#I need to be so mean and flippant to him like right now. like immediately.

[crybaby-bkg]

You don’t see your next door neighbor much. Mainly because he’s usually gone for a majority of the time, uses the place more for storage and mail than actual lived in quarters. it doesn’t matter much to you; you keep to yourself anyway in the neighborhood, might say hello to a passing person here and there. but you’re not close with anyone, and that’s fine with you.

it’s not fine with Oliver, though. he’s moved back into this place for the time being while the season is out, finds the peace and quiet of the neighborhood something he secretly missed while donning the high life of being pro. he likes the parties, the constant push and pull of bodies, of people dropping by, of hookups being only a couple of blocks away. but on his downtime, he prefers this; the quiet, intimacy of a close neighborhood.

you’re the oddball out, however. you nod and wave to him when you catch sight of him on his porch as you drive off somewhere. don’t stop and chat with him when you’re both picking up your mail at the same time. don’t even invite him over when you have small get together’s at your place, your smile wide and unfamiliar to his eyes.

(that last one especially makes his heart ache. how could you? don’t you know how good your food smells when it’s wafting from your open kitchen window to his? you’re cruel, he thinks. cruel and pretty and so damn uninterested in him, it makes him want you more than he thought humanly possible.)

he catches you one evening, the air muggy despite the dwindling hours. it’s hot out for no good reason, and your fence is pretty tall, so why not? why not take your spoiled little pup out back in just a tank and your underwear? it’s not like anyone could see you, would be looking over into your backyard. the neighborhood is close, but not nosy in the way it’s intrusive. at least, it wasn’t until—

“Hot night, isn’t it?” Oliver calls over to you, startles you so bad you damn near drop the poop bag you were holding away from your body. you spin around in surprise, your pup yipping once in alarm before he starts wagging uncontrollably at the sight of someone new. you roll your eyes at his enthusiasm, something that’s entirely one sided.

“Why are you looking into my backyard at this hour?” you ask without pleasantries, short and straight to the point. you don’t try to hide yourself away, despite the fact that you’re dressed damn near indecently. your underwear is a size too small, a pair you haven’t thrown away for days where you forget to do laundry. today just so happened to be one of them. instead, you place a hand on your hip, your other hand still dangling the poop bag as your pup starts jumping up at the fence your neighbor looks over with a grin.

“Just heard some shuffling out back, and wanted to make sure there weren’t any intruders back here,” Oliver lies coolly, resting his forearms on top of the fence. you note the musculature of them, the veins that bulge. how his lips quirk up the tiniest bit when you grow quiet for a beat too long, the scruff of his beard and the brightness of his eyes. pretty boy, you think, and one used to getting a shit load of attention. it’s why you starve him of it, already knowing his type.

“My Prince Charming.” you say flatly, before tossing him the poop bag that he quickly catches with a look of surprise and mild disgust. you can’t help your chuckle as you call your pup back to you. “Take that out for me, will ya, neighbor? Thanks.”

you’re in the house before he can say anything else. he watches the way your hips sway with every step, how the curve of your ass swallows the fabric of your underwear, of the slither of your lower back from where your tank rises and thinks. thinks he might have a thing for his mean neighbor, so much so, that he’s willing to throw dog shit away for the rest of his life if it meant having a piece of you.

Oliver swoons when you slam your back door shut, wonders if this will be the start of something beautiful.

[littlemillersbaby]

"well hello"

request: hiiii!! saw ur baker fic & loved it was wondering if you could write teacher!fem!reader? like she’s one of the teachers in Jackson and ofc ellie’s in her class and ellie LOVES HER talks about her nonstop and bothers joel. one day at pick up he finally sees her and he definitely understands what all the hype’s about now. It can lead to smut or not whatever you want I love ur writing <333 word count: 1,3k warnings: +18 minors dni, too lazy to write more but there's smut and language!

it’s just past three, and your classroom still smelled faintly of chalk dust and damp wood. ellie was long gone, already bolted with a bounce in her step and a grin that cracked sideways when you reminded her that her essay on pre-fall governance systems still needed citations. you really liked her. she was smart-mouthed, whip-quick, a little feral in that lovable way if there was one.

you were gathering up worksheets into one neat stack when there’s a knock—barely even that, more like a hesitant tap. you look up, and there he is.

joel miller.

you’ve heard of him in bits and pieces, mostly ellie’s flippant mentions. "my old man," she says, or "joel says if you give me homework on a friday he’ll riot." the usual teenager noise. but you’d pictured someone rough, maybe grizzled, but the real thing? no one warned you about those bedroom eyes.

he’s leaning halfway into your doorframe, one hand braced against it like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to come in. you couldn't help but take him in; worn flannel, heavy shoulders. his gaze cuts across the room until it lands on you, then lingers like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

“hey,” he says. voice like gravel, but still warm and apologetic. “uh..i’m here to pick up ellie.”

you blink, “oh, she left ten minutes ago. said she was heading home.”

joel blinks right back, slowly this time. you watch his mouth twitch, not quite a smile, more a grimace of regret. “of course she did.”

“she told me you’d come late,” you add, something about the way he stands there makes you want to offer him anything. a chair, coffee maybe.

he huffs out a breath, rubs a hand over the back of his neck, fingers catching in graying curls. “figures...guess she figured i’d just find my way here anyway.”

“and she was right,” you smile, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, tilting your head. “she’s clever like that.”

his eyes—brown, kind—settle on you again. longer this time. like maybe he’s taking his time to memorize you. your cardigan’s too big, sleeves pushed to your elbows and there’s a bit of pink and orange chalk on your fingers. he sees it all, catalogues it.

“you’re her teacher,” he says, not a question.

you nod, with a small smile. “mhm.. history.”

he nods too, but it’s faint, the air feels weirdly full all of a sudden. he shifts, and you catch the faint creak of leather from his belt. the man is solid. not just physically, though, lord, yeah, that too—but there’s something rooted in him.

“she talks about you,” he says, breaking the silence.“a lot.”

you swallow, “i hope it’s all good things.”

his mouth twitches again, and this time it’s definitely a smile, a crooked one but a smile nonetheless. “she says you’re smart. don’t take her shit. and that you swear sometimes when you’re grading papers.”

you laugh, nodding at the ellie's silliness. “that’s true.”

“she likes you.”

something about the way he says it makes your stomach do a little flip. the way his eyes don’t leave yours. how his voice drops on that last word—like he’s testing the water.

you could say something flirty here..something coy. but instead—

“do you want to get a drink sometime?” you blurt, then immediately feel heat crawl up your neck. “i mean, just, if you’re free..and want to.”

joel doesn’t blink, he just stares for a second at you; you could tell he was wondering if he heard you right.

“yes,” he says, so fast. “yes, i would love to.”

it was now saturday night at 7:00pm, and you were second-guessing all off it, thinking that you should've canceled.

you tell yourself it’s because of the cold—there’s a chill in the air but not threatening enough to cancel. it’s because you haven’t dated since coming to jackson.

but you show up to the bar anyway. it’s small, just off the main road. the smokey firewood smell clings to the ceiling beams, and old pre-fall songs hum low through restaurant speakers. joel was already there when you walked in, sitting at a corner table, hands curled around a glass of brown.

he stands when he sees you. such a gentleman.

“you came,” he says, and he looks so sincere about it your chest hurts.

“of course i did,” you say, sliding into the seat across from him.

he orders you a drink, and for the first few minutes it’s causal talk: ellie, school, the town, then it starts to slip into something else.

“you always this quiet?” you ask, teasing.

he raises a brow. “you always this bold?”

“bold? please...you should see me on parent-teacher night. i’m a badass.”

he chuckles and it’s soft and full of sweetness. it makes his whole face change. you sip your drink and watch the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“what about you?” you ask. “always this broody?”

joel leans back, one arm slung over the back of the booth. “only when i’m tryin’ to impress someone.”

“you think it's working?”

his eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up.

“yeah,” he says. “think it is.”

later, when the drinks are gone and the once big fire is now burning low, he walks you home. the streets are too quiet while snow comes down in soft flakes. his hand brushes yours once. then again, finally on the third, you just take it.

your fingers tangle easily, like they’ve been doing it forever. at your door, there’s a pause. his breath plumes in the cold. his eyes search yours, asking without words.

you don’t make him ask.

“you want to come in?”

“yeah,” he says again, that same voice, full and sure. “i’d love to.”

the door closes behind him, and it’s like the air shifts with warmth.

neither of you says anything for a second. his eyes are still on you, dark and lustful. you can feel the beat of your heart, too loud in your chest. his fingers twitch like he wants to touch you, but he's too hesitant.

so you take his hand again, lead him inside, past the coat hooks, into the living room. you turn to face him, suddenly unsure. “joel, i—”

he cuts you off by kissing you deeply. you open your mouth under his, and the kiss deepens even more. one of his hands cradles your face, the other grips your waist. he pulls you in as you moan into his mouth.

he groans low. “fuck,” he mutters against your lips. “you feel good.”

you thread your hands into his salt and pepper hair, dragging his mouth back to yours. you break for some air and he chases your mouth, kisses down your jaw, and your throat. his beard scrapes against your skin, making you wetter than before.

“bedroom,” you say.

he lifts his head, eyes blown wide. “you sure?”

“yes,” you breathe. “joel, yes, please.”

you don’t remember the walk to the room. it’s a complete blur, hands under shirts, skin on skin, maybe a bit of grinding.

he undresses you slow, like he’s afraid to rush it. and when he’s finally bare before you—he’s so large, scarred, and beautiful—you pull him down onto the bed.

“look at me,” you say.

he does as he slides into you, slowly and unhurried, one hand pressed to your cheek. the rhythm starts off slow. his breath catching on every thrust as your nails claw at his back. he kisses you and talks you through it. over and over.

“been thinkin’ about you,” he says, voice ragged. “since the first moment..couldn’t stop.”

“me too,” you whisper. “joel—don’t stop..please don’t stop.”

he fucks you so well and lovingly. God, you can't remember the last time you felt so good. and when you both cum, shaking and holding on to each other. you think to yourself, maybe jackson was a good move.

special tags: @inbred-eater , @wintfleur , @lowrisemiller

[foreversfangirl]

I took notes while I listened to the audiobook of Sunrise on the Reaping. Here they are.

Spoilers obviously

Ch 1 -

* Haymitch has similar to Gale. Their moms are very similar

* Katniss didn’t have a single thought that it could be her or Prim in the games. Haymitvh adds the caveat to his plans that he could be going in

* Haymitch goes out of the fence too

* I always wondered how they were getting “white liquor”

* Haymitch’s mom knows and collects on his illegal jobs

* Crying that this is how Haymitch became an alcoholic

* Abernathy’s were always rebels

* She’s a covey!!!

* Is… is that Katniss’s dad?? Birdick (Burdic?)

* Is Katniss’s dad covey???

* Everdeen cousins? So maybe not

* L.D is gonna die partially because of Haymitch but also because she herself is rebellious and a problem

* L.D is from L.G’s linage

* First gay character in Hunger Games series

* Punishment for not dressing well enough in the reaping

* I would put money on his little brother getting reaped. He isn’t old enough right now

* Astrid March!!! Katniss’s mom!

* Astrid and Birdic…. I’m crying

* Information about their currency!! Scrip only good in capital approved stores

* Music!! Anthem!! Propaganda!

* Drucilla wishes she could be Effie

* It doesn’t matter if she is wealthy by district standards. She is still district. She is still nothing to the capital

* Haymitch wasn’t originally reaped. I didn’t see that coming

Ch 2 -

* Peeta’s dad… more crying

* Oh my god… Haymitch was never reaped at all

* Very flippant murder “just shoot her”

* Plutarch! Is he already a rebel?

* “It’s too long” …. Are the reaping rigged?

* Rebellion didn’t start at 74. It was always there.

* Offering alcohol then recanting it because he’s a child. Too young to drink but old enough to die

* Drucilla is literally disgusted. The capital considered them animals

* L.D didn’t get to see goodbye

* Maysilee telling her dad not to pay for her freedom

* “Lost this privilege” fuck this is brutal

* I still don’t know how I feel about Plutarch

* Ma putting aside any pride to just have a second with Haymitch

* Sid is just like Prim…

* I wonder at what point the train became a luxurious experience for tributes

Ch 3-

* Willa Mae … unsung mom

* Covey got incorporated by killing adults and keeping the kids. How much of their culture were lost?

* Pick up? They used to have cars. Where did they all go?

* L.D knows in her bones there are people outside of Panem. Where are they? Why have they left Panem to their own brutality?

* Bean and ham hock soup for mourning

* Haymitch doesn’t even consider that he could win. He’s just mourning his loss.

* “My kin” Haymitch speaks like an Appalachian

* I need to check on Lucilla, I’m all she has left. Protector

* Sweetheart … crying

* Strategic immediately

* First mention of fertility in the distracts. Loss of Haymitch’s twin sisters

* Maysilee came in swinging. I love that her weapon is being a mean girl. No one is immune to her shaming them.

* Chiggers. This boy is Appalachian as fuck

* The attendant can talk

* Who are their mentors since they don’t have any victors? Plutarch?

* Haymitch’s illegal dealings makes him strong. Like Katniss.

* Victors from other districts??? Other district contact??? Wild

* Plutarch is a very good “yes man”

* Damn I kinda love Maysilee’s quips

* He’s indulge me right into the arena. Bread and circuses

Ch 4-

* Solidarity in not eating the cake. I want to know what they were all thinking

* Mean Girl Maysilee strikes again

* Drucilla actually hit her. That’s insane. And Maysilee took no shit

* Fuck dude… Maysilee held no punches

* Drucilla alluding to life being worse if Maysilee won. The Finnick treatment probably

* Haymitch knows about the lake and the house

* The mockingjay pin was Maysilee’s… and there is a twin of it somewhere in the world

* Booker Boy…. Pariah

* Jeep? So they do have cars?

* So district 1 is chained? And broke the window. Are they rebellious?

* Wyatt was listening

Ch 5-

* How did Wyatt and May feel listening to Haymitch and Lucilla write them off before they even get to the capital

* Maysilee even fat shamed Drucilla

* Capital children

* I’m surprised they let the tributes even see each other

* Showering together is strange. It humiliates them

* The prep team are students. They’re kids like him. And they talk like kids. As if he’s a project.

* Insecticide to get rid of body hair

* L.D is a rebel burning the flag, sabotaging a hanging

* L.D can be rebellious because she has “nothing” to lose

* I already know what’s gonna happen to Maysilee. But damn I wish she’d lived. She reminds me of Johanna

* Why is Magno obscessed with reptiles?

* Is 12 treated this badly intentionally because of Lucy Gray?

* Haymitch is a really good protector and comforter… it’s not gonna matter. I’m going to be very sad when Lucilla dies

* These pre games pageantry is a mess

* Fuck dude Lucella died before she even got to the games. Are they going to replace her?

Ch 6-

* This is all happening in public

* What a disaster… no wonder Katniss and Peeta hadn’t seen the footage from these games

* Silca is going to be the final show down with Haymitch

* Snow is looking at him. And sees Lucy Gray

* Someone will knock you off it, straight into your grave

* Haymitch presenting Luella and clapping is just like Katniss shooting the apple out of the pigs out and hanging Seneca Crane

* Urchin lol what a lame name

* Wyatt is coping so hard

* People still feel joy when they have children… Lucella’s dad

* Tributes being chained up but allowed to talk to each other is jarring

* Try that buddy…. Haymitch is a older brother through and through

* OH MY GOD WIRESS

* The capital thinks she’s creepy and unnerving! Yay!!!

* And Mags!!!! Oh my fucking god

* And now we’re all crying

Ch 7-

* Did Mags know about the soup?

* Have Mags mentored for 12 before?

* Maysilee doesn’t like being a twin and matching her sister. But I get the sense that Marilee does like it

* Haymitch wants to make a statement. That’s more than Katniss ever did

* The goal isn’t even to win. It’s to make a statement

* Wiress might be autistic (?)

* There’s more of you then there are of them

* Plutarch might be a rebel? Asking “why didn’t you”

Ch 8-

* Why is Plutarch having this conversation in public?

* No oh my god… Beetee’s son is Amphert

* God damn he just comes right out and says it. That his son is in the games because he is being punished.

* This clicks together a lot as to how people got started in the rebellion

* Beetee won 16 years ago

* It makes me wonder if Haymitch makes fun of them “Nuts and Volts” to protect them or if he’s mad at them for something

* This is going to be so bloody and gruesome… this big alliance is going to fall apart so hard. We know from Catching Fire, that this doesn’t hold strong

Ch 9-

* I don’t think Lenore is going to be killed. She’s going to become an Avox for her own rebelliousness and to punish Haymitch

* President Snow is already ill from poisoning…. Almost more ill

* I wonder if this is intentional?

* Ahahahahahhahaah I can’t believe Haymitch drank the milk

* Songbirds and Snakes

* I know it’s Snow projecting but I can feel myself in Haymitch’s shoes squirming

* Spelled it right out for him. Your behavior has guaranteed that

* What?! Luella?! WHAT

* Who is this child that they’ve surgically changed to look like Luella???

Ch 10-

* Ahhhhhh she’s programmed and parroting

* Maysilee immediately goes into making her an object. A thing.

* Mags immediately treats her like a person

* Mags and Wiress clock where she’s from quickly

* AHHHHHH the canary

* Device in her chest?! Oh my god…. I feel like the horror is so much more in your face in this book

* Crying over the bread from 11

* This feels like a set up to a failed first rebellion

* But I love that Beetee was already team rebellion before we even meet him

Ch 11-

* Suzanne put a lot more intention into how the games work mechanically

* I love Amphert…. I am so fucking sad for Beetee

* New theory, Haymitch backs out of trying to destroy the machine to save his family and Lenore

* Transmitter… constant drugs… she’s a dummy bot

* The capital didn’t learn their fucking lesson with the JabberJays

* Knowing that Maysilee and Haymitch become allies in the arena later is making my stomach churn. What the fuck happened to make them not allies when they start?

* Why not lady? You are

* I knew he was going to get a 1. The punk thing wasn’t gonna pan out

Ch 12-

* Lou Lou’s presence is fucking painful

* I kinda like Wyatt…. Math don’t lie

* Maysilee and Drucilla have the same antagonistic relationship that Haymitch and Katniss did

* Student beauticians freaking out about failing throws all of my life problems into sharp perspective

* I wonder what Vitas and Proserpina did to get the shitty distract

* The difference between 74 and 50 is wild…. This is pretty pathetic

* EFFIE!

* I know she’s on the bad team. But I’m happy to see her? Conflicting feelings.

Ch 13-

* Effie is Proserpina’s big sister?! Effie is a sister!! I’m crying.

* Is this how she landed up stuck with 12??

* Now that I’m running through other characters from the other books… I wanna know more about Cinna

* Maysilee and Effie are cunty girls girls together

* How old is Effie? How much older is she than Haymitch? How old is Proserpina?

* What the fuck is going on with Magno? Is he acting crazy? Or is he really crazy?

* What is the end goal? I get it. Break the machine. But then what? This rebellion is going to fail because they don’t have enough back up

* I feel like Drucilla is gonna die?

* Lou Lou wants the snake?

* Wyatt hugging and taking care of Lou Lou makes me mushy

* I wonder what happened to Cesar Flickerman?

* It is fucking sadistic

* A lot of hunger games “culture” came from 25

* Haymitch is real good at recentering back on his phrase from Catching Fire. Remember who the real enemy is.

* Kind of surprised Cesar is bolstering the Newcomers

* Modern lingo is noticeable (catching z’s … use of the word vibe)

* Lou Lou is more animal than human right now … and like an animal they lash back at things that hurt them

* Oh my god they knocked her out remotely

* This is what Katniss and Peeta got to see

* Rascal and owning it

* Drucilla and Magno are married 😂 unexpected

* I can’t puzzle out Plutarch

* FUCK ME MAN …. What are they doing to Lenore Dove

Ch 14-

* L.D getting arrested again makes me fucking sad … ahhh the hanging tree

* Why why why why why are they letting her talk to Haymitch? Do they know about the plan?

