips of paper and plastic scattered amongst silver glint in the darkness, catching in the lowlight. balloons of all different types of assortments were sprinkled throughout your apartment as well, regular colorful latex balloons floating above your couch and set atop your coffee table and fallen beneath your stools, while the fancier balloons had been pinned on an empty wall of your kitchen, ‘happy birthday’ with an extra exclamation mark and heart balloon spelled out in big bubble letters.

sat at the kitchen table, you watch in silence as a small candle flickers in front of you, placed in a single cupcake that your friends had insisted on saving for you after the party. 

(for when he calls, they had said gently, pushing the cupcake and the unopened candle towards you. you can blow it out with him, make your birthday wish together.)

it paints you orange, the soft glow just warm enough for you to barely feel it as shadows dance on the table. ten minutes away from midnight, you hold your breath, something in your chest deflating as you close your eyes, readying yourself to blow out the candle.

your phone lights up, ringing; you scramble to salvage what lingering traces of hope you have left.

you try not to think too much of it when the incoming call shows up as a voice call rather than video like it usually is, but your greeting slips out a little too quickly, too obvious to tell that you were waiting for him to call. “hi, sunwoo.”

“hey,” sunwoo greets back, words spoken slowly, his voice tracing the edge of a drowsy rasp. any trace of bringing up the voice call goes out the window. if this had been any normal circumstance, you would have teased him for mistapping his screen, playfully badger him to switch over to video call so you could see him in all his bare-faced glory. (but then again, a small voice in the back of your mind interrupts,  if this were any normal circumstance, he would have just been here instead of across the world.) you push the thought away; a small drop of wax begins to melt down the candle.

“we just got back to our hotel,” he tells you, and you can see it clearly almost as if you were there. the contents of their luggage messily splayed about the carpeted hotel floor, outfits for tomorrow draped on the chairs, and dirty clothes piled in a hamper in the corner. you can faintly hear a shower being turned on in the background, and sunwoo comments on it before you can ask. “can you believe this? changmin-hyung kicked me out of the bathroom as soon as we came into our room,” he complains, and you know that his lip is jutted out in a pout of indignation at the injustice of it all. “he said that i’d take too long and use up all the hot water if i went first.”

“well…” you chide softly, a smile faint on your lips. “he’s not exactly wrong, sunwoo.”

sunwoo whines, and you can hear him kick the sheet on the mattress. “you’re siding with him?”

“sorry,” and you don’t sound apologetic in the slightest. “you know i can’t lie.”

he grumbles something unintelligible as you breathe out something resembling a laugh. silence lulls for a few seconds, your shadow long on the tabletop, and you try to harden the twist in your gut, gathering the courage.

“i—”

“today—”

you stop, and so does he.

“oh, you go first,” sunwoo offers, but you hesitate, offering back.

“no, it’s okay, you go.”

sunwoo insists again, but you can sense his fight against his heavy eyelids growing closer by the second, the yawn that he stifles every time he pauses, so you force down the confession, keep your wish tucked away within the flickering candlelight. he would know, right?

“no, i mean it—what were you going to say? how was your day? how was the flight?”

there’s a moment of uncertainty where sunwoo tries to decide whether or not to continue the exchange, but he gives in eventually. “the flight was good,” he begins, albeit still reluctant. “the plane food was better than usual, surprisingly.”

you hum in acknowledgement, encouraging him to continue.

“and i fell asleep an hour in and—chanhee-hyung,” he interrupts himself, suddenly remembering. “i fell asleep and chanhee took these photos of me and—”

“were you drooling?” you guess, sympathetic.

“how did you—i mean no! i was not drooling!”

“chanhee’s newshots will never lie, you know.”

“ugh,” sunwoo groans. “remind me why you’re friends with him again?”

you contemplate, humming. “birds of a feather?”

(chanhee had actually sent you the photos earlier this morning, along with the text “happy birthday, here’s a loser as your gift.” he followed it up with an additional message of “your loser…i guess.”)

“oh, speaking of birds,” sunwoo adds, “that reminds me. i saw two ducks swimming in the river today. mandarin ducks, i think.”

“oh?”

“yeah.” his voice grows quieter, almost embarrassed as he mumbles, “they reminded me of you.”

you go still. you try to fight the hardened knot in your stomach from softening and twisting further. he’s just a hopeless romantic, you tell yourself, but the knot wrings tighter, creeping up into your chest the more you try to not think about it. mandarin ducks, the symbol of love.

(“they mate for life, you know?”)

sunwoo tries to change the subject, ears surely burning red as he stammers his way to the next topic while half-muffled into a pillow. “anyway, i didn’t call you too late, did i? it’s three a.m. over here, and i wasn’t sure. i didn’t wake you up, or anything?”

your ears ring as you swallow hard, eyes burning as you look at the clock on the wall. it ticks, once. “no, it just turned midnight here.” 

(you suddenly remember that chanhee had sent you another message afterwards, one that you never opened properly to read. “he’s said happy birthday to you already, right?” you had wanted to open it when you could respond with a “yes.”)

“oh, okay,” sunwoo smiles over the phone, love and affection still tangible even through the tiredness in his voice, the drowsiness that permeates through the speaker. “that’s good to hear. you should probably sleep soon, though, i don’t want to keep you up too late.”

“yeah,” you say, barely audible. were you expecting too much? “changmin should probably be done by now, too.”

“hey,” he frowns. “you okay?”

“yeah, i’m okay. just tired,” you tell him, tight-lipped as you smile.

“we never got to talk about your day,” sunwoo mentions, a reminder with gentle insistence. even on the verge of sleep, he was still trying.  “i’m free after dry rehearsal, so we can call again tomorrow night? i wanna hear about it first thing.”

you draw in a breath to agree, but something else slips out instead, the one thing you had tried to keep contained since the beginning. maybe you had brought this upon yourself, holding out for it until midnight slipped between your fingers, the hope in your chest slowly unfurling. you wonder if it was obvious, the remnants scattered at your feet.

"sunwoo," you call softly. the line goes quiet. you almost regret it, the words catching in the back of your throat when you try to speak them, but you imagine what it would be like if you forced your tongue to form them anyway, awkward and wooden and hurt. “i…” it was my birthday, today. did you know? did you forget?

by the kitchen, the big trash bag tied to the outside of your trash can is filled to the brim with plastic cups and paper plates. there’s still wrapping paper you need to throw away left on the counters, leftovers that need to be transferred and stored and put in the fridge. you wonder if you would have felt better about the hassle if sunwoo was there with you—to toss an empty cup into the open bag from across the room, to listen to you talk about your favorite memories from the celebration, to turn off the final light with you at the end of it all. like the old times.

even on call, he could have done most of those things, maybe even save you time from giving him a chiding look when he’d inevitably miss throwing the cup into  the trash bag by half a foot. he never really had to be here, he had just always been with you, in one way or another.

but it wasn’t not really your sunwoo anymore, was it? not really. not since he became more than that kid in the practice room with a pen between his teeth and a metronome in his hand, not since he became synonymous with the brand his name was attached to. and it was unfair of you to expect those kinds of trivial things from someone so far out of your reach now, right?

so the question remains a lump as you swallow it down—close your eyes, blink back the tears, it's your fault in the end, anyway—and smile. "no, nevermind. you must be tired, you should sleep soon."

“are you sure—“

“bye, sunwoo.” 

you watch as the reflection of the flame trembles in the small pool in the center of the cupcake; the wax has long since melted onto the frosting. you blow it out, and the candle leaves only a trace of smoke curling in the air in its wake—silent, alone.

it wasn’t so much that sunwoo had forgotten your birthday, but it was everything that it encapsulated, everything it makes you realize. how he was so much bigger than this, than you, how you shouldn’t have expected him to remember every little thing when he already has so much on his plate and a hundred more important matters to worry about. didn’t you hear the rasp in his voice? the exhaustion that coated each word? how he still took the time to call you at three a.m even after a full day of work and schedules?

you place the melted candle into the trash, carving out the tainted top with an extra knife lying on the counter. don’t be a bother. don’t hinder him with needless things.

the next morning, sunwoo calls in a panic, hurried apologies blurring all his words together in a flurry as he frantically promises to make it up to you when he comes home. you tell him it’s fine, you knew he was tired and busy and you didn’t want him to worry about it, but the soft assurance can’t hide the underlying hurt that splinters between him and you.

and he does keep his promise when he returns. the day after the plane arrives home, sunwoo’s first order of business is to insist on a full day spent together, making it his mission to be at your beck and call the entire time. he showers you with countless presents from his trip overseas and twice as much affection for each day that he was gone, but even underneath all the cheery smiles and excited banter, you can’t shake the feeling from that night. the mess on the floor, the shadows distorted in orange light.

it never really is quite the same, after that.

after. (love is a martyr.)

life goes on; it always does.

not much changes, at least nothing that isn’t glaringly obvious. you throw yourself into your work like you always have, going to countless songwriting camps and workshops, sending in drafts of songs to a&r teams of various companies only to be rejected then revised and then offered again for other songs and artists by other companies, a continuous cycle that seems to blur all the following days together. the only difference is that your phone stays eerily quiet—no scheduled ding at lunchtime reminding you to eat, no pictures shared throughout the day, no good night phone call to lull you to sleep.

though, you still talk to chanhee from time to time, if only because of his persistent insistence on the matter.

“we’re recording tomorrow,” he mentions, voice crackling over the speaker. you pause for a split second over a half-open cardboard box, hand faltering over the frayed edge of the flap. you’d only recently gotten around to unpacking the rest of your boxes from your move months ago; it wasn’t as if you were too busy to get around to it, but you suppose a part of you wanted to prolong the finality of it all, whether consciously or not. and on this wednesday afternoon on a day off, you figured it was better to do it now than never at all.

you let out an “oh”  in response, grabbing a few things from the box and placing it on the floor to reorganize later. “another comeback?”

chanhee’s chair squeaks as he hums, leaning back. he was in his practice room at the company—you can tell by the way he doesn’t whisper his words to you like they were a secret kept and hidden away. not like whenever he calls you at the dorm, careful of what wounds may open up again if someone were to overhear. “the teasers should be released soon.”

“you seem busy, lately,” you comment distantly, placing the phone on the table and setting it to speaker as you collect as many mini decorative plates and bowls in your hands before you stand up, ready to place them in various places around the living room and kitchen. remnants of the afternoon’s rain slips down the window glass, clouds casting the sky and your apartment a wash of dull gray. “first the tour, then a japanese album, now a comeback—are you sure you’re okay? you’re still taking care of yourself, right?”

“i mean, i’m fine,” chanhee says, a hint of ‘of course i take care of myself, who do you think i am?’ in the retort, “but.” he pauses, taking a breath, and you can tell he tests the words on his tongue before he speaks them. “are you sure it’s me you’re worried about?”

you place a bowl down on the windowsill a little harsher than you mean to. “chanhee.”

“sorry.”

chanhee at least sounds apologetic when he says it, but he interrupts the silence that falls soon after slowly, tentatively asking. “you’re going to listen to it though, right?”

you swallow hard, breathing out a long sigh as you pick up the phone again, holding it to your ear as you speak. “of course i am. did you even need to ask?”

“no,” he replies, a second’s pause where you think he shakes his head. “i just wanted to hear it from you for certain. to hear that you were still listening to us.”

 ‘to sunwoo.’ the words go unspoken, lying heavy in the air. it’s almost cruel, the way chanhee picks and pulls at the confession you have hidden like a wound just finished scabbing over, especially when he knows your answer just as well as you do. of course you would still be listening to sunwoo—that’s what you had promised him, way back when.

(the memory flashes by in an instant. the chill of a cool spring night, the squeak of the swing, the dim golden light of the street lamp above. you can still feel it, sometimes, the condensation slick on your fingertips, the bite of cold metal through your palm—the warmth, in spite of that.)

a small part of you whispers, what were promises really worth, in the end? you aren’t the same person you used to be, and neither is he. sixteen is a far cry from where you are in your twenties, the weight of the years lived through making you let go of the things a teenage-you wouldn’t have ever dreamed of—and that was normal, letting bits and pieces of your past selves be carried away by the passage of time. you know the same holds true for him, too.

but still. even if everything else had changed, you feel like it’s your duty, almost. to always be listening to him till the end.

“i have to go, chanhee,” you tell him, quiet. he makes a small noise over the phone, and before he can apologize, you interrupt with a small, “you’re fine. i just need to finish unpacking my stuff, and i promised myself i’d finish it all today.”

“you still haven’t unpacked?” he asks, baffled. “it’s been months?”

“i know,” you sigh, giving a little shrug. “i’ve just never gotten around to it. that’s why i have to finish it today or else i know i’ll never get back to it again.”

chanhee tells you to take care of yourself, to which you dryly remark to focus on following your own advice first and you say your farewells goodnaturedly, pressing to end the call.

it’s like a switch flips, silence falling almost immediately throughout the apartment, the heaviness in your chest weighted down even further in your solitude. you run a finger along the textured edge of the cardboard flap again, staring blankly at the items still wrapped tight in the box. a breath—in, then out, and then you blink it away, getting to work.

the box of posters and prints gets emptied out first, a roll of tape by your side as you hang up any remaining decorations that you’d left to a later affair when you’d first moved into the apartment. afterwards comes the books that you shelve carefully in alphabetical order in the small slot beneath the tv, then the living room curtains, the pack of postcards and holiday wishes kept in a tin case for safekeeping, the old journals you wrote in years ago and never looked back on since. you sometimes wonder if you should just throw them away, but you could never bring yourself to do it; you try to chalk it up to being too attached to the idea of the memories, even if you could never truly look at them again.

you heave the final box into your bedroom, hours later, huffing as you set it down in front of the drawers. sliding the bottom drawer open, the crumpled pile of clothes stuffed inside stares back at you. outside the window, golden hour peaks through your blinds, the sunset shedding just enough light for you to see in the dimness of your room. you crouch down onto the floor, knees knocking against the wood as you slowly take each article of clothing out, one by one to refold.

it was all clothes that you could afford to spare a second glance at, old shirts and pants that you never truly wore on a daily basis, clothes that were kept as another ‘just in case.’ and like the postcards and the journals and everything else in those boxes, the clothes crammed in that small space just seemed like something you kept choosing to not look at, to refuse to address in any way but in brief memory. you had told yourself that you’d always come back to it whenever you’d unpack the rest of the box of clothes, but looking back on it, maybe that was just a way of comforting yourself amidst the avoidance.

still, in the faint darkness of the room, you take each shirt out carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles and folding each crease to be in its proper shape. you had forgotten some of them existed, drawing out a small smile when you see the old mickey mouse shirt your mom had gotten you on her trip to disneyland, the student-made shirts from your high school graduating class, the club shirts you had joined in college. each refolded shirt gets stacked onto a pile beside the box, a reminder to go back and put the clothes from the box back in the drawer as well, but when you pull out the last shirt jammed in the far end of the drawer, you stop.

it’s nothing special, really, just a faded pink t-shirt with what seems like some semblance of a barely legible logo printed onto the front, but you clutch the fabric between your fingers, a memory from long ago surging back.