* I hope L.D doesn’t kill herself or get herself to be executed

* They’re still on the phone and I am weeping because I’m thinking about empty Haymitch is when we meet him and how full of love he is now

* I have an old friend in 12 …. WHO

* Is Plutarch starting his own rebellion? Are Plutarch and Beetee working together??

* Bro who the fuck radicalized you??

* Why 12? Is it just because they’re rebelling in small ways already?

* “This is a family show” … THEY ARE MURDERING EACH OTHER

* Is Plutarch talking about AI? Good job Suz

* It’s lonely going rogue :(

* In a place called heaven… they are so far removed from religion

Ch 15 -

* Maysilee choosing coffee as her “last meal” makes me sad

* Where did Maysilee hide the packet? Mouth? Swallowed it? Secret lady compartment

* Lou Lou singing a district 11 song makes me want die

* Lou Lou makes me think of Rue

* How many tributes throughout the years have been replaced with another child? Another victim?

* Rue’s good luck charm was the same as Chickaree’s

* I’m getting a disgusting gut feeling. I don’t want Haymitch to have a Cinna moment like Katniss did

* The way those two are going to be stuck together for the next 30 years

* What happened to the flint striker? Where is it? Who has it? Burried with Lenore Dove I bet

* Why didn’t the bunny set off the explosives?

* Impulse to protect them. He wants so badly to protect!

* Haymitch and Katniss really are alike

* I want Lou Lou to be gone early. I want her suffering to end.

* Coin sized black tablets ? Poison remover! Charcoal tablets to make you puke up poison

* Poison water. Everything is poison.

Ch 16-

* I’m sad Wyatt died so soon …. I’m sad for his family

* I’m surprised Lou Lou lived and kinda sad

* FIND HAYMITCH!!! LOU LOU

* Lou Lou is Rue I’m crying

* Fire is catching…. I’m gonna throw up

* A snake mutt is gonna kill Lou Lou

* Oh no…. She’s poisoned by the plant pollen

* Noooooooooooooo

* I’m glad she didn’t get murdered…. But fuck still painful and sad

* The pump oh my god oh my godddd

Ch 17-

* Mutts are gonna be released to make him give up Lou Lou’s body

* They’re not even animals… I bet their little machines

* I hate that hindsight lets me know this plan isn’t going to work

* Why does he think he would be “welcomed back in 12” if he won by blowing up the arena? How does he not think that he will be punished after winning? I know he will. But why doesn’t he think that?

* Hey buddy… I hate how much I love Haymitch. He’s such a good guy

* All the little ones seem to end up with me…. Why do they flock to me? I relate to that

Ch 18-

* This is how the mountain top explodes and floods half of the arena

* Haymitch is so smart to belt himself in. Just like Katniss and the tree

* Where is he? Where is Ampert???

* Oh my fucking god…. Picked him clean in seconds

* BUDDY?

* A valid crash out

* I feel like I’m going to throw up. He did it. And it isn’t going to fucking matter

* FUCK it didn’t matter

Ch 19-

* First use of the word rebel

* This poetry is so good… it punches me in the face

* I wonder how many people in the hunger games commit suicide before or during the games…. Or victors that do after

* I fuckin knew there would be people waiting

* Ahhhhh Mean Girl Maysilee!

* So who’s left? That was most or all of the careers

* I already know what happens but ahhhhhh

* Sure… I’ll be your sister OUCHY

* Evil lady bugs ?! noooooooo

Ch 21-

* The sounds are so visceral in these books

* A porcupine the size of a bear makes me want to shit myself

* The first part of the games felt like it was moving at break neck speed and now feels like it’s dragging out… weird tone shift

* We see so much more death and violence in this book than Katniss’s games

* One of us as to be worst victor in history…. Maysilee you would have been an amazing anti-victor but I’m kind of glad it wasn’t you because you would have been even more exploitable by sheer fact of being a woman

* I love the folk music

* THEY KEEP USING NAMES LIKE SIS AND BUDDY

Ch 22-

* I really like Maysilee’s commitment to forcing the world to view her and treat her like dignity and respect

* If Haymitch told Maysilee the truth, would she go along with it? Would she help?

* Game Makers? In the arena? With the tributes? These games are a fucking disaster.

* Okra. Appalachian boy

* This is so jarring

* Oh my god…. They murdered the game makers…. This is insane and a disaster

* Bombings…. Tear gas…. Rebellion

* Read them for fucking filth Maysilee they are fucking boot lickers

* Maysilee knows that even if she won, she wouldn’t grow old after murdering a capitol person

* The singing singing singing the constant singing…. Do you hear the people sing? Singing the songs of angry men

* It was there…. It was THERE

Ch 23-

* Did he really exit the arena? Is the force field from the edit even real?

* It’s coming and I am gonna throw up

* I’m glad he never leaves out Lou Lou and Woodbyne

* The force field is for the generator not the tributes…. God damn Suzanne

* He went back for her 😭😭😭 I knew he would go back for her and I still cried

* They took her voice 😭

* I just know that raggedy ass bitch Drucilla is happy watching her die

* “She’s with family” I am unwell

* Bean and ham hock soup???

* Noooooooo it’s the coffee for Maysilee a bitter bitch to the end

* Haymitch cries…. He cries many times in this story and I’m glad he doesn’t just swallow his emotions

* I knew it would be him and Silka (Silca?) at the end

* Freeze Tag ….. they are kids just like us

* Even a bicycle is a luxury item in 12

* Welly is so smart!

* Ahhhhh I’m scared

* She’s so starving she’s sick… oh sweet Welly

* Fuck…. Silka crying is just the cherry on top

* Remember the real enemy

* It’s not Silka. It’s not Panash. It’s the fucking capital. It’s the system that oppresses you and that is the point. Remember the real enemy

Ch 24-

* Welly starving to death in the hunger games is so painful and sad

* I’m surprised tributes are still allowed to have district tokens after these games

* Welly makes me think of Bonnie and Twill

* Curtsey of the Capital makes me fucking sick

* Is it milk?

* FUCK ME MAN I HATE IT HERE

* Coin flip Plutarch or Snow? My bet is on Snow

* I would start running with the milk and drop it…. Or dump it out

* Canon? WELLY NO

* He left Welly alone…. She asked him not to leave her!

* Oh my fucking god

* The real treasure…

* It’s the only way I get back to my people

* It looks so intentional… but it really wasn’t. Haymitch was just wanting to not be in the arena

* Loose cannon

* NEWCOMERS LAND ON TOP

* They won’t let him die

* THEY CALLED HIM OUT BY NAME IN THE ARENA

* Bullets?! Oh my fucking god

* This is why it faded to black in the replays

* EXCEPT YOURE NOT DEAD

Ch 25-

* What would happen if both tributes did die? Both were really really injured and couldn’t be saved?

* Naked Avoxes? What? Is he hallucinating?

* Ahhhh snake…. Ew oh my god

* The chest pump feels soooo sinister to me

* It’s weird having the victor tribute wake up in the training center apartment

* Haymitch really is the only person that could ever understand Katniss and Peeta

* How the fuck did Plutarch and Beetee and Wiress not get hanged for this?

* I keep circling back to what we know Haymitch’s house and his life is like as a victor

* Curated especially for me… gory deaths and suffering

* Oh Lucy Gray….

* I can’t stop crying….

* God damn it Effie

* White roses…. Crying, screaming, throwing up

* It’s hard enough being a Trinket? What does that mean?

* Effie… for all the shit about you… I can’t hate you

* Ahhh why is Mags in a wheelchair?

* To them? THEM?

* Are they already dead? Fuck I hate it here?

* The narrator has a sigh in his voice like he feels the anguish

* WHY IS SHE IN A WHEEL CHAIR? WHAT DID THEY DO TO HER?

* The card stacked him. Edited his rebellion into their propaganda

* This entire year of games was botched and rigged from the very beginning

* Why was the quell “theme” chosen for this year? Was it because there were early rebellions? Like Beetee? And they rigged it like that to take more rebel children.

* No Ma or Sid…. Are they going to paint him as an orphan to the country and kill them to make a point?

* They edited him into a villain

* They removed all of his allies and kindness

* A red rose? Not white

* Enjoy your homecoming…. I HATE this

Ch 26-

* Cage? Like a fucking animal

* God damn it Effie

* Someone finally said the word rape. That is such a real threat

* He’s willing to be their party clown to save LD and his family. And isn’t going to fucking matter

* He means the bodies FUCK

* SNOW HAPPENED TO SNOWS COVEY

* Arrogance is a great word for that

* Hanging Tree

* Louella and Lou Lou, the twins that he lost?

* No one is there waiting…. His mom and Sid are gone

* They were ordered not to welcome him a bet

* No on is there because his house in on fire…. Fuck I hate it here

* Katniss’s parents were his friends…. They couldn’t save them

* I’m the reason the cistern is dry (I broke down)

* Someone committing suicide… I knew someone would…. I’m sad that it’s Wyatt’s dad

* Marilee always liked looking like her twin and now she hates it

* You know this is Appalachia because even when you don’t like people, they’re still like family

* Capital Cage…. Forever in a cage

* He wants to save her so badly…. It’s not gonna matter

* Will her uncles get to live?

* LD is such a brat, I love her so much

* NO NOOOOOO

* He fed them to her

* NOOOOOO

* He’s just a boy! He’s a fucking child

Ch 27-

* I’m shocked he didn’t Romeo and Juliet it. Take one too and die with her

* Not again…. Oh Lucy Gray

* Blaire let him go for Haymitch’s comfort

* Burdock and Astrid tried so hard to stay friends with him…. Burdock was his best friend

* Could Blaire be Gales’s dad maybe? Probably not

* If he had access to it, Haymitch would be a morphling

* It hurts me that Burdock never forgave him

* LD lays forever with LG

* He was so down bad for her it hurts

* He leaves the flint striker with her FUCK I hate being right

* All the poetry and songs is painful

* No wonder Haymitch became an alcoholic

* The message is extremely simple. You cannot give up. You are obligated to live and FIGHT for a better future

* Damn appendicitis

* THE ATTIC

* Oh no Beetee’s wife is pregnant

* I need to know what radicalized Plutarch

* I have nothing to live for…. Then you have nothing to lose

* Even though Plutarch is on the good guys side. It does not erase the evil he had to commit to achieve the ends

* Expecting him to immediately help is a little ridiculous

Epilogue

* I have to look after my family

* Katniss reminds him of Louella… his sweetheart

* Lenore is in the book…. Immortalized forever

* Lenore never left him…

* End music sounds like The Magnus Archives…. Haaaaaate that

[wanderinginksplot]

One Shot: Captain Fordo + Gear

Captain Fordo x gn!reader. Flirtatious.

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: fear of heights, descriptions of panic, awkwardness, flirtations both verbal and physical.

---

One of your favorite parts of working with the clone troopers was figuring out everyone’s interests and passions. Some were obvious - Cog liked anything mechanical - while others were well-hidden, like Pierce’s skill for baking. 

It had been strange in the beginning, watching men who were known across the galaxy as lethal warriors coo over some small thing that had caught their attention. Now, you found it charming and utterly endearing. 

You had been in the hangar for less than two seconds when someone called your name. The commanding tone and friendly pitch told you immediately that it was Captain Fordo, but you still made eye contact and let him beckon you over before you changed your course to approach him. 

Fordo was one of the troopers you had been working with the longest. He was an Alpha ARC, one of the first troopers the Kaminoans had ever produced. He was taller and broader than most of his brothers, though you suspected some of that was the way he held himself to keep the kama around his waist from getting in his way. That bearing was one of his most unique traits, a remnant of the training he had received from Jango Fett himself. 

And, when you were being truly honest with yourself, he was your favorite of the men. He was certainly the one to whom you were closest - every time you were in the same area as him, Fordo made a point of speaking with you, even if it was only for a few minutes at a time. 

You had barely gotten into earshot when Fordo started waving something at you. “Have you seen these yet?” 

“I can’t even see it now,” you pointed out. 

After he rolled his eyes at your comedic squint, Fordo lifted the object up for you. He held it carefully, using his fingertips at the very bottom of it so you could see the entirety of whatever piece of new gear he had managed to pick up. 

Because that was his passion. In fact, ‘passion’ might still be putting things lightly. Captain Fordo verged on obsession with the gear that made up his kit. He could always be counted on to find new, obscure things that he thought should be added to the standard gear all troopers carried around. And, since he tested everything himself - on and off the battlefield - he was usually right. 

And it wasn’t just weaponry. Tactical gear, survival gear… anything Fordo thought was interesting, he fixated on. He needed to dig in, find out how it worked, how useful it was, whether he could create anything better, and then how it could be incorporated into the current collection of standard gear. He had come up with countless ideas in the past, several of them so clever and helpful that the GAR’s Procurement Department had consulted with him to find the correct materials to purchase. 

“Well?” Fordo pressed, one brow arching impatiently. “You can see it now, can’t you?”

You laughed despite the inherent rudeness in his question. He didn’t mean anything by it, it was just how he always was. Fordo was a man of many contrasts. He could be brash and impatient, but he always had time to help a friend or get into the specifics of a piece of gear for someone who didn’t understand how to operate it. He could be flippant, but he also visibly brightened when he saw you. Many people described him as too professional and businesslike, but he always took a moment to show you the newest gadget to have captured his attention. 

“I can,” you admitted readily. “But that doesn’t help me much. I have no idea what that is.”

“Let me just demonstrate it for you.”

“Sounds good to me,” you agreed, trying to hide your smile. The brash, flippant, business-like captain was nearly vibrating with excitement as he prepared to show you what the new piece of gear did. 

Abruptly, your smile disappeared and you found yourself trying to stifle a gasp instead. Fordo reached out and towed you close as soon as you had agreed to his suggestion. He even wrapped an arm firmly around your waist, holding you against the plastoid of his red-touched armor. There was the noise of a clip and a brief popping sound, but it was nothing more than a backdrop to your raging thoughts.

That simple contact was the first moment you considered that your feelings of favoritism toward Captain Fordo might run a little deeper than pure friendship. The sudden flash of realization made you feel unsteady, like your knees weren’t actually supporting your weight anymore. 

And then you looked up. 

And then you looked down. 

You had noticed that the ceiling of the expansive hangar bay looked closer than it should have as you looked past Fordo’s face, but you still weren’t quite prepared to see the floor so very far below your feet. 

The casual, half-startled grip you’d had on Fordo’s shoulders turned much, much tighter as you bit back a squeak of alarm. Past the blood rushing through your ears, you could hear Fordo explaining the new gear to you. 

“-about time we developed an ascension cable with the capability to hold two people. It’s gonna make hostage retrieval a lot easier. Or Seppie retrieval. Either way.” Fordo’s shrug made the edges of your vision go white with terror. 

The only reason you weren’t screaming was because you were hooked to the cable as well. To be in the hangar bay, all workers had to wear a harness. You had always thought it was a stupid policy, since you weren’t about to climb anything tall, but the way it was supporting your weight as well made you mentally thank whoever had decided on the policy. Of course, if you hadn’t been wearing a harness, Fordo probably wouldn’t have launched you up into the air without more of a warning…

Fordo was oblivious to your fear, glancing curiously around the hangar instead. To be fair, he probably hadn’t seen it from this angle before. You certainly hadn’t, and you would give all of your credits not to be seeing it then. “And the cable itself is longer. Previous versions had a maximum vertical firing distance of seventy-five meters. I just fired this cable at double that distance and there’s still some available to spool- What’s going on?”

“I’m just-” Your explanation broke off in an embarrassing squeak as you rotated slightly. “I don’t- don’t like heights.”

“You didn’t tell me that before I pulled you a hundred meters into the air?” Fordo bit out. The condemnation was sharp, but you knew him too well to be fooled. There was concern behind it. His free hand moved to the small tube that had caused the whole mess, expertly manipulating the buttons.

“If you had told me it was an ascension cable, I would have,” you countered. 

Your thoughts were starting to feel a little distant. You had never liked heights, but there was something about this situation that seemed particularly bad. Several things, actually. 

These hangar bays were built to hold large ships, and were among the largest free-standing structures in the galaxy in order to accommodate those ships. The demonstration would have been equally bad if you were a dozen feet in the air, but the legitimacy of being scared of such a large drop made you feel extra panicky. 

Beyond that, you hadn’t realized how much it would bother you not to see the tail of a rope hanging down below you. That was part of the appeal of ascension cables - nothing for the enemy to grab onto below you. Still, the only thing it meant right then was that you would have no chance of saving yourself if you were to slip. 

Finally, a distant but still existent factor was that you didn’t want Fordo to think less of you. He was one of the most competent troopers you had ever met, and you knew part of his tolerance for you was because you did your job well. It hurt to know that your reaction was probably making him think less of you, but the terror raging inside of your chest was too strong to ignore. 

A weird pressure came over you, and it took a moment to realize that it was from Fordo tightening his arm around you. “Stay with me.”

“Wh-?” Why was talking so difficult all of a sudden? You struggled to gather your thoughts, then to push them in the vague direction of your mouth. “What do you mean?”

“You look a little…” Fordo trailed off, dark eyes traveling across your face. “Just stay with me.”

Oh. Fordo thought you were going to faint. "I'm fine, I promise. Just scared." You winced at the admission even as you watched Fordo's expression turn to something you couldn't quite place. Scared? That made you sound like a child. "Nervous, I mean." 

"Don't worry, little one," Fordo assured you. "I'll get you back down as soon as I can." 

Any irritation you may have felt at being called 'little one' was immediately soothed by Fordo's tone. It was almost… gentle. That was strange for him, but appreciated in the present circumstance. Maybe you would just focus on getting through this. You could impress Fordo with your returned abilities when you were back on solid ground. 

"Thank you," was the response you settled for. You opted to close your eyes rather than decide between watching the ceiling, watching the floor, or staring at Fordo.

An abrupt lurch made you gasp and you couldn't help your reaction. You reflexively turned, tucking your face against Fordo's chestplate. Plastoid was never the most comfortable material, but it felt like a bit more shelter. 

Then you came to your senses and tried to pull away."I'm sorry-" 

Fordo's free hand rose to press between your shoulder blades. "Does this help?" 

Between his hand wrapped around you and the one keeping you close, Fordo's grip on you did help. There was only one problem: 

"How are you holding on?" 

Fordo took a moment to answer. When he did, you could hear the smile in his voice. "The ascension cable is attached to my belt." 

"And it's sturdy?" you checked. The question was nonsensical, but you couldn't help it. You weren't leaving anything to chance. 

"Very," he assured you, his hand gently rubbing your back. "That's what they're designed for. The lift mechanism is too powerful for most humanoids to grip while it's active."

“So the only thing keeping us up here right now is a plastoid belt?” 

The shrill question made Fordo pause again, but he was quick to ease your concern. “A belt designed by the GAR to be able to hold myself and any Seppie we might have to retrieve. Including any and every dense-beinged species in the galaxy. Just stay where you are and we’ll be fine.”

You let yourself relax despite the nerve-wracking situation. The slight swaying of the ascension cable was lessening as you got closer to the ground and you couldn’t seem to hear the whir of the mechanism lowering you anymore. 

“I have to admit,” you said, begrudging. “I can hardly feel us moving, it’s so smooth.”

This time, the silence before Fordo’s answer stretched uncomfortably long. Almost long enough that you relinquished your place against his chest plate to look up at him. In fact, the only reason you didn’t was because his hand against the back of your head kept you where you were. 

“...Fordo?” you asked, uncomfortable with the tense quality of the silence.

“Don’t…” Fordo sighed. “I need you to stay calm for me, okay? We… Well, we’re not moving.”

“Not-?” You tried in vain to pull your head away to look, but Fordo’s grip was firm. “Fordo!”

“I’m sorry, just-” He interrupted himself to bite back whatever he had been about to say. “Just promise me you won’t panic, yeah? This is a delicate situation.”

You didn’t have time to reassure him before his hand lifted away. When you glanced around, you realized that he had been telling the truth. You really weren’t moving any more. And when you looked down, you found that you couldn’t have moved much in the first place. If you were any closer to the ground than when you had started, you couldn’t see the difference. 