(“sunwoo…”

“yeah?” sunwoo pokes his head around the corner, morning sun dyeing his black hair a shade of light brown. he has a towel half-folded in his hands, corners lined up unevenly with one another. “what’s up?”

you frown, partially because you see a very near future of refolding all of the laundry he didn’t pay enough attention to, and partially because of the thing in your hands. “...you didn’t happen to put that one vintage white shirt you had in the latest pile, right?”

he frowns, eyebrows scrunching as he thinks. “i don’t know, maybe? why?”

slowly, as if to make him bear witness, you present to him his formerly treasured white shirt, freshly washed and dried, now dyed a clean shade of pale pink. “you put them in with my reds.”

sunwoo’s mouth gapes open just slightly, a small ‘ah’ escaping his lips. “i’m guessing we can’t do takebacksies on that?”

you groan, smothering your face into the shirt as you let out a long, exasperated “kim sunwoo…”

he tosses the towel in his hands onto the edge of the hamper as he steps into the laundry room, taking a closer look at it. “hey, it’s not even a big deal!” sunwoo reasons, trying to gently pry the shirt from your hands, but you wave it around accusingly before he gets a chance to get a firm grip on it.

“what do you mean,” you stress, waving the shirt that much more vigorously. “it was vintage! who knows how much you spent on this damn thing! and now it’s…” your eyes fall to it, defeated. “pink…”

“you know what, though?” he begins, taking your hands in his, and you meet his gaze, doubtful. “this is good. i’ve been wanting to give you one of my shirts anyway.”

“wha—”

sunwoo’s eyes light up, holding your hands excitedly. “it’s like, symbolic, you know? your shirt with my shirt dyed all together, it’s like…” he pauses, giving you a cheeky smile. “it’s like it’s you and me together forever.”

you can’t control the giggle that escapes after he says it, letting go of the shirt as you smack him lightly with bubbling laughter between your lips. as infectious as his smile is, dust floating in the streams of sunlight between, you call him lame for the cheesy comment because he is—he is lame for coming over to your place on his rare weekend off and of all the things he could do, he offers to fold your laundry together while simultaneously ruining one of his pieces of clothing in the process of trying to help, and then spins it in a way where none of it really matters because at the end of the day he knows it’s always just going to be him and you.

“and also, i just really want to see you in another one of my shirts.”

you throw the abandoned towel from the hamper into his face and tell him to go fold it instead, affection ever-present in your eyes. lame.)

that morning seems so far away when you think of it now. you bring the shirt to your face again—maybe for nostalgia’s sake, maybe to get some trace of what once was. wrinkles littered throughout the fabric, the smell of old wood from being stuffed in a drawer for months permeates through the shirt; darkness falls in the room as the sun fully sets, leaving only a sliver of dark orange lining the horizon.

you remember it, still. the scent of freshly washed fabric softener and the soft morning light and the heap of other clothes you and sunwoo had painstakingly gone over twice to make sure nothing else had leaked through and been dyed other colors, playful and teasing. you wonder what he would say to you if he saw you now, sitting on the floor with piles of clothes folded even with the wrinkles still tight. what he would say to you, if you listened.

and when you hold the shirt still for a second longer, breathing it in again, you realize that even the small traces of his old cologne were gone, too, all washed out with time.

you remember it all, and none of it is there anymore.

before. (love is like clouds, like fog.)

it’s a bit floaty, how the night comes to an end.

(sunwoo had arrived at your place around one a.m., hands shoved in his jacket pockets as he rocked back slightly on his feet, giving you a half-cheeky half-abashed grin. “i don’t suppose you’d be in the mood for a midnight snack, would you?”

already clad in warm pajamas and almost all finished washing up, you had stared at sunwoo for a long moment, slowly blinking, before creaking your door open wider and stepping to the side. “it’s cold. do you want ramyun?”)

he’d come immediately after practice, the sessions where they’d spent the entire day at the studio and only managed to come home at the insistence of their managers. it was for something they were preparing for, you know that for sure, so you hold your tongue from chiding him for not calling you ahead of time and instead shuffle to your kitchen, pot clanging onto the stove.

he was under enough stress as of late; you tried to support him in the ways you could, no matter how little they were.

when you both finish the two packs of ramyun and he offers to wash the pot, you shoo him away with a threatening slap of the pink rubber gloves by the sink, telling him to go wash up instead under the pretense of his post-practice sweat stinking up your entire apartment. sunwoo gasps, retorting that he smelled perfectly fine, but you give him a single look and he trudges away into the hallway, a weak indignant kick to the floor as he mumbles under his breath.

it never really comes up directly, the topic of disbandment, from you or from him. you talk of the preparation of road to kingdom, the exhaustion and stress that comes along with it, the weight its potential success carries unspoken between it all. you’re not entirely sure if the avoidance of the topic is deliberate on his part or not, but you try not to push for it too much. you know just as well as he does, and neither of you try to make it anything more than that.

“you know what,” he starts, later in the night when both of you are washed up and curled up in bed. “i’ve been thinking about it recently; it wouldn’t be so bad.”

you raise a curious brow, propping your head up as you turn to get a better look at him. “what wouldn’t?”

“you know, becoming a house husband.”

“sunwoo,” you blink. “what.” it was way too late for him to just be saying shit like this.

“i am just saying!” sunwoo gestulates dramatically with a hand, trying to prove his point. “if it doesn’t work out, i can definitely do the cooking and cleaning around this place while you go to work.”

“you can’t even clean up after yourself.”

“i can, i just don’t want to!”

you cast him a doubtful look, one filled with the knowledge that eric still complains daily about the pile of clothes tossed in the living room that are definitely sunwoo’s no matter how hard he tries to deny it, and that changmin loses half a year of his life every time he discovers another face mask sunwoo had slapped onto the wall or ceiling of their dorm room, and that the electricity bill at their dorm would run them to mere pennies if younghoon was never there to turn off the lights that sunwoo was supposed to. “is there a difference…”

“yes!” sunwoo insists, a strangely adamant look on his face. “i could totally do it. you would come home from a long and busy day of work and i’d have your entire dinner hot on the stove with a warm bath ready for you—you wouldn’t even have to lift a finger if i was there.”

you place a hand slowly on his, a placating gesture. “baby…” you coo, appeasing, and sunwoo tries to control his expression to keep up the indignancy. poorly, with the way he almost fumbles his entire stance at the mere mention of the petname, but at least you can tell he’s trying his hardest. “i think you’d burn my entire apartment down. or flood it, depending on which one goes horribly wrong first.”

“how could you!” he exclaims, pulling his hand away. “ye of little faith…” sunwoo’s voice goes grave and solemn. “don’t you want to see me in a sexy apron.”