The ominous creaking of plastoid was the only clue you had that your fingers had started tightening around Fordo’s arm and waist. He didn’t seem concerned about the armor at all, however. No, Fordo’s concern seemed to be for you and you alone. It was apparent on his face, and particularly easy to see in his eyes. 

A soft chime rang through the space between you. By the time you recognized it as a wrist comlink, Fordo had already begun raising his arm to his face. 

“Captain, you activated your distress signal,” a trooper informed him. “What is it?”

“The dual-carry ascension cable is stuck,” Fordo reported.

Needless to say, the laughter from the other end of the line was not comforting. 

Fordo growled something into the comlink, his voice too low and fast for you to catch any individual words. The response came quickly, though you could still hear the amusement in the other trooper’s voice. “Sorry, sir, but Procurement told you it was only a semi-functional prototype.”

“Yeah, then why did they let me take it?” Fordo asked, clearly grumpy. “They had to know I was going to test it.”

“Not with a civvie in tow!”

“Sergeant…” Fordo warned.

Ah, so that was it. Sergeant Chute was Fordo’s second-in-command. He was well-known in the GAR for his careless attitude. Perhaps ‘careless’ was the wrong word. Chute cared intensely about the things that mattered, but everything outside of what it took to stay alive? He simply didn’t have time. Of course Chute would find this situation amusing. 

“Sorry, Captain,” Chute said again. After another moment of quiet, he asked, “What do you want me to do about it?” 

“Get us unstuck.”

“How?” 

Fordo made a low, irritated noise in his throat. “I don’t particularly care how, Chute. Just do it!”

“Okay, let me see what I can figure out.”

The call disconnected and you watched one of the armored figures at ground level walk purposefully away. Without the distraction of eavesdropping on a call, you were left alone with Fordo and the intrusive thoughts of what would happen if the cable stayed stuck… or worse, if it became suddenly unstuck. 

Your fingers tightened on Fordo once more. The grip was strong enough that you watched your knuckles pale under the pressure of your own terror. You weren’t entirely sure why you were holding on so tightly - if the cable were to suddenly unsnag and leave you plummeting toward the ground, Fordo would be utterly unable to help you. 

“I’m sorry I got you into this.”

The blunt, unprompted apology was a jolt to your internal spiral, pulling you from those thoughts and back into the moment. As much as you didn’t appreciate this particular moment, it was better than being inside of your mind. 

“You couldn’t have known,” you assured him. “I don’t really tell people about my fears.”

Fordo shook his head, a wry grin curving his lips. “Not about the heights, but I should have known better than to pull a civilian into testing new gear with me.”

“You didn’t, not really,” you argued, shaken by the implication that Fordo had been callous and careless. “You’ve never treated me like a crash test dummy or anything like that. You just get excited about new gear and you like to show me. And I like that you like to show me. We’re- Well, it makes me feel like we’re… friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Fordo asked, one brow cocked. The satisfied curl of his lips eased something in you, reassuring that he wouldn’t tease you for presuming that your relationship was more than it was in reality. “Yeah, I would say we’re friends.”

You smiled, Fordo’s agreement temporarily pushing back the panic in you. Before you could attempt to articulate your pleasure at hearing that, Fordo’s comlink crackled to life once more. 

“Captain, when you’re ready, we’ve come up with a few solutions for you.”

“Finally,” Fordo complained. “What do we have?” 

“Easiest first,” Chute told him. “Can you use your jetpack?”

“I don’t have it on me.” His brow creased with something like guilt. “I didn’t want the extra weight.”

“What if we brought it up to you?”

“It’s modified for speed, not carrying capacity. It wouldn’t support both of us.”

You let out an involuntary shudder at the idea. Fordo glanced at you, pulled the comlink away, and said, “Don’t worry, we’re not doing that.”

“Could we bring you an unmodified jetpack instead?” Chute asked. 

“We both know the jetpacks aren’t designed for use by multiple people,” Fordo reminded him. “It wouldn’t be able to carry two of us, and I’m not about to sign off on giving a jetpack to a civvie.”

“Suppose not,” Chute agreed. “What if you didn’t go for a sustained jet to the ground? You could feather the engine to slow your drop, then roll when you hit the ground.”

That, somehow, sounded worse than all of the other options. You began to resign yourself to the fact that you were going to live the rest of your life - such as it was - suspended halfway between the floor and ceiling of a hangar bay. 

Fordo’s thumb stroked soothingly over your shoulder. “Do you have any plans that don’t center around using a jetpack, Chute?”

“One: We fire a traditional ascension cable beside where you are. You release your cable and climb down that one instead.”

“Interesting…” Fordo said slowly. “How will you account for the distance? Normal ascension cables won’t be able to reach the ceiling.”

“Good point,” Chute admitted. “I think Procurement said they have an ascension cable that’s only been modified to include extension.”

“So it isn’t meant for two people.”

“No.” The sergeant didn’t sound overly concerned about that fact. “But you don’t need it to ascend, do you? You’ll just be using it to climb down. It should be fine.”

“I don’t like ‘should’,” Fordo told him, voice dark. 

“Look at it this way, Captain,” Chute said, clearly close to laughing again. “What are the odds that two pieces of equipment will malfunction in one day?”

“I don’t want to think about it.” Fordo sighed, a muscle ticcing in his jaw as he stared at the ground and considered your options. “Okay, get the extended cable.”

“I’ll comm you when everything is set up.”

And then the connection cut. Fordo was still in ‘comforting’ mode, soothing you with, “Sorry about all of this. If I had my helmet, you wouldn’t hear the whole conversation and I could bring you a solution without all of the extra fuss. Just a few more minutes, okay? Then we’ll be back on solid ground.”

“I’m worried about that, too,” you told him. “Fordo, I don’t know if I can lower myself down a rope for that long and not lose my grip.”

He frowned at you. “I’m not having you go down the rope alone. Are you joking? You’re getting harnessed to me and I’ll lower both of us down. I’m not careless enough to let someone with a bad fear of heights climb that far on their own.”

Despite the sass and the rude noise he made at the end of the statement, Fordo’s correction left you feeling… known. He cared enough to consider your feelings and abilities when he was making his plans, even when he was operating in a situation that was stressful and time-sensitive.

“Thank you, Fordo,” you told him, gratitude ringing through your voice. “If there’s ever anything you need from me, tell me. You know, in the name of friendship.”

The handsome captain had started watching you intently halfway through your offer, and - though your addition had made him smile - there was still something serious in his expression. “Since we’re stuck up here for as long as it takes my men to find an extended cable, I’m going to take you up on that right away. Will you answer a question for me?”

“A question,” you repeated nervously. “You can ask me anything any time, you know that. Just don’t make it too tricky. Most of my brain is still busy calculating the odds that I’ll die in the next hour.”

“You’ve always been very open with me,” Fordo agreed. “I just wanted the chance to talk with you when my men aren’t wandering around, trying to overhear.”

That piqued your curiosity, and you found your attention pulling away from the ever-present awareness of where you were. “Ask whatever you like.”

Fordo took a breath. Not a quick one, nor particularly deep, but it was telling. It meant that something about his own question made him nervous. Your interest only grew. “You’re always watching me.”

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a question, but then, it didn’t really need to be. You knew what he wanted to know. The only question was how truthful you were going to be in your response. 

“Because I admire you,” you told him frankly. Yeah, the phrasing was old-fashioned, but it was just vague enough for you to figure out how to proceed once you’d seen Fordo’s reaction to it. 

“I- admire you, too,” Fordo said. “You’re smart, and good at your job, and you always ask the right questions when it comes to the gear. You care.”

“Thanks,” you accepted, feeling an uneasy lump in your throat. It should have been nice to hear that you were admired in return, but there was something hollow in it. The only reason you should want to hear something more is if… well, if you felt something… more…

Oh.

Fordo, oblivious to your internal realization, started to move on. “I think I can see Chute. He should have things set up by now. By my estimate, we’ll be ready in-”

“Wait,” you interrupted. “You got the chance to give reasons that you admire me. I want to do the same. You’re excellent at your job and I can tell you care about the men. You always go a little further than you should to complete the mission and it makes me worry, but you’re very good at analyzing the risks, so no one gets hurt. And your love of gear always makes me happy to see. It’s something you’re passionate about, and it makes me feel good that you want to share that passion with me.”

Fordo was staring at you. He didn’t seem inclined to reply and it was starting to make you nervous. You cleared your throat. “But you were saying? How long do you think until we can switch cables?”

“You worry about me?” he asked instead of answering your questions. 

“Of course I worry about you!” You took a breath, attempting to calm down slightly. “You have an incredibly dangerous job and I’m stuck here on Coruscant. I usually don’t know what’s happening with your missions until you get back, unless I hear some of the troopers talking. I worry all of the time. I care about you, Fordo.”

“Captain, we’re getting ready to fire the secondary ascension cable.”

Chute’s interruption should rightfully have been a relief, since it signaled your impending descent from the stuck cable. However, Fordo had seemed to be getting ready to reply to your profession of care for him and you found yourself wishing that Chute had taken a little bit longer to get ready. 

Fordo, of course, snapped immediately into Captain mode. “Okay, when they fire the ascension cable, they’ll need to check that it’s secure. After that’s done, I’ll switch your harness connection to me instead of our cable. Then I’ll swing us over, attach my harness to that cable, and lower us down. Any questions?” 

“Why don’t we attach our harnesses to that cable instead?” you asked. 

“Because the attachments are at the base of the cable,” Fordo explained. “To keep it from immediately snapping closed and hanging uselessly from the ceiling, Chute will keep the other end of it at the floor.”

“And he can’t let go once we’re on the cable?” 

Fordo’s patience was apparently limitless, since your nervous line of questioning didn’t seem to bother him in the least. “There’s really no point. You’ll be attached to me, so it’s not like we’re going to fall. The biggest unknown right now is whether the extra ascension cable is going to get stuck or not. Maybe you feel differently, but I don’t particularly trust any GAR equipment right now. Especially since we don’t know whether Procurement has any other backups for us to use.”

“I don’t know if-” 

Your nervous protests were interrupted by a whoosh, followed by a dull thump as the ascension cable was fired and soared past you to connect with the ceiling. Fordo watched it, then studied the men on the ground with a critical eye.

“It’s time,” he announced after a few moments, turning his attention to you once more. With a steadying touch on your shoulders, he gave a nod. “Just trust me. I’ll have you safely on the ground in a minute or two.”

As hard as you tried to disguise the nervousness, you could feel the way your brow crumpled with a single glance at the duracrete floor so far below. 

Fordo’s fingers tightened, pulling your attention upward. His dark eyes were soothing, as was his low voice. “You can be brave for me. Right?”

You nodded, though it felt jerky, like you weren’t fully in control of the movement. Fordo beamed anyway. “I know you can. Deep breath.”

Before your chest had fully expanded, Fordo had wrapped an arm under yours, muscles flexing while he unclipped your harness from the ascension cable and clipped it to his harness instead. 

“Okay, there’s the tricky part, already done,” he told you. “Now, I need you to hang on as tight as you can for the next part. You’re attached to me and I won’t ever be away from a cable, so we’re not going to fall either way. But a sudden shift of weight can make things more of a challenge. Do you think you can hold on to me?”

“You’re lucky if I ever let you go,” you told him. Your voice was audibly shaking, but Fordo grinned anyway. 

“Thanks for the incentive,” he teased. “Hold on. Swinging over in three… two… one.”

The whole hangar bay seemed to sway sideways and your breath caught. But when it steadied, it seemed more solid than it had the entire time you were on the ill-fated dual ascension cable. The metallic sound of a clip reached you and then you were slowly making your way downward. 

You wanted to speak, to ask how Fordo was doing, but you were terrified to distract him in any way. So you kept silent… until you felt your clammy hands beginning to slip against Fordo’s armor. 

The ground was far closer now - not close enough that you could hold on until you had finally reached it, but close enough that you wouldn’t die if you fell. In fact, you may not even break anything. Of course, that was all assuming that the harness didn’t hold, but your faith in GAR kit had taken a beating that day. 

“Fordo,” you started. Due to your nerves, it came out in a murmur, but he heard you anyway. 

“Almost there, I promise,” he assured you, his voice in a low tone that matched yours. It also made you feel incredibly tingly, especially when he added, “You’re doing so well. I’m proud of you.”

The high from that - and the dizzy, stifled fantasies about other situations in which he might say the same thing - almost glued your lips together, but you managed to pry out, “I’m slipping. I don’t want to throw your balance off. Do you need me to unhook myself? I think I can fall from here and be okay…”

You really didn’t want to fall from there. The reluctance was plain in your voice, but you made the offer anyway. It wouldn’t be fair to risk both of you falling, not when you were clear from the worst of the danger. 

Fordo’s torso lurched in your grip and you looked up at him, alarmed. That alarm turned first to confusion, then to betrayal. Fordo was laughing.

He glanced down at you, still grinning. “You’re so dramatic.”

Before you could give that the reply it deserved, Fordo stopped your descent, gripping the cable over his head with one hand and using the other to wrap around your side. And then you were biting back a shout. The devastating motion had seemed like you were falling, but it was actually the opposite. You were being pulled upward, further and further until you landed with a thump that left you breathless. 

Your new vantage point let you see the way Fordo was gripping the cable between his booted feet, feeding through a bit at a time as you started down once more. It was only when the wolf whistle from the floor reached you that you realized that Fordo had slung you over his shoulder. 

Even worse, he kept only one hand on the rope. The other was holding the back of your leg, keeping it pinned to his chestplate. You were grateful that his grip kept you from slipping off of his shoulder entirely, but you wished his fingers weren’t quite so close to the top of your thigh.

“Are you serious right now?” you demanded, trying to reposition yourself so that your butt wasn’t sticking quite so dramatically upward. 

“Watch it, civvie. You almost gave me a knee to the face.” You immediately stilled, though Fordo didn’t seem overly concerned about the possibility of injury. “Would you rather fall?”

“I thought I would rather do anything than fall,” you muttered. “This is making me rethink the possibilities.”

Fordo had a nice laugh, even if it was at your expense. At the very least, it gave you something else to focus on instead of the troopers on the ground. They seemed highly amused by the way Fordo was transporting you and were happy to shout out additional suggestions that ranged from bad to worse. The only saving grace was that the rest of the trip was swift.

“Shut up, all of you,” Fordo grumbled as his booted feet touched the ground. 

Chute was grinning, you could see it from the gap between Fordo’s chest and arm. “Congratulations on a successful rescue, Captain. You two looked pretty cozy up there, and even more so on the way down.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing something else right now, Sergeant?” Fordo asked sharply.

“I don’t have anywhere to be until fourteen-thirty,” Chute told him, sounding extremely smug about it. 

“Good.” Fordo snatched the handle of the ascension cable from him, pressing a single button and letting the small cylinder soar up until it hit the ceiling with a barely audible thunk. “Then you and the men can work on getting those cables unhooked, respooled, and returned to Procurement.”

Chute wasn’t smiling when Fordo walked away. 

“Can I get down now?” you asked. You were starting to get a little dizzy from the angle of your head, but that wasn’t the full cause of your lightheadedness. If only Fordo would stop stroking his thumb against your skin!

“Of course, just let me get a little further away from those idiots.”

True to his word, Fordo carried you just a little further toward one side of the hangar bay. You could still watch the troopers attempt to figure out the ascension cable conundrum - and did watch, with glee - but you were mostly out of earshot. 

Fordo took a gentle hold of your hips and let you slide down from his shoulder. It was a slow process, since he was clearly taking pains not to frighten you or make you feel like you would fall. Unfortunately, the major effect was that his fingertips dragged over you as you moved further and further down. Nothing inappropriate, of course, but you still felt flustered. 

When you were finally on solid ground once more, you gave Fordo a nod and a half smile. “Thank you, Fordo. I’m glad that worked out as well as it did.”

“Hold on, little one,” Fordo commanded, apparently having sensed that you were going to rush off. “We’re still connected.”

You watched in sheepish interest as he unhooked your harness from his own, Fordo’s strong hands working the clasps in a way that encouraged your intense study. 

“And before you disappear, we should go to the mess.”

That made you blink. “The mess?”

“You’re probably feeling a bit of adrenaline from that, aren’t you?” Lying wasn’t an option, not when Fordo was already giving you a skeptical look. When you nodded, Fordo echoed the motion. “Yeah, I figured. When it starts to leave your system, you’re gonna feel terrible. It’s better if you have something to eat and drink. Let’s go.”

When he put it that way, it made sense. And, you had to admit, you were feeling a little hungry. “Okay.”

Fordo held the door for you, following as soon as you had stepped through. 

“Remind me while we’re eating and I’ll give you my comlink frequency.”

Your head snapped over toward him so quickly that your neck protested. “Why, exactly?”

Fordo watched you evenly, a hint of a grin on his face. “Well, now that I know you worry about me, I want to make sure you can reach me any time you need to.”

“And if you’re in a war zone?” you asked. To your surprise, your voice sounded normal, even when it was coming from a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. What exactly was Fordo trying to do?

“I won’t answer,” he said with a shrug. “But any other time, I’ll pick up and put your nerves at ease. And… you know, even if I’m on-planet, I’ll pick up. I never mind making time for one of my favorite people.”

Your heart seemed to stutter in your chest as you gave Fordo a sidelong glance. He was doing the same thing, both of you trying and utterly failing to be subtle. 

Before the moment could turn awkward, you grinned at him. “You’re going to regret that, Captain. I get very worried…”

Fordo beamed at the way you had bumped him with your shoulder. “Looking forward to it.”

---

Author's Note - This was my first time writing Fordo and I had a bit of trouble with him! Sorry if he's OOC, but I had fun. He just strikes me as being really sincere, even when he's teasing!

I discontinued my taglist, but you can read my writing on @wanderinginksplot-writes or find my masterlist here!

[rallentando1011]

Waddup!! Can I have a one where the turtles have a s/o with verbal Tourette’s tics that are just… hella rude. Like, I literally yell “Shut the fuck up, baldy” as one of my tics. 😭😭 Just rude things they don’t mean.

Thanks for the request! I've been working through 'em and having a fun time! (Guidelines are HERE btw)Just fyi, this is based on my personal experience and research. Please let me know if I have any inaccuracies or if there’s anything useful to add!

ROTTMNT Boys W/ Reader with Verbal Tics

Donnie:

Donnie stares

Not judgmentally, not emotionally at all for that matter, he just stares

Consider it his waiting period for his central processing unit to catch up

After a brief moment of registration, he nods and continues on with whatever conversation or demonstration or interaction was occurring before

Donnie directly lets you know that it is always okay for you to experience your tics

None of that trying-to-restrict-it-for-politeness’-sake business around here

When you feel uncomfortable or tense or just overall weird, he wants that you always feel comfortable to express whatever you need to in his presence

If you ever try to apologize for one of your tics, he bluntly asks, “What do you have to apologize for?”

He knows that it’s involuntary, that you have no genuine intention to say something flippant

He doesn’t expect an apology for that

Mikey:

Mikey immediately pales and pouts

That’s just his spontaneous reaction

His thought process is kind of just: Mean words? Mean words directed at me? They must mean it personally and I must be a terrible person and they must hate me and-

But then he realizes: Oh. Right.

And the bad thoughts stop flowing

If his reaction makes you think that he’s upset with you, he quickly assures you of the opposite

He didn’t mean to seem aghast

He was just surprised

So he reassures you that he would never, could never get mad at you for something out of your control

He loves all aspects of you and will always be your biggest supporter through anything and everything

Leo:

Leo’s pretty chill, pretty nonchalant about it

Normally he just moves along; that’s all one really can do

Sometimes, however, like if the tic occurs at a comically bad time, he laughs

Not just a normal giggle either

It’s the kind that one tries to stifle, but it bubbles up their throat and nose and actually ends up being significantly louder

Either that or he smirks

Although, if you feel like he’s poking fun at you, he fervently clarifies that he just found the timing funny, not you or your tics

He also apologizes profusely (if you’ve been looking for a favor from or leverage over him, now’s the time)

Leo feels slightly guilty if you happen to pick up a rude word or phrase from him

He also finds it objectively funny, only if you’re not upset by it, of course

Raph:

Raph instinctually mutters a “language” if he’s not paying much attention when he hears your tics

Pin it on his big-brotherly/motherly instincts

He hears a swear and/or vulgar language, he calls it out

After a moment of you just looking at him, he realizes his error

Quietly, Raph admits and says sorry for his mistake

Other times, he hears you and tilts his head, waiting for elaboration

His conversational awareness, at times, is shoddy, so he can use some help understanding whether or not you intended to say something or not

He’s not perturbed with you at all, no matter what you end up saying

He could never blame you for it, seeing as you have no volition in what your tics are, though he’ll do his best to educate himself on the topic, ask you about your triggers so he can avoid them, see if there’s anything he can do to help

Whatever you need, he’s got you

(side note: hey @nickelodeon #rottmnt is trending again/still)

[i17iskillingmylife]

Stupid question, What did you imagine regarding a sequel of psychonauts? Like, before it came out.

will be real i am not the largest sequel individual. that is to say, i did not desire one when one did not exist. and i also wasn't thinking about it on account of there wasn't one. there's all kinds of things to be saying and extrapolating about raz and his world and his life after the events of the first game but that's more like naturally intuiting simple facts than it is thinking about a "sequel". which is something i didn't think about.

would be kind of cute though if it had been set, at least partially, in a less-immediate but not too distant future. (it's fun if some time passes but i don't want them to redesign him i've only seen ONE older raz design that's really….him……you know…..) pn 05 is so seasonal, it really feels like muggy hazy summer in that game, so it would have been fun to have another game where the camp is similarly kind of a "hub" world but is recontextualized in winter. surely there's some fun to be had redesigning the landscape not only visually but in terms of layout….snowdrifts and ice could block / grant access to new or preexisting areas. they could make raz wear a warmer outfit that's different from his usual one and i could look at him in it.

was also a little scandalized at how they treated the water curse. it's at it's best when it's real and not real - first game kind of implying that it's all in his head is charming, second game bluntly confirming that it's basically nothing and means nothing is boring. kind of makes his whole background crumble…sorry DUDE your parents raised you to believe CRAZY thing NOT REAL…..it doesn't have to be real either it's just more fun to think he grew up being very scared of this curse that may or may not actually mean something. and it's cute, too, to think of him growing up and not really ever getting confirmation on how real it is or not….he's eventually going to leave his family to go be a psychonaut, right? it's funnier to keep that curse-fear around. and it makes his upbringing less of a lame punchline.

also just so you know. in my beautiful new land that i am creating now for you there will be no gay and weird retcons of raz's backstory.he really really really does not need to be a special boy with special connections to whatever his whole deal as a guy is infinitely better and funnier if he's just some completely random kid. i don't want him to be special!

with these rules in mind i thin k i can generate an idea of the sequel i would have visualized if i had visualized one before the existence of one had been foisted upon me.

raz could go back to camp a little later, like a year or two or something, and it's winter or fall or something now so he's maybe wearing like a different weather-appropriate outfit. it's novel and cute but true to his nature and probably doesn't fit great. maybe he's got a little scarf on and you can get different ones. anyway he goes back to camp and starts a relationship with a forest animal or something. has to only be one, raz could never and would never practice polyamory of any kind. i'm taking it at face value that lili is a trust fund kid and it won't work between them long term they are destined for turbulent years of on again off again coworker romance that keeps sparking and fizzling out under various circumstances. so he can date some squirrels or foxes or does or whatever on the side. could at least be a solid b-plot or something. non-optional sidequest? whatever. when you first arrive you can wander around or whatever. sashas lab should be immediately accessible and you can go bother him and sheegor (who is voiced by jenny nicholson or someone like that now since tara strong had that really bad car accident). one of these guys can be the first level i guess. sasha should still whinge at you about obtaining consent before thrashing minds but raz should be more openly flippant about this after the cutscene like there's just no way he actually gives a shit about any of that he is far too confident in his own ability to intuit the correct course of action in any situation to care about the consent or comfort of others.

the asylum etc you can get to pretty soon but first you have to get like a saw or something to cut through the ice to free linda. actually maybe linda has passed away and instead of her you get carried over the ice (unneccessary; --> ((joke)))by a bunch of her little babies who she told about you and they love you and have funny little voices. my boss' boss' ex wifes name is linda lol. the asylum is kind of no big deal here on account of it being the last level in the first game. you should be able to ice skate around it and do little tricks that benefit you in no way and do not add to the story at all. probably loboto should be here just like chilling out or something he can be a level you can do. probably this should just be the same as the level he got in rhombus of ruin but like an actual real game that you can play and have fun in and stuff. that was a good backstory for him it's funny if he's sadstuck.

the story should involve brain theft for power generation again because it's a charming and distinct motif and i like when raz steals them back and gives them strange wet kisses. but this time maybe the evil individual in question is enforcing a beam upon the victims that causes their brains to leak out of the ears? the villain should be an electrical engineer or something like that this should be an individual who takes things. designing this thing visually is difficult for me but what i'm thinking is kind of an incarnate of jenkins, the thing what takes, like the real life jenkins but we can just put him in the game and have him wearing an electrician's outfit and he's there and he's the bad guy. just like in real life, jenkins doesn't work superfast or have a really explicit goal, but he does kind of slowly take over everything you know and leaves darkness and lightlessness in his wake. so to add some urgency i think victims of jenkins should become infected with somethingin the cavity where their brains used to be. some kind of fungus or something. there isn't an actual timer on this it's just kind of a concept in the story that makes things feel like they matter more later on. you explore and encounter RANDOM INDIVIDUALS and help them in their various plights and in return acquire items that allow you to progress. you have and maintain the point and click moe it doesnt go away it's there, right there, with you in the room the whole time. i don't have specific level ideas but i have worked out mindscape designs for several different characters from other franchises, most famously spades slick from homestuck so i think it's cool if he's here too maybe you find him in a bunker or something with his crew and connive / force your way into his mind with dubious if any consent and find yourself in hsi strange mind level with lots of slimy black goop all over a card-themed subway and city and mobster-themed brain enemies. that's just my idea i don't think it could be that hard to get hussie on board with this because he obviously doesnt really care that much about the midnight crew anyway.

anyways the plot should be really straightforward you fend jenkins off and save whoever and then the game ends. post credits cute images show razs new life with his forest animal life partner. here's some images i created of the romance sequences one of them is in first person

[the-firebird69]

So John remillard fascinatingly found this and somehow he's the announcer and looks like the clone that was trapped in the car and he managed to pull him out after he pulled the car out a few days ago cuz it's just a skeleton barely there's a bunch of crabs there not too many and it's kind of normal but there's a gathering of them to the South that John remillard knows about and he wants to activate to come up the coast once the pseudo empire takes over and they're monitoring it and they see him going there yes and they tell him not to do anything and he says I won't until it's time and stuff like that so listening to this and watching it besides think they can use it and they're saying they're a bunch of crabs and also I heard Garth the other day I will not let you have me eaten by crabs so you got to go and you say it to a bunch of people including Tommy f and that's what they're talking about so we are now pursuing these idiots and there are several groups going after them to take them down for a variety of reasons the crab issue is one of them and we will take them down and take them out for that and other we have several announcements

-there's a lot of talk going on but this talk now is important and mac daddy says it this idiot Max want them to run a sun around in the dangerous atmosphere usually idiots to try and draw are actually human personnel out well it's not working and their heinous everyday and they try and get it going so we work on them right now there baby boys they're upset and we expect problems that brings us to today's announcements

-we have $4,500 people that need to leave here immediately they were rough the rude they're crude and they're wrong they're saying and doing the wrong thing and they need out and we mean it they need out now and right now and we are putting together a package to evict them and we are going to assist people and our son said nobody here has the power if we don't do it we won't get our way if we want to totally dominate we have to get a whole bunch of other stuff first and he tried to put the heart before the horse a little bit and it works but it's a death to find stunt now we have to do things and we are hearing it we're going ahead with it now

-what else can I fix this guy's wagon he's got a big mouth he's flippant

-there's a few other things happening I'm going to make sure they do we want John remillard out of this place forever and we will take him out ourselves if necessary but really we know how to do it and we've known that's the path the whole time you have a couple other items and they're very big nobody calls us these names they are nobody says what they do they're going after those people but we already sent it I'll talk with the 4500 laptop not I'll talk it's up top

-there's several other things they're getting uppity they think they're getting somewhere with the pseudo empire so they're bothering our son more and we have to hit them and hit them very hard and we're going to but we have to do it

-huge numbers of pseudo empire are hitting here right now giant numbers

Nope

-there are some and we have to come in

-we have other things to announce but we have to get it out

Frank Castle hardcastle

Olympus

We do have other things to announce one of them is we need more room here in space and land

Thor Freya I'm instructed to call her Realtors they'll pick out the prime land based on our criteria and I appreciate it and he's ordering it and she is

[davey-in-a-minivan]

EPISODE 10 PROPAGANDA!!! listen the pasithea powder scholarly convention debated this one for hours last night but i personally have to pick 10 bc of the way it revels in the sheer breadth of drama of the show's premise and also it makes me feel like the top of my head's going to lift off

>really love that we see the other as anna alegros first so we can see how EFFECTIVELY it zeroes in on the chinks in david alegros' armor and sends him running, and jane is much calmer but immediately there's the question of how will she fare once subject theta's attention is on her?

>also jane insisting on treating it like a patient and not a test subject without knowing if that's right but erring on the side of a little dignity!! and in defiance of blanc who doesn't treat HER with dignity!! jane's also a prisoner of the queensguard!!

>i think my heart STOPPED the first time i heard this it's so fluid it's so fucking fuck fuck fuck i need to relisten again right now

>othersophie's appearance is brief but so so mighty. this is the first instinctive thing the other thinks will give jane pause!!! this is who she's afraid of hurting!!! and othersophie pulled from jane's mind is so much more disgusted and betrayed by jane than real sophie ever is..... delicious fucking angst

>THE WAY JANE SAYS THAT LAST OH!!! less a word and more an exhale punched out of her!!!! yeah!!!!!!!!! god!!!!! me too!!!!!!!

>bc look ive never predicted a plot twist in my life but i didn't predict the other turning into evelyn!!! it turned into sophie and i was like of course, sophie's turned into jane, the soulmateism and then oh

>the way the reveal is done in an AUDIO MEDIUM is fantastically cool, the transformation- shock- recognition in the next few lines land as hard as any visual reveal could have like it is just enthralling sorry it's almost embarrassing gushing this much in a public forum but this scene is just SOMETHING ELSE

>also blanc follows this up with "you knew it was going to do this" which makes me think of sophie's "mm. that makes sense" when jane later says who the other turned into where, like, yeah, this makes a lot of sense but that doesn't soften the blow. i don't know if anything could!

>fascinating to see how theta's strategy changes over the course of the conversation. at first it says things like "you're seriously going to do this to everyone you love??" which are clearly meant to wound by being delivered in evelyn's voice but isn't something he would say--he never knew she dosed sophie with pasithea!! for obvious cause effect reasons!! but at the twelve hour mark (once the memory of the other as anna and sophie is more distant and they've both calmed down some) it starts talking like it really might convince her it's evelyn. and jane starts to slip. references arguments "we've had before." says "that's something you--he--would do"

>LET'S FUCKING GO.

>YOU HEAR THIS AND FEAR FOR JANE FOR BEING FOOLED. WRONG FEAR!!!

>and then she says. be evelyn. 🧨🧨🧨

>theta starting to get scared, jane becoming almost flippant! theta referring to evelyn in the third person and jane saying "you"!! the mundane fucking tragedy of no last goodbye!!!!!

>SORRY JANE BUT THIS IS SO SEXY

>this followed up by "I do know you. I know you died trying to help other people. You wanted to--protect Medean kids, and--Cassandran soldiers, and--your death didn’t mean anything. You didn’t end the war, Evelyn. I ended the war." IS CRAZY

>jane deserves a god complex!!!!

>it's so so gripping to see jane -- who tries to be moral! who cares deeply about other people and doesn't want to do harm! -- justify something horrifying to herself because she has been pushed to such an extreme of grief and she has the power in her hands!!!

>absolutely haunting

>that stage direction KILLS ME!!!!!!! she thinks it worked!!! she thinks she managed the impossible and undid the worst thing that ever happened to her!!!! with raw hope!!!!!

>does it make it better or worse that he lives for a minute?? that for a minute it's just evelyn?? that he has a chance to hug her before blanc shoots him dead??

>it's just so brutal. i feel like i need to go stare at the wall for a few hours

>she did get swept up in a fantasy but can you blame her? grabs blanc by the shoulders and shakes him like a rag doll. can you blame her??? YOU ALL MADE HER DO THIS. SHE'S TWENTY FOUR AND ALONE

>the compactness of this episode is so satisfying. one recording, beginning to end. it feels like a play!!!

in conclusion. what in the holy fuck of an episode. theta is not the only one getting his brain chemistry irreversibly changed by this conversation!!!!!!!!!

Onwards and upwards with Pasithea Pandemonium! I expect this matchup, like the Sophie matchup, will be pure carnage. It's Episode 10, "Evelyn," vs. Episode 23, "Fix It."

[blindmagdalena]

how do you think homie would react to reader breaking up with him because they have very different morals (homie kills people, ik he's babygirl but he does just brutally kill people, reader is a pacifist)

-bree(sorry for multiple asks in short time :P)

cw gaslighting, imprisonment, manhandling. no more mr. nice homelander.

"Fine, listen, listen, if it means that much to you, I won't do it anymore," Homelander says, hands lifted placatingly. The way he says it makes it sound like he's doing you a favor. Like you're overreacting to a mild infraction. You stare, mouth agape. "This... This isn't some bad habit. You kill people."

"Yeah," he agrees, a slight strain creeping into his voice. "Yeah! Okay. And? Lots of people kill people. And typically, I only kill people who're also killing people." "Typically," you echo, at a loss. How can he be so flippant about this? It's like he hasn't heard a single word you've said. "You don't care. At all." "Why should I care? Why should you care? It's not like I'm killing people you like, or even know," he says, his exasperation with you intensifying. "But you love me. So just... Cool off, alright? Sleep on it. Before you do something you'll regret."

The shift in his voice when he says that runs a chill up your spine. "Are you threatening me?" "What?" Homelander laughs. "No! Of course not. Babe, listen to yourself. C'mon, I know you're upset-" he moves to take your hand, but for the first time, you yank it from his reach, crossing your arms. His hand hovers in the space yours had been for a moment, his eyes locked on the same spot. He inhales a slow breath, his fingers curling into a fist before dropping back to his side.

When he looks at you, his gaze is bereft of any playfulness. Your denial of him has flipped a switch in him that you've never seen before.

"You're tired," he says, voice set low. Any traces of the lighthearted pretense from earlier has been dropped. "It's late. You have a lot to process. So, we are going to put this aside for tonight. You are going to come to bed with me, and we'll talk about it in the morning, when you're calm." "I am calm," you tell him, refusing to let him make you feel like you're the one being unreasonable. "Please move. I already told my friend I'm on my way," you lie. You wish you had. You wish you realized sooner you would need to. Homelander had always been so utterly devoted to you. He hung on your every word, met your every whim, loved you so thoroughly that he made you feel like his entire world. Only now have you realized the dangers of that kind of love.

His mouth twitches. "Which friend?"

You begin to answer, wanting to give validity to your fiction, but an awful thought occurs to you. Would he hurt them? "It doesn't matter," You reply instead, clutching your overnight bag. "I need space, and I don't want you coming to me before I'm ready. Please, move," you say, voice wavering. He was making this so much more painful than it already was. You do love him, but he's making you feel like you barely even know him.

Homelander taps his hands on his thighs, considering you. After a prolonged silence, just before you open your mouth to speak again, he claps his hands together. "Alright. Sure," he says, stepping forward. You step backwards. "Door's right there." You're immediately relieved, but there's a nagging feeling in your gut. "Thank you," you say softly, adjusting your grip on your bag. "I'll call, okay?" Homelander offers a sideways nod, seeming... resigned. You feel the guilt of it weigh heavily, and for a split second, you question yourself, whether what you're doing is right or fair. You have to steel yourself before your resolve falters. You need time away from him to collect yourself, and figure out what to do about the man you, as it turns out, know very little about.

Just as you pass him, you feel a sudden grip on your arm, and in a flash you're spun around, stumbling back into the penthouse. You stare wide-eyed for a moment, turning back around. Poised exactly as he had been before, Homelander stands in front of the door, hands on his hips. His brows lift slightly. "Well?" Your heart is racing now. "What are you doing?"

"Go on," he says, ignoring your question. "Door's right there."

Anger rolls through you in a heated wave. "I'm not playing this game with you," you say, moving to shove more forcibly passed him this time, but once again he catches you with a hand on your wrist, spinning you around with such ease, you may as well weigh nothing at all. Yet again you stumble back into the penthouse, tears welling in your eyes as you round on him. "Stop it! Get out of my way!" "Door's wide open, babe. All you have to do is get to it, and you can leave," he says, voice perfectly relaxed, devoid of any passion or empathy.

With a frustrated cry, you hurl your bag at him, and full on sprint towards the door. You get closer this time, but just as you reach for the knob, Homelander takes you by your shoulders and spins you right around. Your own momentum carries you further in. You barely catch yourself from falling, letting go a sob that's equal parts rage and heartbreak. Who is this man?

This time, you throw yourself bodily towards the door, screaming your distress, your anger. You do it again and again and again, and every time, Homelander spins you right back around. On the final attempt, as he once again redirects you, the force of your own momentum hurls you to the ground.

"Do you get it yet?" Homelander asks, cocking his head to the side, checking to see if you're picked up on this lesson in futility. "You don't call the shots here. You don't get to just decide we're done. Relationships go two ways, sweetheart," he says. That petname used to give you butterflies. It sounds sour on his tongue now. You hear him sigh, closer to you now.

"Didn't think you'd be that stubborn. But I guess I've always loved that about you when it wasn't pointed at me, huh?" He asks, a playful little lilt slipping back into his voice. You struggle when he scoops you up, you make an animalistic noise of pure aggravation, but it's as fruitless as ever. Homelander is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object, his grip on you like steel. He cannot be stopped, or even hindered, as he carries you towards the bedroom. He sets you down on the bed, and out of pure unthinking fury, you raise your hand to slap him across the face. The strike lands, but Homelander doesn't so much as twitch. Your hand smarts, you may as well have slapped a brick wall. You clutch your wrist, letting go another sob. It aches immediately, frail in comparison to his unyielding frame.

Cupping either side of your face, Homelander swipes away your tears with his thumbs, watching you impassively. There's patience in his expression, though it looks stretched thin.

"I know you're upset," he says, an echo of earlier, as if picking up right from where he'd left off. As if nothing of the last twenty minutes had even happened. "But we'll get through this. And hey, hey, I'm not even mad at you, okay? Because that's what it means when you love someone. You forgive them." You feel numbed by your own plethora of tumultuous emotions, strung out and exhausted. You close your eyes, unable to stomach the loving way he's gazing at you. He kisses your forehead, wringing a weak, hiccupped little noise out of you. "That's my girl. I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you?" No matter how gentle his hold on you is, it's inescapable. You have no choice but to face him, bleary as he is through your tear-welled eyes. Unable to push an answer through the tightness in your throat, you just nod.

"That's right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?" Those words break something in you. You lose whatever bit of composure you had built back up, and you begin to sob anew, an agonized sound. Homelander's expression twists. He's never liked seeing you cry. He's also never been the source of it.

"Shhh, shhhh, hey, it's alright. You're okay. I would never let anything happen to you," he says, as if he wasn't the very thing happening to you in this moment. He kisses your forehead again, your tear-streaked cheeks, and finally your lips.

You don't have any fight left in you. Not against the press of his lips, and not against the way he brings you under the covers with him, clothes and all.

He pulls you against his chest the same way he has a hundred times before, as if this is any other night that the two of you have fallen asleep in each others embrace.

You hug your arms tight to your chest, crying hard, while he rubs your back, hushing you. Comforting you, as any good boyfriend should.

"It's alright. I've got you," he says, his arms an oppressive force around you. "I've got you."