“if i wanted to see you in a sexy apron, i would just give one to you.”

and even though sunwoo sulks and pulls a face at you, his insistence turns a bit softer when he repeats, “really, though.”

 he goes quiet, picking at a loose thread on your comforter. “it wouldn’t be so bad, if…if it doesn’t work out.” ‘it’ being road to kingdom, ‘it’ being their next album, ‘it’ being the boyz as a whole; your heart sinks. “i think the rest of us would just go back home, you know? maybe we’d pretend that these past years never happened, maybe all these memories would just turn bitter, but…” sunwoo gives you a lopsided smile, soft. “i would still come back home to you.”

the sentiment aches a little, your breath hitching as you try to rifle through the layers of emotions that sink to the bottom of your stomach, like picking at skin still raw underneath and not yet ready to peel. you wonder if he means it, if he truly sees you as a home to come back to or if you’re just something familiar, something safe; it’s not much of a distinction, but the details make all the difference—whether you’re somewhere he belongs, or if you’re simply kept sepia-tinted as a place to keep his preserved youth. the words escape from you before you can stop them.

“you don’t have to, you know.”

sunwoo pauses, and there’s a silence that falls soon after that makes you shrink into yourself, regretting words that can’t be taken back. “what do you mean?”

“if it doesn’t…” you don’t want to speak it into existence—they’ll do well, they have to. you try to form your words carefully, deliberately, so that they’ll be spoken correctly and convey exactly what it is you mean, but it all comes poorly anyway, clumsy and messy as you trip over your own tongue. “you don’t have to…you know.” your mouth goes dry. “stay.” 

sunwoo tries to not look offended at the suggestion, even if his furrowed brows say it all. but despite his own feelings on the matter, he tries his best to reign in his instinctive reaction, instead going to slowly coax you away from the ledge you’ve driven yourself to.

“i mean, i know i don’t have to,” he purses his lips, frowning. “it’s not like i feel obligated or anything, but i want to.” i love you, he means. i want to love you, i choose to love you.

there are a lot of things about sunwoo that you don’t quite understand—how he can internalize his envy to fuel his ambition, or how he still remains soft-hearted even after all these years, but you can’t begin to understand why sunwoo still holds onto you when you’ve long since stopped being something that he needs, nothing but a safe reminder of what once was. does he know? can he sense the way the two of you have started constantly tiptoeing around each other while trying to keep up an easy sense of normalcy, the memory of youth neither of you can return to? 

you’ve been holding back from each other—not just him, but you too. it’s easy, to slip into old banter and avoid the things bothering you, to play the part of your teenage selves full of passion and hopeful, unattained dreams, and maybe sunwoo knows this too. maybe he knows and he doesn’t want to admit it, allowing his world to be rose-colored to cling onto a past that leaves him loveblind to what he really needs, to keep him from acknowledging the fact that you’re nothing but a fragment of the past, something kept to fester.

sunwoo is a star, you think—no, you know. you’ve known for quite some time now, how he was bright and shining and meant for things lightyears away from anything you could ever see, and yet here he was instead: inside your apartment late at night in your bed, talking about how he was ready to fall back down to earth to be with you. like you were tying him down to somewhere he was never meant to stay, he was never meant to be.

and an hour later, when time sits between the precipice of twilight and dawn, you whisper an apology to him so faint it lingers in the air, floating between you and sunwoo’s still form. you’re sure he doesn’t hear it, that he’s been sound asleep for the past couple of minutes and it remains a secret between you and the not-yet-risen sun, but sunwoo shifts slightly, blinking at you in the dark, and ah. he wasn’t asleep after all.

turning to fully face you, he sits up to match your posture and takes a breath, a hand coming to rest on the back of your head as he bumps his forehead gently into yours. his eyes flicker over your features, concern etched clear even in the blinking drowsiness. “what?” what are you talking about, are you okay?  “what for?”

you shake your head, leaning into his touch as if to have the memory of him last just a little longer on your skin. it’s too much to say, too much of a weight to have sunwoo shoulder alongside you. so you tamp it down, swallowing back the lump in your throat as you blink away the heat behind your eyes. i’m just sorry. for everything.

sunwoo’s brows furrow, sheets rustling as he shifts again to sit up straighter, but you find his hand gently, threading your fingers through his as you smile—something soft and tender and so full of burdens it slips through and becomes fragile instead.

“it’s okay. nevermind.”

after. (love is a dream, lingering.)

you’re not sure if you can feel your face by the time you come stumbling back into your apartment.

fresh from a work dinner, the alcohol still buzzes in your system even through the barbeque you’d eaten along with the soju, even after the taxi ride home. too many seniors had offered to pour your drinks, all attributing them to the success of the most recently released song you’d worked on, and of course, you had to take it all with two hands, a polite smile, and the burn of the liquid on its way down. even if the taxi ride home had sobered you up slightly, your head still remains fuzzy and unfocused by the time you find the right key to your apartment and fumble with it before opening up the door.

you kick off your shoes by the front and drop your bag somewhere by the kitchen before making your way to the living room, coat thrown on the ground as you crumple yourself in the space between your coffee table and the foot of the couch. slipping your phone out of your pocket, you wince at the sudden brightness of the screen as it lights up. the apartment always seemed loneliest, like this.

it’s late, almost two in the morning from what you can make out from the glare of the screen, but you only look at it for a second before you swipe up, squinting as you enter your passcode. everything after this, you know, has morphed its way into being muscle memory more than anything else. 

you ignore the warning that pops in the corner of your phone in a red-laced ‘20% remaining’ and you let the practiced motions take over, tapping phone, then voicemail, and before you know it you’re back where you always are, staring at the only recording in your inbox before you press play.

a few seconds of silence fill the air, static crackling over the speaker, and then a voice speaks.

“hey.” it comes out shaky, just barely enough for you to tell. you want to say you probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it if you hadn’t listened to it so many times by now, but truthfully, you’d heard the slight tremble in the voice since the very first time.

(it was sunwoo, after all. how could you not know?)

sunwoo takes in a sharp breath, the beginning of an apology readying to end the call caught in his throat; you sometimes try to imagine a world where the apology goes through, where he instead tells you sorry, i shouldn’t have called and hangs up before the point of no return, but you’re glad this is the world you live in instead. the one where sunwoo swallows past the regret and starts to speak again, too light and full of faux casualness for his easy demeanor to be sincere, the one where you have the chance to hear his voice again. “strange hearing from me, right? shit, i don’t even know if this is still your number—i guess i could have asked chanhee-hyung to make sure but i’m not sure he would have been too happy to hear me ask about you.” 

he pauses, and from the amount of times you’ve listened to it you’ve made into something resembling a little game, filling in the gaps of what he could have done in the pockets of silence—like he’d squeezed his eyes shut at the thought, or he’d pressed into the spot between his eyes to fight away the image of chanhee’s disapproving stare. “he always did that, you know. for a long time after…” sunwoo bites his tongue. “i think it was pity, like he felt bad. not that he needed to, or anything, but you know how he is.”

he pauses again, as if scrambling for what to say next, what direction to take the one-sided conversation. “i, um, i don’t know if you heard, but we recently moved to a new dorm. we split into three separate ones, so we all got our own room, and you think that’d be great and everything after sharing a room with kevin-hyung for the past few years but we played rock, paper, scissors for our room picks and—” indignancy sneaks its way into his cadence, and you smile at this part always “—i really think i got the smallest room. i’m pretty sure it’s smaller than the bathroom. and jacob-hyung got the biggest room!” sunwoo continues, grumbling. “i’m not mad about it or anything, it’s fine… it just seems a little unfair, don’t you think? and, and…”

your eyes flicker, watching the seconds on the timestamp tick by as sunwoo continues to ramble about the most miniscule of things: more dorm shenanigans that sunwoo insists he was completely innocent in, how he’d run into jihoon backstage during a music show after not seeing him for a while, the pictures his members had posted for his birthday that he claims could have potentially ruined his ‘sexy and charismatic’ image with the fans forever. it all feels like he’s scraping the surface, the real reason he called still buried deep beneath all the frivolous hedging; it’s become almost obvious, given the amount of times you’ve listened to it, how each word is just another second stalled trying to build up enough courage.

and finally, when all of sunwoo’s pretense dies, when the lull at the other end of the line comes again, whatever he was planning on saying next deflates as he goes quiet, finally gathering enough courage for the whole truth. you mouth the words, ears buzzing, the timing and cadence seared into your memory.

“you were in my dream last night.”

you remember the morning you’d woken up to this voicemail, remember your thumb hovering over play but not finding it in yourself to press it. you know—you’ve known since the beginning that the recording would only add to your troubles, but on a night like tonight where the noise of the work party still echoes in your head and the apartment feels lonelier than ever after a tipsy ride home, the bruise feels too tender for you to do anything but press into it, over and over and over again.

“i’m not even sure why i called you just to tell you that—i didn’t even get to say it to you.” sunwoo lets out a wry laugh. “i mean, of course you wouldn’t pick up, it’s five in the morning, i don’t really know what i was expecting, but i…no.”  the confession tumbles from his lips, shaky and vulnerable and no matter how many countless times you’ve heard it, it still feels like slicing open an old wound. “i think i just wanted to hear your voice.”

sometimes, you let this section play out fully, his words like tiny shards of glass forming cuts on your skin without stopping; other times, you press pause just to replay it, just to hear him say it again, just to feel the sting and ache as you try to recreate the rawness you’d felt the very first time you heard it. salt in a wound is still salt no matter what name it tries to go by, but you suppose that’s why you’ve trapped yourself in this routine in the first place—to make sure the bruise still hurts, to pick at the scab just to see it bleed.

“i guess it just didn’t work out though, did it? your voicemail’s still the same automated message it’s been since high school, so all i’m really doing here is embarrassing myself.” everything laid down and exposed with no walls left to hide behind, sunwoo’s words come quiet and fragile. “i think a part of me expected it to still be the same, but—maybe the other part of me hoped things had changed. isn’t that ironic?” he breathes out a small resigned laugh. “change is what got us here in the first place, and now here i am, talking to myself and leaving a voicemail to a number that i’m not even sure is yours. pretty stupid of me, right?”

sunwoo swallows hard and so do you, the memory of the words ringing in your ears before he speaks them. “i miss you,” he says eventually. “i’m sorry.”

the faint static on the other end of the line tapers on for one, two, three seconds more before the recording finally ends, stretching into true silence. the first few times you had listened to it, you’d kept your ear pressed to the speaker, replaying those last few seconds desperate for anything else you could have missed, anything you could make out after his final words. now, you simply stare at the screen, still burning bright in the dark.

it’s almost funny, the way this has formed itself into something resembling a bad habit. every time, you go through the motions like they’re old and used and worn because they are, no matter how much you refuse to admit it; and each time, you take the shame and the guilt that curls in your stomach and ball it up inside of you, letting it seep into your bones, so that the next morning when you wake up, you can look at yourself with your newly polished and clean exterior and pretend that it’s merely something left in the past.

but for now, you hit play on the recording again, watching the seconds tick by once more.

(the next morning, you wake up to your phone still in your hands, battery completely dead, the previous night nothing but a pounding headache and a blur of what might have been. a new day, and yet it all feels like the same motions all over again. 

you ignore the calcified shame within you, play ignorant to the cycle that will inevitably repeat itself the next time a night like that comes again, and you pretend that this is the one thing you won’t let go of, even if it turns into all you have left.)

before. (—you were my youth.)

it’s a tuesday night when you see sunwoo again.

dressed only in sweats and a jacket for extra warmth, you had just finished your regularly scheduled convenience store snack run, plastic bag in hand, when you turn the corner and see a glimpse of him: backpack slung over his shoulder, trudging steps, wearing single gray hoodie that was no doubt too thin for him to not catch a cold on an early spring night. blinking, you register the familiar face for a split second before you call out after him, half-jogging to catch up.

“hey! hey, sunwoo!”

for a moment, it’s almost as if he doesn’t hear you; and then, his foot stops in front of the other, hand moving to take out an earbud. sunwoo turns around, gaze wandering until he meets your gaze. his eyes light up in recognition as he makes out your face in the residual light from the convenience store windows, the glow of the street lamp a few feet away.

he holds up a hand for a polite wave. “oh, hey.”

“heading home?” you ask, peering at him. you hadn’t really seen much of him these past few months, other than the increasingly sparse times you’d spot him in class.

“yeah,” sunwoo nods, a slight smile to go along with it. “just got back from training.”

“ah, i see.” it’s a little strange, looking at him now. even if you hadn’t taken a good look at him recently, you could still tell something was a little off about him; maybe in the way he was carrying himself, the heaviness of his step, the half-hearted way his smile didn’t look quite like the one you were used to.

then again, what did you know? it wasn’t as if you were best friends or anything—after you’d partnered with him for that one project months ago, you’d only talked to him a handful of times, either in passing or when you saw each other around. calling him a close friend would be far from the truth, but calling him just a classmate wouldn’t exactly be accurate either. you suppose he stood in a strange middle ground, one you didn’t seem to mind.

but even so, maybe even just the implication of friendship was enough for the concern to fully settle itself into your mind, the reason why you can’t bring yourself to just brush off his exhaustion as a result of the late hour, and why you impulsively jab your thumb towards the neighborhood playground a block away, the plastic bag in your hands rustling from the motion. “you wanna make a small pitstop before you go?”

and surprisingly, despite a moment’s hesitation, sunwoo takes you up on the offer.

it’s how you find yourself sitting together on the swingset, the subtle squeak of metal on metal almost serving as a familiar comfort as you rock back and forth, heels digging into the bark beneath. “i heard you got into loen, right?” you try, peeling your awkward stare from the chipped paint on the side of the swing over to the boy next to you. “how is that going? i never really got the chance to congratulate you on it.”

“it’s good,” sunwoo replies, almost on instinct, but before he can continue, he closes his mouth instead. the rest of the sentence tapers off into an awkward silence, leaving you to fill in the gaps.

“tough?” you ask, more of a rhetorical than anything else. maybe you were overstepping your bounds by prying, but the least you could do is offer a lending ear, especially now that you were both here anyway. “i might not be a trainee,” you offer, “but i know it can’t be easy.”

sunwoo presses his lips into a line, swallowing in contemplation, before nodding.

“i don’t know,” he confesses, the toe of his shoe digging a hole into the woodchips. “it’s definitely hard, but it’s not just that… i like that it’s hard, you know? it means i’m challenging myself and it means i’m learning, it’s just—they said they’re selecting the debut lineup soon.” the swing chain squeaks between the rustling of the bark. “what if i don’t make it?”

(what if i never make it?)

you get it—the uncertainty that haunts every step of this path. you’ve seen enough of your friends and classmates drop everything to pursue their dreams, only to have it thrown back in their face, failures either resulting in a renewed perseverance or the battering of their soul. and even if you weren’t taking part in the same rigorous and merciless training process that plagues them, the crumbling foothold follows you too, at times, all for a dream you can’t ensure will spare you even pennies in return.

but you do it because you want to, because you have to, because you love it too much for there to be any other option you’d be willing to fathom. and in spite of the short time you’ve gotten to know him, you’re sure the same holds true for sunwoo, too.