[chibipsycho-v3]

Hello Hello! It’s me! If you don’t mind a request, could I get some fluffy headcannons of P03 and the Archivist? Take all the time that you need! I don’t mind a bit of a wait. Have a good rest of your day/night!

Ah, hello~! Headcanons, eh? Well, I misread that and by the time I noticed, I'd written part of it. So you get an extra double-dose! A scoop of headcanons AND a scoop of XReader! Here we go~

Fluff Headcanons- P03

P03 tries to be flippant and superior, but he absolutely has a soft spot when it comes to you. He may tone down his teasing or soften his voice clips when you enter, and it's noticeable. And adorable.

This boy is starved for affection, but he'll never admit it directly. But the way he reacts when you touch his arm or lean against his side… He leans into it immediately, then acts like he didn't notice he'd done anything.

And heaven forbid if you give P03 smooches. All of his attention is riveted on you now, seeking out more of your sweet kisses with gentle nudges. But don't tease him about it or he'll withdraw and pout about it half the day.

P03's genuine laughter is so sweet, imagine his laughter audio clips mixed with an uncontrollable giggle. It's a little tough to get him to laugh more than that little smug noise he makes usually, but boy does it pay off when you do get him going!

Fluff Headcanons- The Archivist

Archivist, above almost everything else, loves collecting data. And you are no exception! She is completely enamored with any story you have to tell her about your day. She loves to listen when you infodump about an interest of yours!

She has that prim-lady laugh in polite company, the mouth-closed 'hm-hm-hm' laugh. But in private, her real laugh is like the dramatic-lady laugh (think Jessie from Pokemon) but with an ethereal echo. Aaaha-ha-ha~ She only does it around the Uberbots and you.

Unlike some of the other Uberbots, Archivist is confident about affection. She'll lean down and place little static smooches on the top of your head whenever she feels like it (which is often.) And if you want snuggles, you'll GET snuggles!

She saves all of the little interactions she has with you in a folder deep in her hard drive- that may or may not be marked with a bunch of hearts. Keep out, Archivist's eyes only!

And now for our XReader portion!

P03 x GN!Reader

P03 was the type to get stuck in his work- balancing cards, recalibrating his particle scanner, doing spot inspections and generally being an overbearing boss to his factory workers. So in an attempt to relieve some of his workload, you offered to help him sort the day's cards.

There was an amiable silence between you as you both sorted cards into stacks of energy cost. Your thoughts carried you off as you glanced at the robotic Scrybe out of the corner of your eye. To think that he didn't even want you to look at the cards when you first began stopping by the factory, let alone touch them. Now he trusts you to sort with him; it felt… nice.

"What's the matter?" P03 interrupted your musing as you looked up. His eyes flicked down to your hands, then back up. "You were hesitating. Don't tell me that you suddenly forgot how to count," he teased, his screen flickering to that smug face of his.

You pouted, but you were used to his jeers at this point and could fire right back. "Oh, I was merely distracted by the handsome robot across from me," you replied, your own smirk curling your mouth. It wasn't technically a lie, either.

That seemed to catch him genuinely off-guard, a shocked face cycling across his screen before he switched to an indifferent look quickly as if to hide his reaction. "Seriously?" he beeped, "Are you so simple-minded that I distract you?"

He could dish the teasing out, but he couldn't take it and it was hilarious to you. "I mean, a Scrybe is pretty distracting by themselves, but you…" you trailed off with a smile, then added, "Intelligence and looks, dangerous combination."

You could tell you got him good because P03 started flustering with a few high chirps. Then there were those cute dashes on his 'cheeks'- Success! Blushing robot!

"S-Stop that!" he barked with a stutter, but you could tell he was putting up a front, "Just sort before I take them from you, idiot."

You couldn't help a laugh. He was so easy to tease sometimes.

The Archivist x GN!Reader

It was a rare moment that you got alone with the Archivist, once her flock of librarians had moved off to study some files at her behest. But you so enjoyed these moments with the Uberbot- and so did she.

You would ask her about her day and she would tell you about the most interesting files she had come across in that day. You weren't really sure about some of the technical terms she used, but she was so excited that you hung on every word anyway. Then she would ask you about your day. You told her this and that, even the tiniest details you added in held her attention. Whether your day was good or bad, she strove to hear everything about it- if you were willing to tell.

You were almost certain that she was slowly building a file on you- and that struck you as sweet.

"It sounds as if your day was interesting," Archivist cooed in that soft, digitized hum. Her voice was beautiful, it soothed your nerves to hear her talk about- anything. Sometimes you would just listen in on her instructions to the librarians just to admire the sound. "-Dear?"

"Huh?" You snapped back to attention, then felt a little silly, "Sorry, I zoned out. Could you repeat that?"

She laughed gently at your sheepish look. "I deduced that," she replied, "I said, 'I found a story that you might be interested in during my file search. Would you like me to read it to you, dear?'"

Oh, wonderful. "Yes, please," you found yourself replying a little too quickly. You knew Archivist had noticed when she tittered again.

She reached out her arm to beckon you closer and you obeyed. She tucked her arm around you to pull you closer to her frame and she smiled down at you. You smiled back, feeling so lucky to know her in this moment.

Archivist began her story, "It was a wondrous time to be alive…"

[agapestricken]

anastasiy has been on this earth long enough to know when someone is trouble. and as nice as he tries to be, whenever he doesn't trust someone... he can be prone to putting up walls around himself; the new, as well as most relevant example, now being jonathan. ana squinted his eyes in suspicion at the figure looming above him, like some kind of supernatural creature attempting to terrorize the russian. he instinctively thought about reaching a hand back to touch the leather sheath he hid beneath his shirt that day just to make sure it was still there - one that conceals a curved hunting blade from view.

anastasiy saw no harm in bringing it along just for safety purposes on trips like these, though he would really prefer to try to talk things out first. so he only raised an eyebrow at the other's behavior before saying something in a dry tone, ❝ clearly. you're totally not being facetious right now or anything, ❞ the doctor murmured this last part to himself and right whenever the scarecrow came down to the ground, was when ana's mind began ringing warning bells. thus, he immediately went to grasping for his knife's sheath and he gnawed on his bottom lip when the other just kept on being flippant.

i mean, he'd heard that gotham's rogues were characters, but when people said that... he wasn't exactly expecting this. it was almost like jon was a magpie and ana was the shiny new item that had caught his eye: there was a time and place for being curious about another person, he thought, and near several makeshift graves wasn't exactly one he'd imagine would be on that list. but again like the magpie who'd pursue something shiny until they could steal it, jonathan seemed relentless in wanting to know more about anastasiy. the man himself wasn't sure how to feel about that as he stared the other down and a blend of two specific scents suddenly hit his nose like a truck. tobacco, and something indistinguishably tart.

ana couldn't help but be nervous as he stared down the tall, gangly figure in front of him, but kept up a confident front as best he could. he took a few steps back from jon on impulse as he wiped at his nose as he strived to get that scent out of it. ana then had to smell his own scent, a mix of juniper and lavender, to rid his nose of it whilst he cleared his throat. the words 'serial killer,' or what jon called him, echoed in his head. why? he shared a glance with manja, who seemed to sense that he was somewhat troubled by this, but made a gesture in RSL that roughly translated to: i must go back to the underworld before sunset to resume my duties, ana. this is goodbye for now.

and off she went, leaving him to deal with the scarecrow alone. the touch to his nose had anastasiy jumping back as if startled and trying to control his breathing as he slightly pulled the knife out of its sheath, just enough to (unfortunately) cut himself on the edge. the pain was biting and caused ana to drop the hunter's knife back completely into the sheath. but he still made sure to keep some distance between him and jonathan. ❝ i am careful. i don't even know where you came from, scarecrow, but i now know i can't come here again. and you can just call me merrymaker. ❞ since you're using your made-up name, too, is what ana was thinking at the time.

he was about to explain that he'd gotten the name when, inexplicably, one of his first victims had escaped from him for some time and would've almost got him caught if he allowed them to be interviewed by the police - but ana got them just in time. in any case, they referred to him as if he were some kind of 'twisted merrymaker' with the way he went after him, and the name just kind of stuck. plus, the way in which he celebrated after they died certainly made the name fit as well. but scarecrow didn't really need to know that. anastasiy simply blinked several times as he let his hand hit his hip repeatedly to satisfy his need to move.

he cracked a weak smile as his heart, as slow as it was, felt like it was racing at that moment whilst the other looked at him. ana wasn't going to have to worry about this man running to the police about him, was he? he blurted out something extra to fill the silence afterwards, ❝ well, normally, i'd say i'm flattered. but i was relying on being alone whenever i came to drop off my thank-you gift for... for the woman i killed. i suppose god had other plans for me however, so please be honest with me: do i have to worry about you telling anyone about this? ❞

HER SACRIFICE.

What an interesting choice of words! The plot thickens. Really, this is Ana's life, but for Jonathan, it is just some needed entertainment. His nails tap-tap on the tree branch he stoops over.

It's the next comment that really sends him over the edge. He guffaws, boisterous and loud the way the Scarecrow is won't to do. "You won't hurt me? Oh, my, my, I'm terribly honored!" Jonathan drops to the ground, feet smacking the dirt with a THUMP! Swiftly, he steps over to Ana, closing the distance between them, and he leans in. "I was very worried about that, you know."

He makes no further move. His intentions are only to mess with Ana and have some fun, fulfill his curiosity. With the gap between them now more close than wide, Jonathan smells of tobacco and something faintly sweet. With Ana's sensitive nose, it's almost certain he can pick up on it - as if Jonathan has recently eaten some sort of dessert, smoked a cigarette. His own pale blue eyes are framed in red, as they're terribly bloodshot from lack of sleep. He's smiling, and a gentle hum accompanies it as he thinks.

Then it stops.

"You're right. I'm the Scarecrow, my dear. And who might this budding new serial killer be, gracing my presence?" It's playful, and he reaches over to tap Ana's nose gently. "My advice is to be more careful about where you stuff a body, boy. You never know who is watching."

His hands fall behind his back, held together behind him. He straightens, satisfied with the impression his towering over Ana has left. He cants his head to the side, waiting. "Would you humor me? I find you interesting. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."

[1kook]

BORN SINNER III

→ MASTERLIST

summary; Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you. warnings; virgin jungkook, timid jungkook, church boy jk, a LOT of religious themes/discussion, catholic guilt, fear of sinning, mentions of masturbation, heavy doubts, a little paranoia/fear of being outcasted, jk has a crush, confessions, making out, boob lover jk has his boobs touched, groping/petting, light praise, very brief/light choking, jk is horny like 75% of the time, positive character development <3 rating; m (18+) wc; 9.5k

banner; as always, by @jamaisjoons​ !! ty ty ty!! <3333

notes; i have to apologize for delaying this update for so long. truth is, it was difficult to write the next part bc i felt like i had trapped myself in pt2-- jk wasn't showing ANY progress & i started to really hate his character. LUCKILY, with the help of my amazing editor n wife @kigurumu​ *audience cheers* i was able to put him back on the right track towards redemption! (& even more painful angst in the future!) sadly, that means that this part doesn't include any explicit smut, you'll see why. still, I'm very proud of how much i was able to build his character in this part and i hope you enjoy it!!! lemme know what u think <3

in the future, i will try my best to make sure the chapters aren’t so spaced out. again, i am so so sorry about taking so long to update this series

He gets your text the following Tuesday morning. 

Now, Jungkook has never been one to be overly invested in his cell phone; he uses it as much as he needs to, just checks his emails, takes some photos, and sends texts when necessary. But you had set up a particularly unique ringtone for yourself the other day, had sweetly asked for his phone as he laid against your chest. His skin had felt warm and the slightest bit sweaty, his body pressed so closely against you that he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. “Did you have fun?” you asked, fingers combing back his hair. He had hummed, eyes fluttering shut to the faint tapping of your fingers across the keyboard. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember the soft beating of your heart beneath his ear, the leg you had hooked around his waist to pull him closer. The memory makes him shiver. 

It’s a high-pitched bell sound that alerts him of your messages now, completely unlike the classic default tone he had set for everyone else. 

From the other side of his room, Jungkook immediately pauses to look at it, the lit up screen glaring back at him from its idle place on his bedside table. He always leaves it there in the mornings, beside his rosary and the picture of his family, as he gets ready for work. 

He knows exactly who it’s from— after all, that’s what you wanted when you stylized your ringtone —which is why his hand trembles in excitement as he unlocks his phone. 

[❤️]: picnic tomorrow? 🥰

[❤️]: after my last class of course

Jungkook’s first thought is that this was a date, his first one with you since he had met you. His heartbeat hammers at the thought, at the mere suggestion that the two of you would be able to spend more time together this week outside of your usual weekend… acts. Additionally, if you’re asking him on a date, then surely it means you view Jungkook as a potential suitor, just as he does you? Do you want to maybe date Jungkook? Jungkook certainly wants to date you— in fact, if he starts gathering his courage now, he might be able to properly ask you out tomorrow. 

Jungkook’s second thought is of that guilty, gross feeling that’s been gnawing at his insides for three days now, and how it was inevitably going to get worse when he saw you again. 

He had lied to you, Jungkook recalls, sinking down against his mattress, shirt half buttoned, as he stares at the screen. He had lied to your face during a critical moment, had felt that seed of doubt in his chest blossom more than ever. And not only had Jungkook lied to you, but he had lied to you about his feelings toward you. How could he ever hope to hold you close, to date you, when he couldn’t even be honest with you?

The memory of your curious gaze presents itself at the forefront of his mind, the soft sound of your laughter ringing in his ears. 

You had been so sweet to him despite his blunder, had cupped his face and kissed him on the lips when he dropped you off outside your apartment. “Not today,” you crooned, unbuckling yourself as Jungkook’s eyes trailed over your throat— ignoring your cross —and down your chest. “I have schoolwork to catch up on. But soon, okay?” Another sweet peck had left him trailing after your touch, your finger bopping the tip of his nose playfully. “Call me when you get home.”

And because he was so terribly, irrevocably smitten with you, Jungkook had done as you said and called you. He’d called you and then had whimpered against his sheets as you generously talked him through another sinful deed. You had softly sighed his name over the line, told him he was handsome and that you missed him. That you wanted him in your mouth—

And of course, he had felt… something afterwards. 

This is where his dilemma begins: Jungkook had felt something afterwards, and he’s not sure if it had been entirely good or bad. The longer Jungkook stays around you, hangs out with you, does things with you— the more he can feel parts inside of himself change. Because after the phone call, Jungkook had felt two distinct emotions within himself, both of which were up for questioning. 

First, there was that one feeling he was becoming all too familiar with, the crushing guilt that would consume him following any sexual interaction with you or himself for that matter. Why was he like this? Why did he indulge himself in such heinous pleasures when he knew, knew better than anyone, what committing such acts meant for the future of his soul? He was practically dooming himself the way he was now, but Jungkook just didn’t understand— why did something so bad feel so good?

But alongside that gnawing guilt was this tiny, weirdly pleasant satisfaction, a gratification that superseded the relief felt by an orgasm. It was this oddly serene feeling that settled over Jungkook in the moments following a climax, the soft brush of your hands through his hair, the low lilt of your voice. They made him feel like he was floating on the softest of clouds, kissed and pampered by its wispy tendrils. It made something inside of Jungkook feel different, new. Good. 

(In the back of his mind, Jungkook realizes he’s always felt that way. At the height of his pleasure, at the faintest brush of your hands against his. It was a staple of your presence, one that made Jungkook feel like he was walking on air.)

From whatever angle he looked at it, it just didn’t make sense. They were contrasting emotions; while one made him feel godawful, the other one practically made him transcend. The fact they could coincide, exist all at once, had Jungkook’s brain folding in on itself as he tried to figure out why. They kept him up the last few nights, eyes blankly staring up at his ceiling following his evening prayers. Mulling over everything he’s ever learned and been told, always circling it back to your beautiful presence in his life. 

He knows sex in itself is not bad— after all, that was how the beautiful process of life came to be —but years upon years of studying his religion, cultivating his faith, had all led him to the same conclusion: premarital sex was wrong. And for the past few weeks, well. That’s all Jungkook had been doing with you. 

It seems like every time you meet, you’re dead set on pleasuring him, turning Jungkook into a shivering, teary-eyed mess while you grinned from above. That confused him too— as far as Jungkook knew, the whole point of sex was to chase after your own pleasure, something you admittedly did not do. It was always Jungkook’s pleasure, Jungkook’s enjoyment that you wanted, covering him in languid kisses and long caresses until he was inevitably shooting his hot cum all over your lap and into your hands. 

You had told him it was okay, that he should never feel bad for enjoying himself. But, to return back to his original dilemma, he doesn’t quite know if he can trust your word. 

You’re a liar, that much Jungkook can look past his rose-tinted glasses to admit. While you may not have lied to him (or at least, Jungkook wants to believe you haven’t), the fact still stands that you are quite willing to deceive others in order to get what you want. He already knows you aren’t the biggest believer of the Church yourself, that you frequently brush off your religious duties in order to fulfill your own desires— the aforementioned sexual cravings probably the biggest one —so, quite frankly, Jungkook is untrusting of the rest of your practices. Were you lying to him, telling him all was well, just for your own benefit? Just because you wanted to drag him along on your lustful adventures? He wasn’t sure, and as much as he wanted to trust you wouldn’t, there’s a shred of doubt that plagues him. 

But still. 

Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you.

He taps his phone against his chin, brain a frenzied mess. 

If Jungkook really wanted to pursue this relationship with you, he needed to be honest with himself and with you. Did it bother him that you were so flippant with the Church, the one he himself feels so devoted to? Yes and no. Jungkook has never been one to impress his beliefs on others, and truthfully, he would not be the slightest bit bothered if you don’t believe in the same things he does. Would there be some awkwardness in your relationship? Certainly, but at least Jungkook would know the real you from the very beginning. 

But to him, posing as an avid follower when you really aren’t rubs part of him the wrong way. He’s slightly put off by that aspect of you, and justifiably felt that anyone would feel such a way if someone were to use something they love as mere leverage for their own personal gain. And to make matters worse, now that he’s been made aware, it weighs down heavily on his conscience. 

Part of Jungkook, as selfish as it may be, wishes you had never revealed your secrets to him. He may have been left in the dark a total fool, but at the very least he would have been a happy fool. Would he still feel guilt about all the sexual deeds he’s partaken in with you? Sure, but at least he would only have himself to blame. The way things are now, he’s unsure who really needs to be condemned. 

Realistically, it is Jungkook’s fault. He knows how you are and even more, he knows you would never proposition him for any such sexual deed if he told you no, if he simply denied you. But he doesn’t tell you no, and that’s the problem: Jungkook really likes you as you are now, questionable behavior be damned. He likes you when you make him cry and when you pinch his cheeks and when you snake your hand down his pants. 

He still thinks you’re amazing, gets this fluttery feeling when you look at him with that sparkling gaze of yours. Your laughter makes him smile, even if you’re not laughing at something he said, because the sound is just so comforting, warm and soothing, makes his entire body relax when you chuckle. You have this gentle touch, these delicate hands that carefully comb his hair back for him in the car sometimes, tracing the side of his face softly. Your smile makes him dizzy, makes him want to cup your face in his hands and kiss you breathless. And, of course, he can’t complain about your… other talents when he’s only been on the beneficial receiving end of said talents. That aforementioned satisfaction, as small as it may be and as difficult as it was to admit to, was something Jungkook has begun to look forward to on the occasions that you meet. 

But his inability to overlook his own beliefs and your confusing nature brings about a great strife within Jungkook. It’s the reason he hesitates outside the church after dropping you off, his car running as he glares at his steering wheel. Everything in him says to go inside and confess to his sins, relieve himself of this overwhelming sense of guilt and shame to the closest person to his Lord. 

But he’s scared. 

Scared that, despite the oath of confidentiality, word will get out. His fellow brothers in faith will hear about what he’s done and call him out for his lecherousness. But even worse, he’s scared of what will happen to you. Would Jungkook’s life be over if he were thrown out of his beloved church? As dramatic as he may be, no. But he recognized that there were different standards to which men were held in this society, that an act of desire by him would not ruin his name the same way it would you. 