“then you try again.” his head shoots up, and you meet his eyes with a smile. “and you keep trying and trying until you can’t anymore—because you love it, right? dancing, singing, performing? you wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.”

you watch his expression carefully as your words land, waiting for the smallest sign to back off, but instead, sunwoo gives you a resolute nod, taking each word to heart.

“you can do it,” you tell him, every word sincere. “i know you can.”

there’s a certain weight in his gaze afterwards that almost makes you regret having said it, almost like you’ve overstepped in your own direction instead. what were you even doing?

 the sudden intimacy of the moment settles into your stomach all at once, and you try to grasp at anything to bring back the lighthearted mood of a few minutes ago—for your own sake. clearing your throat, you try to dispel the sudden heaviness in the air.

“in any case,” you start, rifling through your bag. fishing out a container of strawberry milk, you stand up and walk over to sunwoo, pressing it against his cheek; he jumps from the sudden cold against his skin. “you know we have exams coming up, right?”

sunwoo groans, raising a hand to take the milk. “what if i just dropped out like jihoon?”

before he can grab it, you press the container harder into his face, frowning. “don’t even think about it!”

“but…” sunwoo looks up at you with sad, shining eyes, panhandling for a single ounce of pity. “that means no more exams…”

“and then what,” you reply dryly.

he finally takes the milk from your hands, pressing it to his forehead with his eyebrows furrowed, the beads of condensation threatening to slip down his palm. “okay, you have a good point.”

you roll your eyes, but sunwoo snaps his head up after a second of thinking longer, milk sloshing in the container at the sudden motion. “you wouldn’t leave me out to die all on my own, would you?”

“huh—”

sunwoo pleads your name in a dramatic fashion, hesitating a little before grabbing your hands to continue his spiel. you have a brief yet vivid image of his resemblance to a raccoon digging through your trashcan in your front yard. begging for scraps… “you have to remember me when you’re famous, okay…”

“sunwoo,” you exasperate, trying to pry your hands away from his, freezing and wet from the cold milk. “you aren’t dropping out and you are not becoming homeless.”

he nods enthusiastically. “right, because i’d have you!”

“don’t you have any other friends?”

sunwoo looks you dead in the eye, his grip tightening. “i have friends, but you would have the songwriting royalties.”

“for the last time,” you groan, finally slipping your hand away from his grasp. “you’re not gonna drop out, and you’re not going to become homeless! and you’re going to make it!” you rub your hand gingerly on the side of your jacket to wipe off the excess condensation. “enjoy the strawberry milk, i’m gonna head home.”

you turn and take a few steps, only for sunwoo to call out to you again. “hey, wait.”

pausing, you look back curiously. “yeah?”

“if…” he starts slowly, staring at the milk in his hands. “when i debut,” he rescinds, meeting your eyes. “will you listen? to me, i mean—even if you’re the only one?”

“i definitely won’t be the only one,” you chide, stuffing your hands in your pockets. the night air was growing colder by the second, remnants of winter lingering in the beginnings of spring. funnily enough, you don’t really seem to mind the chill. “we’ll make it, okay? we’ll make it together.”

you attempt to leave it at that, but the way he looks back at you, sunwoo holds the question between the two of you, still waiting for your answer—like he would have waited forever for it, if he needed to. and despite your previous unfamiliarity with sunwoo in this sort of setting, you figured it would be cruel to deny him of at least an earnest answer.

“to answer your question, though.” you try to look away to break the weight of his gaze, but you find yourself pulled back to it anyway. finding the resolve to match his, you step forward again. he needed to hear this; and maybe, you needed to say it, too. 

“of course i will.” tonight’s moon waxes, its light peeking through the clouds. “i’ll always be rooting for you, kim sunwoo.”

after. (yet. love is always, always, a choice.)

the first few times you see the video on your recommended page, you try to ignore it.

you shove it to the back of your mind and you tell yourself it can wait just a little longer, that there’s no difference from watching it a few days from now. except the days stretch on into weeks, and it still remains untouched, lingering forever in an endless present. the video itself isn’t anything big, objectively speaking, but the heaviness of it weighs on you every time you see the title, knowing what it consists of: special release from kim sunwoo of the boyz, self-composed track.

it’s not exactly breaking the promise you had made to him all those years ago, more like putting it on hold. and maybe it’s for the best, the waiting period, but the longer you wait, the more things just keep piling on and shoved into the shelf to collect dust over the past few months—their last single, the mini-album that followed after, and now this. you had tried, that first time chanhee had asked you about it. you couldn’t make it far before you had to turn it off.

you tell yourself you’ll get around to it when it stops hurting, a soft assurance to still keep your promise, but you know it’s hypocritical to give yourself that easing comfort when in the same breath you’ve been pressing into the bruise again and again, never giving it the time and space to heal. the pain has never stopped you before, rather, you’ve grown close with the ache, the faint memory of the wound, but there’s something distinctly different about listening to his music that hurts too much for you to continue. 

maybe it’s the way it brings you back to that classroom and that swingset and everything you know you can never go back to; or maybe, despite the voicemail that you still come back to on the loneliest of nights and the wrinkled shirt that remains crumpled in the corner of your room, a part of you knows that the salt in the wound would be nothing compared to digging an even deeper, uglier wound in a cut scabbed over. that’s only what it could feel like, if you listened to him before you were ready. 

you want the memories as a lingering taste alone, but you’re scared that if you go back to that promise with two feet planted and an open heart, if you delve into the memories completely, you won’t be able to come back out.

tonight is different, though.

you want to blame it on the hour that hosts the beginning of dawn, or the way you can’t go back to sleep, or the dream you’d had before you had woken up, the details fading more each second. but when the video appears once again, thumbnail ingrained into your mind, you don’t even need to look at the title before you finally click on it.

(you had dreamt of him, that night. 

it was a good dream, you think, at least in the moment—more of an old memory than anything else. sunwoo had come over the night before his birthday for an early celebration, insisting on being congratulated by you first thing once the clock struck twelve. you remember it being a small celebration, just the two of you in your apartment together with cheesy decorations and balloons blown up spelling out his name and a golden ‘hbd’ strung along the walls. 

the rest of it comes in and blurs together in flashes: the strawberry cake you’d bought to share together, the way you’d wiped the frosting on his nose only for him to smear a bigger chunk onto your cheek, the shoddy match that came with the cake that sunwoo couldn’t light, no matter how hard he tried to save himself from the embarrassment.

and usually when you wake up from a good dream, you fall asleep again soon after, just to catch the traces of the dream before it’s gone forever. but you’re trying, slowly in your own way, to not do things like that anymore. after all, eventually the shirt needs to become just another shirt, and your voicemail will one day go back to having no more recordings saved. 

you want to think you have it in you—to let the wound finish scabbing over and heal, to finally let it fade into almost nothing but a brief mark of time in your skin.)

the music starts the second the video starts to play, and you feel a pull at your gut, an inner voice whispering. you can still back out, it says, soothing. you haven’t hit the point of no return yet. it’s okay if you’re still not ready.

but then sunwoo’s voice cuts through the noise, each word sung with his heart on his sleeve, and that part of you grasping for any form of protection left instantly goes quiet. if it were about anything else, maybe you could have rationalized it to yourself and clicked out of the video, convince yourself to go back to sleep and that it was okay to wait. another time, another day, another world.

when he sings, he sings of you, he sings to you, and you remember that you had never truly listened to the words he’d wanted to say to you since you’d sent that text that ended everything that night—not really. didn’t you owe him, then, at least this?

so you swallow hard, and you blink until lights dot the inside of your eyelids, and you listen.