And Jungkook didn’t want that. He wanted to keep you safe. Wanted you to be happy and smiling, regardless of how conflicted it made him, because he likes you. He likes you so much, despite the fact he has yet to uncover the true extent of your character. 

But the cloud of mystery is partially what intrigues him, has him pondering over your very existence instead of getting ready for work as he is now. He’s terribly enamored, thinks about you and prays for you every night. So maybe Jungkook is still the fool, because he still daydreams about you when he knows he shouldn’t. 

His phone buzzes in his hand—

[❤️]: i miss you bunny ☹️

—and his decision is made. 

Tuesday passes by in a blur and before he knows it, it’s Wednesday afternoon and you’re texting him the location of one of the parks in the city. You had told him not to worry about the food because you would bring it. Jungkook’s only job was bringing the picnic blanket, a huge checkered thing he had spent all morning rifling through three stores for. He wants to impress you, desperately so, that he’s even wearing a nicer outfit today, darker tones unlike his normal warm palette because he had heard a woman at his job say men look cooler in dark colors. 

Suffice to say, he sticks out like a sore thumb at the park, the stark black of his jeans contrasting with the vibrant green of the neatly cut grass. Jungkook has half the mind to feel self-conscious about it, but then you’re calling his name from a couple meters away and his breath leaves his lungs. 

“Hi,” you greet, the handle of your wicker basket held tightly between two hands; Jungkook rushes to relieve you of the weight. “Did you wait long?” you ask, rewarding his gentlemanly behavior with a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth that kick-starts his heart back into action and has his face burning up. 

In all honesty, you have never dressed very modestly— not that you had to, nor that there was anything remotely wrong with that. Jungkook has spent many a mass service fighting the urge to glance down the front of your dresses and tops, ignoring the cleavage you liked to show off now and then. But apparently, what Jungkook had seen up until now was your version of dressing modestly. The dress you show up with today, an off day where there are no church ladies to impress and no unspoken dress codes to follow, makes his brain short circuit. The thin, thin, straps that hold it up giving him an all access view to the broad expanse of your shoulders and chest and collarbones and boobs—

“No!” Jungkook rushes to reassure you, fighting down the blush that threatens to travel further down his neck when you carefully straighten out the collar of his shirt for him. “I- I, um, just got here.” 

You beam at the news. “I bought cheesecake,” you tell him, looping your arm through his as you tug him along. “I hope it hasn’t melted yet!”

By the time the two of you settle at a suitable spot near the lake, the cheesecake hasn’t melted. It’s still cold and solid, tastes like heaven on Jungkook’s tongue, and you laugh when his eyes light up. You look gorgeous like this, nestled against the checkered picnic blanket with a glass bottle of sparkling water in your hand, sandals just beside the edge of the blanket. There’s the faint chime of a bicycle bell somewhere to his left and the chatter of birds as they flock over the pond. Wonderful sights that would normally take his breath away and make him marvel at their beauty, but when you smile at him so gingerly like that, all Jungkook can think about is you. 

He watches you slip a strawberry past your lips. “Tell me about yourself,” you hum, seemingly out of the blue, wiping the corner of your mouth with one careful finger. “Other than, like, church stuff,” you tease. 

As you lean forward for another one, Jungkook’s brain stutters for a moment, eyes focused on the curves of your boobs as they naturally follow the movements of your upper body until he’s dizzy. “Huh?” he says, and you snort. “Oh— me, right, yes um—“

“Your favorite color?” you suggest, tugging the skirt of your dress tighter around your legs. It’s not cold, but there’s a slight breeze that keeps rolling over the two of you, pushing your floral scent over Jungkook and fluttering through his hair. “Right now, all I know is that you like cheesecake because you ate three slices at the bazaar the other week,” you chuckle.

It’s such a basic question, the bare minimum of knowing a person. But when you look at Jungkook like that, blinking those long lashes at him, it makes him forget his answer. “Um… Red,” he murmurs, watching you tug off the stem of the strawberry in your hands. “And white.”

You nod, and then you’re stretching a hand outward to offer him the aforementioned strawberry. When he doesn’t open his mouth right away, you silently demonstrate first, until Jungkook is slowly parting his lips and accepting your strawberry. The flavor bursts on his tongue, sweet and sticky, coating the very tips of your fingers when you don’t pull away fast enough. Jungkook averts his gaze when you pop them between your own lips and suck them clean. 

“Red and white,” you repeat, unaware of the lustful images that flicker through Jungkook’s mind, the way his eyes unconsciously drop to the front of your dress, at the crevice between your breasts that he remembers oh so well, the tight suction around his cock as you— “They make pink, which is my favorite color.” He desperately clears his mind of the memories that flash before his eyes. 

It’s a pretty color, fit for a pretty girl. Jungkook keeps the thought to himself as he watches you sift through the contents of your basket. It’s the perfect compliment to give you, he knows it’d make you happy, but his valor disappears when you throw him a soft grin and he’s transported back to a more recent memory, the memory in the car instead. 

A bad influence, he had called you, had watched your eyes well up with an emotion he had never seen on you before. Sadness? Disappointment? Disgust? He wasn’t sure, all Jungkook could really remember was the acidity on your tongue when you had repeated the words back to him, the ghost of your touch when you had abruptly pulled away from him, shut him out. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so closed off before, not even when he had first met you and you were parading around with that staged shyness. 

And even when Jungkook had corrected himself afterwards (read: lied to you to cover his tracks), the emotion had lingered. Even when you had playfully brushed him off, he had caught your reflection in the window beside you as he drove to your place. The sullen look on your normally happy face, lips down-turned, eyes lowered. A look he had put there. 

And now he’s watching you carefully rip apart bread to throw at the birds with a tender smile. A cloud moves and suddenly the sun is beating down on your little picnic again, casting a beautiful glow across your skin that renders him breathless for the shortest moment, trapped by the sheer beauty you exude. You’re absolutely ethereal, and yet he had questioned you. Your morals, your character, everything. 

“__?” he says before he can stop himself. 

You hum, “yes, bunny?” before pausing your little feeding task to glance back over at him. When you look at Jungkook like this, meet his gaze straight on, he doesn’t see an ounce of ingenuity in your eyes. It might be Jungkook’s lovesick heart speaking, but he can’t imagine you ever lying to him. He looks away first, frowning at the various fruits sprawled between the two of you. 

You care about him, that much Jungkook wants to believe. And his beliefs are confirmed, when your voice drops an octave lower, becomes softer, as you murmur, “is everything alright?” The fruits are carefully set aside, breaking the wall between the two of you until you can shuffle forward, your knees bumping against his. Hands reach for his, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his skin. 

Before you can repeat your inquiry a second time, Jungkook finds himself asking, “do you like me?” 

Jungkook’s sudden inquiry makes your cheeks heat up just the slightest, your startled inhale barely contained. 

It’s like a scene straight out of a teenage romcom— a confession in a park, your hearts bared for each other. But it’s a little awkward, you have to admit, unintentionally giving Jungkook’s soft hand a nervous squeeze as his question rolls over in your mind. 

Duh, you want to say. But there’s something about the look in Jungkook’s eye— the eyes he very purposefully turns towards your hands, the hair he had let loose today providing him ample protection from your gaze —that has you pausing, carefully considering your next words. 

You had hoped by now that it was obvious, that Jungkook understood how much he meant to you, and didn’t require some dorky confession in the park. Partially because, well. This wasn’t your usual role. Usually, it was the guy confessing to you, raving about all your redeeming qualities in an effort to win you over. But with Jungkook, all you know about relationships is flipped upside down, forcing you to play a position you’ve never played before. 

Jungkook wasn’t like you; he was soft and sentimental, practically wore his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. And it was a massive heart, filled with so much love and adoration for the world around him, that you felt bad when he wore such sullen expressions on his face.

Expressions like the one he has now, lips pressed together tightly as he misreads your silence. He has honest eyes, a dark toffee color that sends tingles down your spine when he looks your way. They glimmer with a sort of innocence for the world, a thin sparkle that makes him look like a prince sometimes. He was devastatingly handsome, and now he was upset. “Um— it’s okay,” he stammers, trying to move the conversation along. But his eyes flicker around nervously, anxiously. Like your silence has left a burn mark on him, painful and delicate to the touch. 

His comment isn’t completely unexpected. How very on-brand for big-hearted Jungkook to try to save you from an uncomfortable interaction, even if it was caused by him. “Um…” he murmurs, “it’s okay. If you don’t, uh. Like me?”

It sounds flimsy, even to you. 

“No, no,” you rush to correct, your ability to speak slowly coming back to you only after the fact. “I do,” you admit, nerves on edge at this rather foreign situation. “I… like you a lot, Jungkook.”

You shouldn’t be surprised by his reaction. Jungkook blinks slowly, like his brain is still processing the information, and then, ever so artfully, goes up in metaphorical flames. “O- Oh,” he stutters, reaching a free hand up to press his knuckles against his face. The rosy hue that had first blossomed over his cheeks has now started crawling down his neck now, up his ears. It’s terribly endearing. “I— um. I didn’t know,” Jungkook rambles, and it’s so cute, so sweet, how a simple confession from you renders him this flustered.

His face emanates a warmth tangible even on your own skin, lips cutely quirking to the side as he fights off a bashful smile and the raging blush your words bring about. It certainly is a sight to see. His hair tickles his eyebrow, swept out of its usually neat style, but it makes him look all the more gorgeous. “Cute,” you chuckle, feeling the slightest bit shy at such a warm response from Jungkook. You sit back, giving him the space he needs, and turn your attention up at the big blue sky instead. “Really? I thought it was obvious,” you hum.

Part of you actually feels really awkward; as you said before, everything is so brand new with him.  With Jungkook, he flips everything around for you, makes you actually admit to your emotions as opposed to simply going along with his. It’s a nice change of pace, as difficult as it may be, and the results are rather… cute as well. (He bites down a smile, but the action makes his normally soft cheeks look more pronounced than usual.) 

“Because, I, um. Me too,” he says, voice wavering. He clears his throat and tries to meet your gaze under his fringe, but doesn’t last more than a second before he’s pointedly glancing at the picnic blanket beneath the two of you. “I’m— I like you too,” he admits, ears tinted a bright red. You figured as much but it was always nice to hear, especially from someone like Jungkook. “A lot.”

“Thanks,” you smile, placing a hand on his thigh. 

His lips pull into a shy smile, aimed at your knees because he can never look you in the eye when you shower him in praise and other gooey, mushy feelings. It’s the same in the car or against your front door— he always manages to give your hand a tight squeeze, maybe even a kiss if he’s feeling brave. But the second you try to tell him you’ve had fun or that you’ll miss him, it’s like all his courage fades away, leaving him a blushing, smiley mess.

He was cute like that. Despite being so kind and caring, it was like Jungkook’s entire being stopped functioning when those types of gestures were aimed at him. So you relished those moments, looked forward to them with a fluttery feeling in your heart that couldn’t be tamed. 

Today, he throws you for a loop. Just as that proud, giddy smile appears, cheeks and ears a pretty pink, it fades away. The excitement from your mutual confessions seems to remind Jungkook of something else, something less warm, that has him quietly mumbling, “I’m sorry.” 

It’s confusing, to say the least. Just a moment prior, he had been pursing his lips in a silly attempt to hold back a smile. Now he’s staring at the ground with a rather pensive look, his apology sitting heavy in his throat. “What for?” you tentatively ask after one long beat. It had been so sudden. In your mind, there isn’t a single reason for Jungkook to be apologizing to you, especially so out of the blue. There is, however, an inkling of fear brought upon by what can only be classified as insecurity; you had just confessed your feelings for each other, why was he sorry about that? 

Jungkook exhales, a quiet sound that is nearly lost among the bustling noises of the park. If you hadn’t been sitting so close, maybe you wouldn’t have heard it at all. “I just,” he huffs, pointedly glaring at some random spot of grass beside you. His features look sharper than ever now, jawline defined, brows narrowed together. It’s a rather misplaced realization, but Jungkook looks absolutely gorgeous with distress painting his face. “I was… being selfish before.”

In the few weeks you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize Jungkook was many things. First and foremost, he’s an absolute gentleman. Raised on manners and compassion, looking after others everywhere he went. He was caring and sweet, loved this world and the people in it so much. Soft-spoken but straightforward. He was dreamy, disgustingly so. 

But selfish? It definitely sounds like something Jeon Jungkook is not. 

Before you can interrogate him even further, it seems like Jungkook is dead set on getting through this alone. “I- I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes downcast. Noticing his wavering confidence, you resign yourself to listening, hand giving him a reassuring squeeze. Finally, after a short moment, Jungkook murmurs, “...in the car.” You tilt your head to the side curiously, waiting for him to go on. “I said, um. Something rude.” 

It takes a moment for the memory to load, and when it finally clicks into place and begins rolling, you find yourself muttering a faint, “ah.” 

If it’s what you think it is, he’s talking about last weekend outside of the church. That terribly awkward encounter that had left a sour taste in your mouth afterwards. A bad influence, you recall him saying, the memory of his voice looped in your mind the entire drive to your place. 

In all honesty, it had stung a little. While you were aware that Jungkook had an ongoing mental battle, you hadn’t realized your role was that big in it. It’s the reason you had sent him home that day, made up a lie about schoolwork just to give him some space. It’s nothing new, everyone’s had someone think badly of them before; gossipy classmates, rivals, maybe even random strangers on the street. But it felt different when it was coming from someone as sweet as Jungkook, so polite and righteous, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Like he was stating a fact, not an opinion. 

It was a slip-up on Jungkook’s end, that much you could tell. Because he had been frantic to correct himself afterwards, had looked at you with these fearful eyes, like one wrong move and you’d slip from between his hands. Luckily, you weren’t that sensitive— definitely not as sensitive as him, at least —and such a comment had been practically meaningless moments later. 

Still, in those few moments where it was meaningful (read: the short period it took for Jungkook to get home and call you, the words looping around your brain until the harsh ring of your cell phone finally interrupted), it had left you wondering. Have you been pushing him too far, asking for too much? The way you saw it, you always gave Jungkook room to object to any of your advances. You know he’s trapped in his thoughts more often than not, but you pay attention to him, you really do. You make sure to take his reactions into account, try to offer solutions where possible. But, for the briefest moment, all of those efforts had felt fruitless that day in the car. 

What you say next is not a complete lie; sure, Jungkook’s comment had hurt for a bit, but here he was now apologizing for it. That was a good sign… right? “It’s okay,” you brush off, patting his cheek softly, hoping with every fiber in your being that it really was okay.

Your voice is gentle, soothing his doubts. Just moments prior, Jungkook had felt like he was asking for too much, especially when your feelings toward him were up in the air. But your earnest confession soothed the ache in his heart. It’s all he’s wanted these past few months, to belong in your heart like you do his. 

But the guilt from before, the tumultuous feelings he’s been harboring towards you since the weekend, dampens his excitement. From your confession alone, it doesn’t seem like you questioned Jungkook. You weren’t put off by who he was, what he loved. So why couldn’t Jungkook be like you, think like you?

“I’m still sorry,” he says again, feeling like a broken record when he catches this sympathetic smile on your face. The scraps of eloquence he had gathered while originally apologizing seem to fade away, leave him a stuttering mess when he tries again. “That was— I shouldn’t have said—“

“Hey,” you cut off, placing a hand against his cheek. It stops his fidgeting, forces him to meet your gaze head on. There’s a smile on your face but something inside of Jungkook says it doesn’t feel real. “I like you, Jungkook.” 

And it’s true and genuine, your words so honest it pains him to think he had ever thought otherwise. And you’re still smiling, even after being hit with the implication that Jungkook questioned your character and maybe that’s what hurts the most. That you still try to put on an easygoing expression for him after he’s said something hurtful. It’s the car all over again, that blank look in your eyes when he had spoken carelessly. 

Before he can apologize for the umpteenth time, you’re shaking your head softly, smiling anew. But this time, he can’t tell if it’s real or not. “I brought orange juice,” you say, expertly moving the conversation along. And just as Jungkook has been thinking for weeks now, it’s like you know him so well. You know when things make him anxious or uncomfortable, know just how to help him out. 

There’s a feeling of guilt that blossoms in his chest, but this time it’s different. 

It’s not the usual sticky gross feeling of before, the one that has him staying up at night repenting for all his wrongdoings. It’s a personal kind of guilt that comes along with the frank realization that, while you have been learning and adapting to being around Jungkook, he has not been doing the same for you. 

Though you may be a little playful at times, you don’t tease him for who he is, don’t stomp all over his beliefs as much as he deluded himself into thinking you do. (That whole, faux-believer thing was a different circumstance.) Like with the cross in his house the other day. As much as Jungkook wanted to believe what you had done was evil, he had, quite honestly, enjoyed himself afterwards. There wasn’t that heavy discomfort sitting on his chest anymore, that sense of shame lingering as you’d kissed his body and let him caress yours too, in the safety of your eyes only. It was enjoyable and fun, had felt exhilarating to be so intimate with you. 

And instead of being thankful for your mindful efforts, he had questioned your sincerity. 

The picnic goes by in a flash. Jungkook is sad he can’t enjoy it to the fullest, his brain filled with clamorous thoughts that circled around to torture him every few minutes. Still, the entire date feels like a dream, vibrant and beautiful, leaving him in a daze. He doesn’t want to wake up. 

By the time you suggest wrapping up, the sun is setting over the horizon, the windows and lights of the buildings around you slowly flickering to life like a sea of tiny stars. He feels weak in the knees as he helps you pack everything back in your basket. “All set,” you smile, walking beside him, knuckles brushing against his until you fulfill Jungkook’s wordless wish and slip your hand into his. 

Jungkook agrees, hoping his hand isn’t sweaty and that you mean what you say. “I- I liked the food,” he remembers to mention, the fact that you had so carefully and lovingly prepared all this not entirely lost on him. His compliment, as simple as it may be, has you beaming at him as you exit through the park’s front gates. His car is parked along the street, the sleek vehicle coming into view as you round the street corner, hands still fastened. “Um,” he mumbles, pausing beside it. You turn to face him, eyes clear and content. 

All good things come to an end, he supposes, reluctantly letting go of your hand when you tug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” you say, stepping up close, chest pressed against his. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes going wide when you nuzzle against his neck. Your hands slip around his waist. They wrap around him perfectly, make Jungkook feel like he was made for you. 

By the time he’s springing into action, jerkily raising his free hand up to your back, you’re stepping away. “Call me when you get home,” you wink, sending shivers down his spine when he remembers what happened the last time you said that. 

But Jungkook doesn’t think he can wait that long. 

You’re slipping further and further away, fingertips just barely brushing against his forearm, when Jungkook jolts into action. “How are you, um—“ he stammers, feels too big for his shoes when you tilt your head curiously. And then, “d- do you need a ride?” he mumbles, cheeks warm. 

It’s a feeble attempt at asking what he really wants. Offering you a ride home, while not a bad idea considering it was late and you had taken the bus here, is nowhere near what Jungkook really wants. What he wants is standing before him, thin spaghetti strap slipping down their shoulder, eyes sensually half-lidded and you know this too— because, again, you know Jungkook so well, know what he wants even if he can’t say it —as you step into his bubble again, peer up at him with your arms held behind your back. 

“A ride home?” you ask, blinking your long lashes in a way that robs him of his breath. And he can see that switch flick on inside of you, watches that pure and innocent gleam in your eyes slowly become replaced with something mischievous. Jungkook nods dumbly. “I’d love that.”

Jungkook blinks. “Great,” he chokes out, neatly dropping the wicker basket in his hands. In a way, it brings him back down to reality, lets him snap away from your hypnotizing gaze as he reaches for the keys in his pocket. “Let me— I just have to— yeah,” he stammers, clicking the button on his car keys one too many times, has it perkily beeping. Your lips press together into an amused smile, the last thing Jungkook sees before ripping himself away from you and yanking the back door open. 

He nearly throws the basket in like a madman, glassware be damned. It’s his last shred of rationality that tells him not to, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge as he steps up to the edge of the sidewalk and carefully places it on the floor behind the passenger’s seat. 