(sunwoo’s lyrics talk of love, how he had wanted to be yours. he had wanted to be yours forever, and yet he ended up losing you and maybe that was his fault; maybe if he had shown you his love better then you wouldn’t have let him go, then you would still be by his side instead of appearing only when he closes his eyes, unsure to call you a dream or a nightmare. not that it mattered, you were still his universe, no matter what. even in the hurt, it was still love)

it’s all wrapped up in pretty lyricism and intricate metaphors to keep the listener guessing for the true meaning, but you’ve always understood him best when it was through song. you think you had forgotten that, after so many years together and knowing him through everything else, but with the music playing through your headphones and the screen of your computer flashing the images in the silence of your apartment, it was like coming back to your roots. like you were in that classroom with a pen and paper and that playground with the chill of spring still warm on your beating hearts and how you’ve known him intimately before you even knew you could.

it all felt so simple, back then. like budding love was all you would ever need, before everything else got in the way, but—no. you stop at the thought. that’s not quite it.

(pause, rewind, play.)

it was always simple to sunwoo. he was a star burning bright and blind to you, growing farther from your reach each passing day, but to him, you were never anything less than the universe itself. was it truly so horrible—bearing attachment to his youth? you were still growing beside him, right? you were the home he wanted to return to, weren’t you?

and yet you were the one who had smeared the paint before it could finish drying, the one who had felt so alone in watching the wear of a bridge you had deemed impossible to save. and at the end of the day, maybe the fault fell partly on both of you, stepping onto that unsteady footing together with the rope of the bridge fraying with the weight of time, but you were the one who had taken that last step to the other end without him even knowing.

lit match in your hands, you had burned that bridge for what you’d perceived to be the greater good, to destroy it before it could collapse and take both of you with it. an act of cowardice disguised as selflessness, you’re left to stare at nothing but the ashes and cinders you had set aflame. but in the wreckage, only after everything do you finally understand what that indiscernible emotion was in his eyes when he looked at you, what he had meant that night by choosing to love you.

in the silence, daylight breaks, your once dark apartment beginning to tinge a soft yellow glow.

(the ground beneath your feet steady, you look to the other end of what once was, carrying the pieces of wood in your hands. if you tried to build that bridge towards sunwoo again, panel by panel, could you rebuild something stronger from the ashes? would sunwoo help if he knew, repairing each step together with you?

you’re not afraid of finding out the answer—not anymore.)

epilogue. (love is gravity.)

the sun rises fully soon after, the sky turning into a brighter, deeper shade of blue as the hour passes. still lingering along the edge of dawn, you know if you looked outside you would see the frost beginning to melt on the blades of grass, the slow trickle of cars onto the road as people were starting to head to work. it’s subtle, the difference between five a.m. and six a.m., but it’s enough for you to feel the shift in the air.

gnawing at your lip, you reach for the phone lying on the table. it’s an aching sense of déjà vu as you unlock your phone and scroll through your contacts, searching for a single name. you can only imagine if this is what sunwoo felt like, the night he’d called you, half-hopeless as you press the phone to your ear, the first dial tone ringing. 

(you want to let yourself not hurt anymore—to allow the wound to heal, to finally let go of all the shame inside of you. it’s your first step in trying to repair that bridge you had once burnt down, your first choice where you try to move forward. but sometimes, to move forward is really to move back to where you want to be, back where you belong.)

each additional ring that repeats comes with decreasing expectation, and you brace yourself for the voicemail message that will inevitably come. of course he wouldn’t pick up this early in the morning, you tell yourself, another ring echoing. you wonder if this will become a new pattern, one voicemail to another, always barely missing each other in efforts to reconcile, always a little too late. trading in one bad habit for another, maybe this was just how it was meant to be.

but you suppose it’s always been like this, ever since the night you broke up with him—how sunwoo has been choosing to love you still, even after, and how you’ve been choosing to still love him too by refusing to truly let him go, orbiting around each other like how gravity is both the reason why a planet circles a star and why they can never ever fall into one another (again). perhaps this is just where the frayed edges of fate have left you, coming together only once before your ends are split away forever.

but when the sixth ring sounds and you prepare to hear the automated message, drawing in a breath to scramble together a message to leave at the beep, you hear a single voice instead. your breath hitches.

“hello?”

your lip trembles as you press the phone harder to your ear, heat surging to the bridge of your nose, the back of your eyes. you try to keep your voice steady but it comes out watery instead, words spilling over before you know it. “hi. it’s me.”

and despite everything, gravity fails, just for an instant, and you and sunwoo collide into each other once again.

[ssareiids]

HIIII OMGGMG i love ur theme its sauurr cutesie i love it!1!1 i wasnt sure if you take requests or not so feel free to ignore this erm.💔💔

i was wonderign if u could write for spencer reid (PLEASEPLEASPLESE) like definitelt domestic fluff and like it's the two of them baking and uh it goes wrong but reader and spence just giggle like idiots at the mess they made

SWEET ON U!

pairing: s2! spencer x reader

summary: spencer and you both excel in many things in life– just... not baking.

tw/cw: if you're scared of fluff then back off /j LITERALLY NOTHING TO ADD AS A TRIGGER, if smth does count as a trigger here though please tell me.. probably innacuracies in the baking, sorry bakers i had google and a dream

shayli's ted talk: guys i swear i've been writing since my casey oneshot it's just that i'm... i'm employed now🙁.. also I LOVE YEW ANON, guys request things plz... im going through a writer's slump . we dont mention the dilauded here he's happy okay

Today was one of the days that God– or whatever being that resided in the clouds, gave Spencer a day off.

Well, it was more like the day off was forced on him. If you knew Spencer Reid, you knew he didn't take vacations, didn't use up sick days, and would probably win an award for perfect attendance if it existed for the FBI. He had denied himself of a freedom office workers would love to have, up until this very moment.

Hotch has made his words clear, and easy to understand.

"Take a day off, Reid."

Said in that same poker face Hotch always wore, the one that was burned into his eyes with how often he saw it. It was rare for the Unit chief to ever smile, and when he did, no one would be there to see it.

Getting back on track though...

You had a much more positive reaction to his day off, it may only be one day of freedom from case files and coffee mugs that were filled with a caffeine that bordered nowhere near luxury. But you would take it, you just didn't know what to do with it.

When he had first informed you of his day off, you had been overjoyed at the fact you'd finally have your boyfriend to yourself instead of playing a never ending tug of war between the job and you.

The excitement quickly faded when you realized.

You had no idea what to do with him.

I mean, you could just cuddle up all day and sleep the entire day away. But, that wasted alot of time, time that you and Spencer rarely had together.

You then wondered if you should ask him what he wanted to do, but unfortunately, ever since the two of you had begun this relationship– Spencer follows behind you everytime.

Literally and figuratively.

His half awake mind had once followed you to the kitchen when you woke up to go get a glass of water, and let me tell you. Seeing a 6' foot man behind you at 2:00 AM does things to you, and not the good type. You screamed and he screamed back, both in fear.

You knew that he'd go along with whatever shenanigans you had in mind for your couple bonding time, so you brainstorm, maybe not as fast as your boyfriend but you think.