When Jungkook rises back up, there is a hand that brushes against his forearm, a gentle touch that has him throwing a curious glance your way. He’s not expecting to be so entranced by the dreamy look in your eyes, feet glued to the ground as you trail your hand down, catching his wrist between your fingers. You’re standing so close, making Jungkook feel like he’s trapped between you and his own car. His entire body is on edge when you lean in, placing a soft kiss against the very corner of his mouth. It leaves a tingling sensation, and accompanied with the growing warmth beneath his skin, feels like he’s been burned. “I had fun,” you murmur, voice low. It sends a shock of electricity down his spine, a wave of exhilaration that has him fully turning to face you as you eventually step away, that same playful grin on your features again. 

A surge of confidence and greed overcomes him, has him stepping forward into your space despite the nervousness that builds within him. There’s a hint of surprise in your eyes that you quickly mask, placating his bumbling nerves with a delicate hand placed over his heart. He can’t breathe when you lean in, softly humming, “kiss me?” 

Jungkook’s lower lip wobbles. “O- Okay,” he concedes, voice but an airy whisper that is soon swallowed up. You taste like fruit and orange juice, remnants of your picnic clinging to your lips as you slowly consume Jungkook’s entire attention with this soft brush alone. It’s a rather short affair, one that ends all too soon when you pull away with a soft sigh against his lips. 

Your smile is so pretty when you angle it at him, has him taking one jerky step backwards. His back hits the car, feels trapped. But he isn’t scared, doesn’t find himself anxiously awaiting your next move. “Good boy,” you purr, reaching one graceful hand forward, playfully tugging at his tie, wrapping it around your knuckles as you use it as leverage to pull him close again. 

You’re just so pretty, Jungkook has always thought so. From the moment he first met you until now, there is something about you—a glint in your eyes, a quirk to your lips—that has had him under your spell for weeks now. 

Had Jungkook seriously despised you and your ethics, perhaps this feeling would have gone away. But the fact of the matter is that you make Jungkook’s heart hammer dangerously in his chest, a shot of adrenaline through his veins when you look at him with those low-lidded eyes, touch him with those experienced hands. He wants you so bad, even after all he’s learned, all he’s seen. He wants you over him and under him, pressed against him from head to toe. He wants and he wants, and he knows it’s bad to want so much, to be so greedy. But with you around, Jungkook finds himself giving into that greed, clutching at it like a lifeline. “We can, um—,” he stammers, placing one uncertain hand against the top of the door frame beside him. You raise your brows, egging him on yet patiently waiting all at once. 

Your gaze is so strong, and it’s in moments like these that Jungkook feels that feeling crawl up his throat. A serpentine gaze, a sticky sweet tongue. Everything he’s ever known says it’s wrong, but his heart and your confession says otherwise. He looks away, throws a bashful glance at the plush leather seats behind him. “In… inside?”  

And the offer has you positively beaming before him, that same flirtatious shimmer in your irises doubling at the words that roll off his tongue. “Oh my,” you swoon playfully, stepping back to, Jungkook assumes, allow him to get in. 

He plops down, feels like he would break out in a sweat if the evening temperature wasn’t so cool. The car’s interior blends into the shadows, his clothing practically indiscernible against the dark shade of the seats. A stark contrast to the pretty floral dress that suddenly spills itself over his lap when you climb in, the door tugged shut beside the two of you. All is silent, your thighs over his, hands on his shoulders. “Hi, bunny,” you murmur, lips pulled into a smirk, provocative yet playful, like you know something that Jungkook doesn’t. 

Jungkook’s throat feels dry but he still manages to gulp. He’s drowning in your perfume and your body lotion, in the faint smell of the outdoors clinging to your clothes and your hair, the absolutely heavenly scent of just you in your entirety. “Hi,” he whispers back, voice lost beneath the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. And his quiet greeting is rewarded with two soft hands that crawl up his neck, cupping his face in their palms. 

“You were so sweet today,” you purr, nose nudging against his when you finally lean in, pressing your breasts against Jungkook. A tiny gasp catches in his throat, his hands instinctively going to your waist. “Can I kiss you again?” 

Jungkook has never wanted anything more. “Please,” he exhales, feeling like he’ll explode if you don’t kiss him soon. You take his request in stride, jut your face forward just the slightest bit until your mouth is pressed firmly against his, the movement of your lips a practiced rhythm that he just can’t seem to master. He still tries his best, puckers his lips when he feels it’s right, tilts his head when you urge him with a soft nudge. He tries his best and hopes it’s enough. 

By now, Jungkook has come to understand that there is a pattern to your kisses. You always start off slow and relaxed, mouth languidly moving against his as you lure him across a tightrope of anticipation. They gradually become more intense, pulling out whimpers and sighs from Jungkook that he had never known were possible. It’s a carefully crafted art form, the tongue that slides out from between your pillowy lips, dips into his own mouth with a giggly pant. “Good boy,” you hum in between, hands burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Always so good.”

Jungkook shudders when you eventually part, can’t catch his breath fast enough before you’re reaching for the buttons on the front of his shirt, easily undoing the casual tie too. “Relax,” you tell him, bypassing his lips for the warm expanse of skin just below. You kiss over his chin, down his neck, as your hands crawl beneath his shirt and around his naked waist. 

He’s ticklish, and when you brush against his ribs, he unwillingly releases a sharp huff of laughter. It’s followed by a wide-eyed look of embarrassment, cheeks a warm hue when you lean back in surprise at this new bit of information. “I— sorry,” he blurts out, because he doesn’t know proper make-out etiquette, doesn’t know anything really, except what you’ve shown him. 

But the sound makes you snort, looking at him with this gaze that drips with honey. “So cute,” you tell him, placing a chaste kiss against his lips, before disappearing back down to lavish his throat with filthier kisses. And with you laving your tongue across his skin, biting at every inch available, Jungkook is left to fuzzily stare over the crystal clear windshield. He’s struck with the faint realization that if someone were to look hard enough, they would see him through the tinted glass as he fell apart into the hands of a pretty girl. 

The soft smack of your lips against his skin is sensual, makes every hair on his body stand stiff. Your lips trail down the column of his neck, placing a bruising kiss at the juncture where it meets the rest of his body. “Oh,” he sighs, eyelids fluttering when a hand squeezes at his chest, thumb against his nipple. 

Another muffled giggle pressed against the base of his neck, and when Jungkook focuses his eyes again, he catches his own gaze in the rearview mirror. 

The sight of him is… weird to say the least. 

Even in the dark, his lips look thoroughly debauched, puffier and redder than usual, slick with saliva that isn’t entirely his. He doesn’t tell himself to, but his mirrored counterpart peeks his tongue out, runs it along his top lip sinfully. Startled by his own appearance, Jungkook jolts in place, feeling you shift in his lap with a soft little whine. “Bunny,” you frown, and Jungkook watches your side profile in the tiny mirror as you sit back up, press your lips against his ear. “Sit still for me,” you tell him, hand slithering up his chest, around his throat. Over his Adam’s apple, squeezing just the slightest. It’s not tight, but it knocks the air out of his lungs when he sees the action mirrored back at him on the reflective surface. 

That familiar guilt sticks in his throat, evident when your hand slips away and he swallows harshly, the protrusion just beneath his skin bobbing up and down. 

In the back of Jungkook’s mind, he can recall the religious story that surrounded this bodily feature; a sin and the consequence. A garden and a fruit, a beautiful woman by his side. 

Your hand creeps down between your bodies, palming over his quickly fattening cock, and Jungkook swears he sees stars, a strained whimper escaping from his lips that you giggle at. “Oh my,” he huffs, clutching at the skirt of your dress. You nuzzle close again, pressing a tender kiss against the side of his neck. 

Your hands are so soft and sweet, brushing over his cock like you’re simply caressing him out of adoration and not because you want him to cum, staining his seats and your dress. Either way, Jungkook can’t even begin to imagine what you must be thinking; before the date and his confession, he had been afraid that you would discard him. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t what you wanted, maybe he wasn’t what you needed. You were so confident in yourself and your actions, a stark contrast to Jungkook and his constant uncertainty, his fear of doing the wrong thing plaguing him at all hours of the day. 

Even now, with your hands expertly tugging his zipper down, he finds himself going back to that story. That apple in the garden, the consequences it had hailed. Never mind the fact you’re on top of him, claiming to like him, with your hands touching every inch of his skin. He keeps looping back to that Biblical verse instead, thinks about it when your fingers meanly let the elastic band of his briefs snap against his skin. “Ouch,” he flinches, voice a soft whine. He turns too quickly and too suddenly, nose bumping against yours because you’re still so close. 

You smile, puckering your lips for the lightest of kisses. It’s the little things like that that make Jungkook’s entire thought process stall, distantly aware of the fact that it’s, like always, you leading the majority of your encounters once again. Even during your picnic, it had been you who had practically held his hand as you navigated through basic information, asked for his favorite color and his favorite drink. Had it not been for your own proactive tendencies, Jungkook fears he would have never known your favorite color was pink or your favorite day of the week was Thursday. 

It’s a fact that makes him pause, jaw tightening as he once again realizes how little effort he was putting into knowing you. For someone who claimed to like you a lot, he rarely did the work to prove it. Even now, he’s too unsure of who he is and who you are to indulge you properly, instead watching you lead the scene as usual. Before he can stop himself, a sigh is escaping his lips. 

It must convey his emotions perfectly, because it’s enough to make your wandering hands pause by his waist. “Everything okay?” you ask, always knowing what he’s feeling. And it sucks that he couldn’t say the same for himself. 

“N— Yes,” he rushes to say, looking up at you with round eyes, the moonlight painting half of your face a paler color than usual, the other side shrouded in darkness. It makes your eyes look darker, makes Jungkook gulp loudly when you turn those inquisitive eyes on him. 

His answer doesn’t seem to convince you, and it’s with little to no hesitation that you sit back. It puts a distance between the two of you that Jungkook can’t say he’s a fan of. “Jungkook,” you say, voice stern yet warm, one hand reaching up to brush your knuckles against his cheek. “Tell me what’s bothering you?” 

It makes Jungkook nervous. He knows he thinks too much. Part of him fears that oversharing with you will drive you away, put you even farther than you are now. Maybe next time it’ll be a room’s length away, a football field’s length away. And he doesn’t want that; he wants to hold you close, he really does. But there are traditions he carries and beliefs he holds dearly that make it hard for him to do so, as much as it pains him. 

The only reason he knows he’s frowning is because you press your pointer finger against the corner of his mouth. You lean in close, nose bumping against his. It sends your scent billowing over him, makes him dizzy when he becomes aware of the hand he’s got on your bare thigh, the rumpled skirt of your dress pushed away. “Talk to me, bunny,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to kiss him, a fact that Jungkook feels both grateful and disheartened by. “Please?”

And he can’t deny you, not when you ask so nicely. You have this metaphorical grip on Jungkook, a tight hold around his throat that has made him act impulsively these past few weeks, desperate to be with you, to please you. Even now, despite how much he wants to withhold his thoughts, he finds himself quietly admitting them instead. “I want to know you,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eye. You don’t push him to. “I really, um. I like you, __. A lot.” It’s a repetition of his earlier confession. And still, it makes him nervous. A thumb brushes against his cheekbone, encouraging him to meet your solemn gaze even if it means being a blushing mess afterwards. “Before we, uh, do… things.” 

His words may be choppy and incoherent, but you understand him all the same. “You want to go out some more,” you clarify, removing your hand from his cheek. The phantom trail of your fingertips on his skin remains, feels colder when you lean away to allow him some more space. 

Jungkook nods quickly, hoping this rush of adrenaline might help him through this. He bites down on his lower lip, carefully analyzing your expression for any signs of disbelief or disgust. But all he sees is understanding, a cool expression that makes Jungkook’s heart thunder. “I…,” he says, glancing down at where he’s still got his hand on your naked skin. Something inside of him tells him to rub his thumb across it, an action he doesn’t think through until he hears a sharp inhale, watches goosebumps rise over the skin. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out, snatching his hand away before he can do something else of a similar sort. “I- I just—“ said hand now waves around wildly beside him “—I really like you, as a, um— uh. A person. And I—“ and this is where he becomes aware of his unbuttoned shirt and the way you’ve got your pretty pussy pressed against his thigh now “—I, um. I want to know me— I mean, you —better? More? Like—“

His embarrassing babbling is cut off with a gentle kiss to his lips. No tongue, no saliva. Just soft lips against his, a delicate hand against his shoulders. When you pull away, Jungkook unconsciously trails after the touch, eyes half-lidded and in a daze when you place a palm on his chest. “I got it,” you say, lips quirking into a tiny smile. “I want to know more about you too, bunny,” you admit, reaching for the front of his shirt. He watches on with flushed cheeks as you slowly button it up for him, finishing it off with a playful tap against the underside of his chin. 

You glance out of the window thoughtfully. Jungkook is suddenly reminded of how pretty you are, your skin practically glimmering under the pale moonlight. It catches on your necklace, a thin chain with a cross on the end. If he focuses his eyes behind you, his own reflection stares back once more. Jungkook’s entire body threatens to lock up tightly, but a single kiss on the cheek from you interrupts the process. “Do you wanna date?” you ask, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

Jungkook can’t agree fast enough. “I— yes,” he gasps, leaning forward too suddenly. It makes you flinch back in surprise, back pressing up against the driver’s seat behind you in surprise. You wouldn’t have fallen or anything, but Jungkook reacts like it was a serious possibility anyway, grasping at your waist and pulling you snug against him, soft thighs sandwiching his tiny waist. “Oh, God,” he frets, immediately moving to release you. 

But you catch him with two arms thrown around his neck, pulling Jungkook close to you for another kiss. Deeper and… meaningful, your satiny lips carefully slotted against his. While it surprises him at first, Jungkook finds himself melting into it soon enough. This was okay, he tells himself, and for the first time in a few weeks, he finds himself believing it. 

It was just kissing— intimate yet appropriate kissing —between two people who were seeing each other. Him, properly seeing you. His heart threatens to burst out of its cage for a second. It’s the first time since he’s met you that he can fully say he hadn’t felt nervous about his actions, hadn’t felt like he was committing some grave sin for chasing after your touch. It was just a kiss, simple and sweet, making both of you smile bashfully when you eventually pull away. There was no lying and no guilt, no tears and no stress. 

It felt good.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[i-ship-therefore-i-am]

the first bit of the kissing fic I’ve been working on for ages: (read it on AO3 here.)

Wei Wuxian’s attention has chased Lan Wangji since the first day they met—relentless, unforgiving, his eyes always looking. One day Lan Wangji can’t help but look back.

Or: Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji share a moment of honesty during their time in Xuanwu cave, and how everything afterward changes (and doesn’t).

break upon your shore

“Cloud Recesses has been burned.”

Lan Wangji has finally done it, said aloud the words he has been holding back in the face of Wei Ying’s endless pestering. Days spent ignoring the litany of Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Days of deflecting demanding questions about what happened. Days of concern and care he doesn’t need. Shouldn’t need.

My leg is fine.

I am fine.

Everything is fine.

Leave me alone.

(Don’t.)

(Don’t go.)

(Don’t leave me alone.)

As Lan Wangji finally gives in, speaks the fate of the Cloud Recesses, he remembers why it was so important to resist in the first place. The moment the words are through his lips, said to Wei Ying of all people, everything threatens to crumble, a great reverberating fault line widening in his chest.

He switches from irritation and anger to sadness so quickly that he feels unmoored, like the flames of the fire in front of them in the dark cave—dancing wildly, ready to consume and destroy from within.

It is not as if Wei Ying didn’t already know about the Cloud Recesses, as if Wen Chao had not crowed about it as he dragged Wei Ying off to a dungeon that spit him back out covered in blood and a fatigue that no smile could completely cover. Though Wei Ying tried, of course. He always did.

So flippant and unregulated. So aggravatingly frivolous about everything, not only others’ hearts, but his own safety.

“Are your people safe?” Wei Ying asks now, voice soft and delicate as if he can tell Lan Wangji is reeling even as he keeps himself still. So very still. “Your uncle? Your brother?”

Lan Wangji does not allow himself to look away from the flames, to move so much as a muscle in reaction. Does not look at the face he knows will be earnest and beautiful, not when he is stuck as he is in this cave where there is nowhere to hide from it. “My uncle was badly wounded. My brother is missing.”

These are the facts. Cold. Hard. Unchangeable.

“Zewu-Jun is missing?” Wei Ying asks, tone voicing the pain in his own heart. His shoulder presses closer against Lan Wangji’s side.

Because Wei Ying is reckless and foolish and irritating and inescapable, and worst of all he is endlessly, violently kind.

Lan Wangji’s eyes flood with wetness.

Shameful. Where is his control? Emotional displays do not change facts. They never have.

He closes his eyes tight, both because he can feel the drag of exhaustion in his bones but also to escape the painful beauty of Wei Ying’s face in the flickering firelight. His teasing smile and laughter that is not Lan Wangji’s and is not meant for him and never will be. So easily spread to many with no true intent. But to escape also the tears he has almost let fall, the way Wei Ying’s provoking laughter has fallen away, leaving something even more maddening. No jokes at his expense, just an understanding that makes it impossible to keep his control perfect and undented the way it must always be. In front of Wei Ying more than anywhere else.

He will not be weak enough to cry. To give something for Wei Ying to make a mockery of. Or perhaps worse, to be seen. Understood. That somehow seems even more treacherous.

Wei Ying continues to speak softly, and Lan Wangji lets the chatter flow over him like a lullaby, like a comfort that it has no right to be. Lets it push away all thoughts of the Cloud Recesses and his brother and embarrassment and yearning. The endless confusing tangle Wei Ying sows in him. How he hates it and longs for it.

He just needs to rest. To reestablish his equilibrium. Then everything will stop tilting to the side, his foundations will solidify.

Only then, unexpectedly, soft cloth settles across his body. Warm hands settle on his shoulders. Ignore it, he orders himself. Sleep. Escape.

Against his will, his eyes flutter open. So undisciplined, so out of control.

Wei Ying is leaning over him, so, so near as he settles his outer robe over Lan Wangji, a soft look of something like fondness in his expression.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, face close enough that Lan Wangji can see the faint blush rise on his cheeks. So close that his breath stirs the air against his face, soothing and provoking all at once. Just as Wei Ying himself has always been.

Wei Ying’s thumbs rub absently across the curve of Lan Wangji’s shoulders, giving him a sheepish smile. “I thought you were asleep.”

Maybe he is asleep. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe he is just broken and tired and unable to resist. The fleeting, thoughtless caress of Wei Ying’s hands against his shoulders spilling everything over. Because somehow Lan Wangji forgets that this means nothing. Means nothing to Wei Ying. Only thinks how much he wants it to mean something.

His hand lifts, fingers touching softly against the warmth of Wei Ying’s cheek, chasing the burn of color there, like seeking proof. When his choice is between doing this and crying, this feels only marginally safer.

“Uh, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, not moving, but eyes widening. “Is there something on my—”

He stops talking as Lan Wangji’s thumb presses into the corner of that devastating, infuriating, teasing grin.

Lan Wangji briefly wonders if this is what being drunk feels like. If this is why it is forbidden, if such a state makes people just do as they please without fear of consequence. If it makes bodies incapable of being still and doing nothing which is the choice he should have made. Usually makes.  

Wei Ying has not pulled away, just blinks back at Lan Wangji for long moments before swaying even closer. His mouth opens on a gentle exhalation and Lan Wangji curls his fingers into the soft skin of Wei Ying’s neck just behind the sharp jut of his jaw. Presses in.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, wonderingly, his voice sliding down Lan Wangji’s spine, flaring heat low in his belly.

“Wei Ying,” he says, their same endless call and response. His voice sounds wrong though. He’s giving too much away, is too ragged to hide it. Too worn to brace for the inevitable pain and embarrassment that will follow, this thing he has fought against for so long. To lose Wei Ying at last to hatred and disgust.

Maybe Lan Wangji really is nothing without his ribbon lashing him together.

It’s a horrible, shameful thought, but he has no time to linger on it because Wei Ying’s face is dipping even closer, his lips brushing against his.

It’s almost a question, the gentle not-quite-there touch, Wei Ying’s eyes still open as he watches Lan Wangji’s face, nose softly bumping against his cheek. Nudging. Testing his boundaries. As always.