You sit on the couch, criss cross applesauce, while looking down onto the floor. Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought as you scour the files of your mind for an idea on how to spend this rare Saturday.

"You look like me" Spencer tries to joke, it falls flat and slams face first into the floor when you don't respond. Too lost in the rabbit hole you've created to try and say something witty back.

Spencer furrows his eyebrows too, and approaches you warily– slowly, like you were some sort of threat he had to neutralize before sitting down next to you on the couch. "... Are you okay..?" He probes, trying to see if his profiling mind can do him any good in guessing what's up with you.

Then, as if the electrons– or atoms, whatever. Lined up in your brain to form the first idea that would suffice, you sat back up straight. A peaceful glint in your now not squinted eyes as you turn your head to face Spencer.

He looks confused, like... really really confused.

".. Love...?" He tries the pet name as if it would snap you back into reality, and you simply grab his hand before smiling at him.

"We are going to bake."

"... 'Kay."

As you had planned he had agreed to the idea without much second thought. Which was funny since he's so meticulous with the things in his life, maybe he's just gotten used to you bringing chaos into it.

You two had spent maybe about 30 minutes or so wondering what you should bake, you thankfully didn't need a search engine for ideas this time because Spencer was on board with being the recipe holder.

"How about chocolate chip cookies?"

"We don't have chocolate chips."

He responds curtly and you snort before rolling your eyes at him.

"I wonder who's fault is that.." You reply back, and he opens his mouth in protest, but he never actually says anything back knowing that you're right. Giving him a smug grin that said "Exactly."

"How about a Pie?"

"Well... I suppose we do have the ingredients for a normal pie, but we'll also need a variety of fruits, maybe more chocolate, and���"

"SPENCER."

"Okay, let's make a pie."

The two of you retire to your kitchen, getting all the baking necessities and tools out. You didn't even know he had all this stuff in his apartment, and when you asked he said they came with the place when he moved in.

You two learn alot of things about each other through small talk while trying not to get shells in the mixture when cracking the eggs.

You learn that Spencer has a sweet tooth, but you figured that out when you caught him putting 4 packets of sugar into his morning coffee.

Spencer learns that you almost broke your jaw on a jawbreaker once when you were 16, he furrowed his eyebrows and asked why you did it knowing it was called a jawbreaker.

You learn that Spencer has read your favourite book approximately 143 times and counting. You nearly teared up and almost got your salty tears in the melted chocolate.

And Spencer learns that you had a pet chameleon who ran away. He suggested it could still be in the house but just camoflauged, and you threw the cupful of flour at him.

You both stand there in silence, unmoving, like a showdown between 2 cowboys with only flour and sugar at their hands.

Spencer stands there, ruffled in the white powder that now adorns his pyjamas like snow, his face covered in so much of it he nearly looked like a ghost. He only reacts when you start laughing.

You don't laugh gently, or chuckle at the sight. No you laugh like you've just seen the most funniest thing in your life, and in a way... it kind of was. You hold onto the counter and hunch over, laughing like you were hysterical.

He looks over to his back, trying to find a weapon to launch back at you until he lands on the melted chocolate sauce, he glances back at you. Completely unaware of his plans before reaching his finger towards it, ew.. but it'll be worth it.

Once his finger is coated in the gooey sweet treat, he smudges it on your cheek, not carefully nor affectionately, he rubs it on your cheek– shamelessly.

You look up at him and pause your laughter, a look of faux offense swirling in your eyes as you try and find something to retaliate against him.

The innocent unbaked pie crust on the pan lay there, unaware of it's fate to come as you peel it off ready to lunge it at him. Spencer reacts just as fast though and gets his own piece of the pie crust

"Uh uh, don't you dare." Spencer says, raising his piece of pie crust like it was a shield against yours. You squint your eyes as if in focus before flicking your share of the pie crust at him.

He dodges, barely, before trying to swat you with his own. You jump back and almost bump into the kitchen island before grinning and reaching for an egg.

"I have a weapon and I am not afraid to use it!" You reply, holding the egg at him as if it was a knife, Spencer plays along and drops his pie crust onto the floor and raises his hands into the air "Ok! Ok! I surrender!" He says, his voice squeaky in defeat.

You two eventually agree to a ceasefire before getting to work on recreating the pie crust that you two had used in your food fight.

This time you work in silence, a comfortable one that came easy after the little playful banter you just had, you worked better this time since you both had gotten used on how to start and how to use all the baking tools.

After the pie crust had been filled with the melted chocolate and had been sent away to the oven, you two both fall back onto the couch.

Or it's more like you land on the couch and Spencer lands on you.

"Ah– hey!"

You shout when you feel his body weight practically jump on you, he grins toothily in his little victory when you let him stay ontop of you, knowing that you really didn't mind.

The two of you sit there in silence, waiting for the timer above the stove to ding so you both can try out your creation, there isn't much conversation.

But you didn't need to talk, your touches on his carefully done hair, and his head buried into your neck spoke enough of the love that blossomed nicely between you two. It got you thinking.

It had you imagining what you would be doing if you never met Spencer, if you never had a sudden surge of confidence to ask the pretty boy at the library out, or if he had rejected you. It had you wondering what fate held for you, the idea of fate itself.

DING! DING! DING!

You nearly push Spencer off of you when you hear the alarm's call, apologizing hurriedly before rushing along to the oven, with Spencer following right behind you, even if he was in the middle of having a very good nap.

He grabs you the oven mittens and urges you to be the one to get the pie, you don't question it, he was clumsy with his hands– half awake or not.

The oven door opens like the gates to heaven, in it's wake an aroma of chocolate and sweetness follows, sending you and Spencer into a momentary trance before you finally get it out of the heated space.

You both try to reach for it until you remember the thing is still... extremely hot.

Neither of you have the patience to wait for the sweet treat, so you leave it out on the fire exit, hoping that the windy breeze of the night cools it down enough, and that there aren't any pie swipers nearby.

The two of you giggle like little kids waiting for the smoke of the pie to dissipate and the heat to finally turn cool. When Spencer announces it's been 15 minutes, you finally grab it back into the safety of your home.

The sound of plates being taken from the dish rack and a knife being taken fills the kitchen alongside your giddiness, you bring it onto the counter with an eagerly waiting Spencer with a knife.

"You sure you can cut it?"

"I'm not 6."

He replies stubbornly before squinting his eyes and focusing on the slice he's about to cut, you look away to pass time as he cuts his own slice, but then look back when you see that he's taking... forever.

"Spence?" You ask when you see he hasn't even made an indent on the pie, raising an eyebrow when you see the focused glint in his eyes usually reserved for crime scenes and cases– not for cutting a pie.

"Shh..." He hushes you with a raised finger before finally making the cut, clean and simple, before handing it to you.

"I cut the pie for you in pi." He says proudly, as the joke flies over your head, which is usually supposed to happen to Spencer, not to you.

"... What?"

"You just don't get it." He shoos you away from the thought with a gesture of his hands.

extra:

"Hey, Spence.. about your joke earlier." You bring it up as the two of you lay in bed, social battery well drained after the events of today.

He only hums in acknowledgement of your conversation starter before allowing you to continue.

"Did you try cutting it for me.. in the size of pi or something? Like... pi as in the number..?"

"ты никогда не узнаешь."

"STOP DOING THAT."

shayli's ted talk: i used google translate for the russian so don't judge me... heh.. ok bye i'm gonna disappear and not write for another month.. maybe..

written by @ssareiids