It takes everything in Lan Wangji not to surge into the touch, to not just take what he has wanted for so long even as he fought against it. He is still half-braced for the laughter, for the punch line, for Wei Ying to dance back out of reach the second he tries. Did you honestly think I could want you? Want a pillar of ice?

He does not want to believe Wei Ying could ever be that cruel. Even unknowingly.

“Do not joke,” Lan Wangji somehow manages to say, wanting to sound harsh and unbending, wanting to shove and retreat, but knowing instead how broken and pleading his words are. Wanting. His hand is not pushing away, but curling tight into the silken strands of Wei Ying’s hair.

Wei Ying studies his face, something painfully sincere there. “I won’t. I wouldn’t.”

But rather than pulling back, than ending this horrible torment that Lan Wangji only has himself to blame for, Wei Ying presses closer, lips firm and warm against his.

Lan Wangji’s entire body threatens to shudder under the sensation, emotions rioting and fighting to escape his control. He sucks in a breath through his nose and closes his eyes in a panicked attempt to find equilibrium. It has the effect of focusing all his senses down on the feel of Wei Ying’s lips, the heat of his nearness, the relentless thud of his own heart. None of this centers him. Not when the simple press of dry lips is already almost too much. No where near enough.

He has to stop himself from starting at the sensation of fingers against his cheek, Wei Ying moving closer, pressure increasing. Lan Wangji’s lips give way to him as a soft round sound tries to break free of his throat.

He lets Wei Ying kiss him like this, remaining still and open under him, heat insidiously blooming in his chest, yet too afraid to give anything back, that the moment he tries to reach for more it will be snatched away. (But, how much he also wants, wants, wants.) He can’t resist the cautious flick of his tongue against Wei Ying’s lower lip where it presses between his, wanting to taste him. Wei Ying jerks, only to meet him immediately, mouth open and eager, welcoming, somehow seeming to know what it is Lan Wangji wants when he barely knows himself.

Wei Ying presses even closer, a whiney sound at the back of his throat that seems to reverberate in Lan Wangji’s own flesh like an echo or answering note. Deep. Abiding. Unescapable. He is drowning. He is coming up for a first true gasp of air.

Everything retreats unexpectedly as Wei Ying jostles Lan Wangji’s leg—sharp, unforgiving pain shooting through his entire body, enough to cut through the heavy haze of desire.

Lan Wangji hisses, feeling sweat break out on his brow, black spots in his vision. He is reeling and lost, bouncing between opposing sensations.

Wei Ying pulls out of reach. “I’m so sorry! I can’t believe—I wasn’t thinking. Is your leg okay? Of course, it’s not okay. Let me see. Did I ruin it? Does it hurt a lot?” His hand lands on Lan Wangji’s thigh as he twists to look at it, but Lan Wangji couldn’t care less about his leg in the moment. He should. That would be the proper thing.

None of this is proper.

The pain recedes as he concentrates on the wanton heat of Wei Ying’s palm on his thigh, the flush of Wei Ying’s face, his lips shiny and full and well-kissed. By Lan Wangji. That was done by him. The satisfaction unfurling in his chest is a solid, dangerous thing.

Wei Ying still babbles and apologizes, the words echoing and building against the stone walls. Lan Wangji briefly shuts his eyes against it, centering himself, even as he wants to know what, exactly, Wei Ying is apologizing for. But also afraid to know.

Do not be of two minds, he thinks automatically, and tries to let it calm him, contain him. But it is hollow, as he has always been of two minds when it comes to Wei Ying.

“Are you sorry?” he finds himself asking.

Wei Ying looks at him, eyes wide. “Of course, I am! Your leg—”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “Not my leg.”

Wei Ying stills, and only because they are still so close, because Lan Wangji is staring at him so brazenly, unable to look away, does he see the moment of raw feeling—something like worry and pain, and more vulnerable than he would ever think to see from Wei Ying—before his expression slips carefree and teasing again.

His body is all fluttering movement in an instant, and Lan Wangji considers that can be as much a cover as stillness. It’s a startling thought, one he files away carefully to think on more when he has the chance.

Wei Ying rubs at the back of his head, smiling widely. “Oh, uh. Yes. I can apologize for that too if you like. I thought…but I probably thought wrong! And now I’ve horribly offended you. Yet again. So maybe you can just please forget I did that and we can pretend, even though, honestly, I think I’d much rather do that again, every day if you would let me, and, boy, is that something I was not expecting, but I know that you barely tolerate me and I’d rather you didn’t hate me, so we can just chalk it up to—”

Lan Wangji grabs Wei Ying’s shoulder and cuts him off by dragging his mouth back to his. Like he’s possessed, wild. And maybe he is because this time he does not sit passive under Wei Ying’s kisses, finally giving way to what he wants, mouth taking and demanding because Lan Wangji is always listening carefully when Wei Ying speaks and Wei Ying said he wants to do this again. Every day if he would let him.

Wei Ying makes the most ridiculously wanton sound against his mouth and Lan Wangji wants to swallow it down and let it live inside of him forever.

Wei Ying slides his hands into Lan Wangji’s hair, fingers pressing into the curve of his skull, each pad of his finger a bright spot of energy shooting straight down his spine. Lan Wangji lets out a gasp, pulling his mouth away just long enough to suck in a deep breath and Wei Ying immediately protests, shuffling forward on his knees, nearly falling over in his eagerness.

Lan Wangji presses his hand to the flat of Wei Ying’s back to steady him. He guides him closer out of range of his leg that no longer hurts in the slightest and maybe that should be worrying but the thought flitters away, because Wei Ying is closer now, at last, knee pressing up against the outside of his thigh right before he crushes his mouth back to Lan Wangji’s.  

Everything is heat and pressure and the slide of Wei Ying’s tongue against his, Lan Wangji feeling as if he’s swallowed an entire wildfire, not the steady power and warmth of his core, but something writhing and sparking.

With Wei Ying nearly in his lap now, there is no part of him that is not easily within reach, and Lan Wangji’s hands are greedy, like this might be something snatched away at any moment. He methodically discovers the planes of his sides, his back. Wei Ying’s sinfully red robe is so thin under Lan Wangji’s palm, hiding none of the heat or shifting muscles of his back as he reaches and writhes and never stops moving because he is Wei Ying, even while doing this, so much Wei Ying. Lan Wangji wants his mouth on every inch of Wei Ying’s body with an intensity that winds him. He can no longer feel shame for it. Just wants, sharp and liquid.

He is dizzy with the continued assault of Wei Ying’s mouth and lips and tongue and it is somehow too much and not enough, too far and not close enough.

Lan Wangji twists his hand in the front of Wei Ying’s robe, needing him closer, needing him to still, just needing something to hold onto and Wei Ying lets out a sharp yelp of pain. Lan Wangji jerks back, releasing his grip, Wei Ying’s mouth pulling free from his with a wet sound that is going to haunt him forever.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Wei Ying says between bouts of shaky laughter. “We have perhaps not chosen the best moment for this.”

“I apologize,” Lan Wangji says, horrified to have so thoughtlessly caused him pain.

Wei Ying shakes his head, pressing a hand to the still-seeping brand on his chest. “No, no. A little pain is worth it. Believe me.”

Lan Wangji can’t help but feel the flair of annoyance in his chest, everything inside him writhing and upside down and not in its proper place. “Worth having her remember you always?”

Wei Ying’s eyes widen, another laugh spilling from his lips. “Heavens. I read that so wrong didn’t I? I mean, you werejealous. But not of Mianmian. I can’t believe that. Am I dreaming right now?”

Wei Ying looks delighted, and Lan Wangji has to look away, feeling his ears burn, not sure if being so transparent is mortifying or if he’s simply relieved for Wei Ying to finally see him, if that is better than Wei Ying’s misguided teasing and blindness.

But Wei Ying doesn’t relent long enough for Lan Wangji to clarify his own thoughts. “I actually meant a little pain was worth kissing you, by the way. This entire fucking disaster is worth getting to kiss you. Isn’t that insane to even say? But it’s how I feel right now. Even if you come to your senses the moment we get rescued. Or you actually get some sleep.” There is something bittersweet under his smile, and Lan Wangji realizes he has let himself be far too dazzled by those grins to see what might be hiding underneath. Or maybe too scared to look long enough to be able to notice.

He will set himself to the task of learning better to see it. To know each and every inflection. He’s never looking away again.

“I am always sensible,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying laughs again, patting absently at his shoulder. “Yes, yes. I certainly didn’t mean to offend. No one could speak against Lan-er-gongzi’s levelheadedness.”

Lan Wangji feels Wei Ying is deliberately misunderstanding him for some reason, but he has no shame left, having already broken himself open so effectively, having now felt what it is to have Wei Ying in his arms. Willingly. Enthusiastically. There is no lying to himself. And there is no lying to Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji reaches for the back of Wei Ying’s neck, pulling him near.

Wei Ying’s hands flap a bit in surprise, but he comes willingly, everything in him seeming to go still, almost hanging from his grip, and this is another reaction Lan Wangji wants to learn more about. Some time when he is less exhausted.

Only once Wei Ying’s face is nearly touching his own, their eyes looking directly into each other, does Lan Wangji speak again. “I am always sensible,” he repeats. He has not lost his sense. He has only taken what he has always wanted. What he will always want. There will be no recanting. To think he would is offensive to him.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, his eyes blown wide. “Oh.”

Lan Wangji hums in agreement, attention caught by the sight of Wei Ying’s lips even as he feels exhaustion tugging relentlessly, his eyes heavy.

“So this isn’t just like, I don’t know, temporary insanity?”

Lan Wangji gives him a flat, unimpressed stare before leaning back against the cave wall behind him. “Long term insanity.” There can be no other way to describe the confliction he has been plagued with for so long.

Wei Ying lets out a startled laugh, and this one feels real and earned by Lan Wangji and it’s the most lovely sound he’s ever heard. “Lan Zhan!” he says, delighted and scandalized.

He feels his eyes sliding shut, his exhaustion a solid thing dragging him down. “Since I first met Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says again, this time soft and a bit thick. “I like you so much.”

Lan Wangji struggles to stay awake, to open his eyes, to think of something to say in response, something right, but he can only squeeze Wei Ying’s arm where he is still holding it. Never wants to let go of.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. Go to sleep.” There’s the soft press of what must be Wei Ying’s lips against his forehead, right where his ribbon should be, seductive warmth spreading out through his entire body from the simple touch. “Sleep now.”

“Wei Ying,” he mumbles one last time, and then drifts off.

[solangelover]

Could you do Solangelo cuddling (Fluff), but one of them has really weird mid-night thoughts?

A/N: This has been done forever ago, idk why I didn’t post it, my bad (^_^; )

Read on AO3 or FF.Net

“Ugh, I’m tired.”

“That’s why we’re going to sleep, Ghosty.”

Nico hummed noncommittally as he flopped down onto his bed. It was late, nearly midnight, and he was more than ready to be dead to the world. They had had a busy day of classes, training (for Nico), working (for Will), and dealing with the general chaos that came with living at Camp Half-Blood.

Will’s siblings let the head counselor sneak off to the Hades cabin for the night. While they all teased their older brother about having a “fun night,” they all really just wanted him to get a good night’s sleep, and cuddling with his boyfriend almost always did the trick.

After doing the minimal to get ready for bed, the boys hit the lights and shuffled beneath the covers. Immediately, their hands found each other, and they tangled their limbs together. It was easy, a comfortable routine they developed over the course of their relationship. They were hardly cuddly in public, so their private time together had to make up for that. And it was really just that—cuddling and sleeping together—and nothing more.

“Good night, Neeks.”

“Good night, Sunshine.”

Will shifted onto his back, giving Nico the space to move even closer so that his head rested on the blonde’s chest.

It was nice and cozy. Perfect for sleeping.

And yet.

Will laid there for a solid fifteen minutes, not thinking anything in particular as he stared off into the darkness. He tried not to shift restlessly so as not to disturb his boyfriend, but that just made him stiff and less than comfortable.

He tried to focus on Nico’s breathing for the next fifteen minutes. The boy’s breaths had evened out, but Will had a feeling that he wasn’t quite asleep yet either.

Why couldn’t he sleep? Was something bothering him? Normally, he’d have his to do list for the next day on his mind. When that kept him up, he simply got up, wrote it down, then climbed back in bed and was out like a light. But that’s not what was happening now. He squared away his to do list earlier, on a small note that sat on his desk in the infirmary.

What was on the list? Maybe if Will recounted it to himself, he’d fall asleep out of boredom.

Cut bandages. Well, that was a daily task, but sometimes it was nice just to check it off at the end of the day.

Check inventory. A weekly task, but sometimes Will would compulsively check it, just in case, or when there was nothing else to do.

Practice nutrition plans. Since the son of Apollo hoped to be a real doctor someday, he’d been exploring different medical fields to see how he liked them. He was currently exploring the nutritionist route, which could help as a family physician or pediatrician anyway. He would ask the Demeter kids about different vegetables, herbs, grains, all that stuff, and practice writing up specific diets for hypothetical needs. It was kind of interesting so far, but not Will’s favorite.

I wonder what kind of plan a child of Hypnos might need. If you consider the narcolepsy, possible lack of sunlight, there’s bound to be some nutritional deficiency going on, he thought to himself. Hmm, deficiency. De-fi-shi-en-see. That’s how you spell it, right? D-E-F-I—she-en-see—C-I-E—defishy—um where was I? Okay, wait, D-E—honestly, who spelled this word this way? It’s confusing. Why is C-I-E pronounced “she”? What—

“Will,” a stern voice pulled Will from his musings. He turned his head down to see his boyfriend squinting up at him in the dark, his eyes having adjusted long ago. “You’re thinking too loud. You’re practically yelling.”

“Wha—that doesn’t even make sense,” Will responded, his voice sounding loud in the quiet of the cabin.

“It does. It’s loud. You’re loud.” Nico shifted so he was more even with Will and could look him in the eyes properly. “What are you thinking about that’s making your head wrinkle?” He poked Will directly in the forehead to punctuate his point.

Will swatted his hand away. Nico kept looking at him and he sighed. Whatever. “Why are words words?” He looked back up at the ceiling, confusion clear on his face.

Not hearing an immediate response, he turned to see his boyfriend staring at him, his expression a mix of perplexity, incredulity, and amusement. The son of Hades simply raised an eyebrow, apparently not planning on giving Will the answer he so desperately needed.

So, he continued. “You know, like, words. Why are they what they are? Why is the word ‘word’ a word? Why is it spelled like it is? And why does it mean word? Actually, how do you even define ‘word’?” He tapped his chin in thought, once again staring at the ceiling. He saw Nico glance up at the ceiling out of the corner of his eye, probably mocking Will. But the son of Apollo was too preoccupied to comment.

“A word is a word,” Nico replied, like it was that easy.

“You can’t use the word being defined in the definition,” he rolled his eyes, like Nico should’ve obviously thought about this before and know that that’s not an acceptable answer.

Will took a breath to begin another senseless rant about language when his boyfriend cut him off. “Words are words, letters are letters, languages are way they are because people decided that’s how they wanted to communicate. Nothing more to it. Please sleep.” His deadpan words were probably meant to be patronizing or flippant in some way, but Will actually felt like that answered his wonderings quite well.

“Huh,” Will said, mostly to himself. He paused as the words processed in his brain. “That makes sense.”

“Oh my gods,” is all Nico said before he rolled over, his back to Will. “Go to sleep, idiota.”

Will beamed, throwing his arms around the dark-haired boy to hug him from behind. “I’m so lucky my boyfriend is a genius.”

“You’re dumb, now sleep.”

“Okayyy,” Will drew out. But now that his mind was satisfied, he remembered that he had an exhausting day and that he really really wanted to sleep.

He settled in further before whispering a “good night” to the air, the boy next to him already breathing deeply.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Worry

Jiang Cheng sighs and leans closer to Nie Mingjue when Wei Wuxian goes off on one of his tangents again.

It’s good to see his brother again—he has been rather busy now that he and Lan Wangji adopted A-Yuan—but this is one of the things Jiang Cheng didn’t miss.

He can already feel his headache forming.

“Relax,” Nie Mingjue whispers and rubs his thumb over the fleshy part between Jiang Cheng’s thumb and index finger. Jiang Cheng isn’t sure if it’s really doing anything for him, but the steady motion and the knowledge that Nie Mingjue is right there next to him do wonders to relax him.

Jiang Cheng mostly tunes Wei Wuxian and his babbling out, but he pays a bit more attention when Wei Wuxian leans over the table.

“What are we going to do?” Wei Wuxian asks and Jiang Cheng frowns because he has no clue what Wei Wuxian is talking about.

“About what?” he asks, relishing the look of surprise on Wei Wuxian’s face.

“You didn’t even listen!”

Nie Mingjue chuckles softly at Jiang Cheng’s side and it causes Jiang Cheng to smile.

“No, I didn’t. I almost never do,” he says, mostly just to rile Wei Wuxian up and it works beautifully.

“You!” It seems like Wei Wuxian is having trouble finding his words and Jiang Cheng takes the opportunity to turn his head and press a kiss to Nie Mingjue’s cheek, just because he can.

“I was talking about family dinner! What are we going to do about family dinner?”

Jiang Cheng is still missing crucial information here, mostly about why this family dinner would need any special actions, but he decides he simply doesn’t care.

“I’m bringing Mingjue. No matter what has you this worried, I guess it’s going to be overshadowed by that,” Jiang Cheng easily tells him and Nie Mingjue sighs.

They have talked about this already and Nie Mingjue agreed to come to dinner this time, even though he wasn’t happy about it.

Jiang Cheng isn’t happy about it either, if he’s being honest, but Nie Mingjue has to meet his parents at least once and Jiang Cheng prefers if he can decide when and where. At least family dinner has a set end time, so it will be over before either of them even knows it.

“You what?” Wei Wuxian shrieks. “You want to bring your sugar daddy to family dinner? Are you insane?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jiang Cheng hisses back, because how dare Wei Wuxian call Nie Mingjue his sugar daddy. If anyone is behaving like a sugar baby, then it’s Wei Wuxian. And he’s not afraid to say so.

“If anyone is behaving like a kept man, it’s you, with how much your boyfriend is spoiling you,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, which only adds to Wei Wuxian’s outrage.

“Fiancé!” he almost yells and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and nudges his shoulder against Nie Mingjue’s.

“Can you believe this guy?” he fake whispers over to him. “He didn’t know he was in love with him for thirteen years and now he gets all offended.”

Nie Mingjue makes a little noise in response and it’s enough to make Jiang Cheng frown.

“You okay?” he asks, concerned at Nie Mingjue’s reaction.

“Sure. It’s my turn to pay, right?” Nie Mingjue asks, reaching for his wallet and Jiang Cheng’s frown deepens.

“I can pay, too, no problem,” he gives back, but before he can get his own wallet Nie Mingjue has his already on the table.

“See, I tell you,” Wei Wuxian says as he leans over the table. “Sugar daddy.”

“We have a standing agreement to switch,” Jiang Cheng says and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am pulling my own weight in this unlike other people,” he says with a meaningful look at Wei Wuxian.

“But I’m poor,” Wei Wuxian wails.

“And your fiancé is paying for you,” Jiang Cheng says. “Tell me again how that is not a sugar daddy?”

“Well at least we have the sex to make it work, too,” Wei Wuxian says, suddenly completely unconcerned and Jiang Cheng has had enough.

“Mingjue, you ready to leave?” he wants to know, getting up and dragging Nie Mingjue up behind him without really waiting for his answer.

Jiang Cheng is not even sure if Nie Mingjue paid yet, but for all that he cares, Wei Wuxian can take this bill. Would serve him right, too.

“Hey, you alright?” Jiang Cheng asks Nie Mingjue again when they are outside of the coffee shop and Nie Mingjue is still uncharacteristically quiet.

“Sure,” he easily gives back, but Jiang Cheng spots some tension in the lines around his eyes and in the way he holds his shoulders and it worries him.

“You sure?”

“Let’s just go home,” Nie Mingjue sighs and Jiang Cheng thinks that it’s maybe just a Wei Wuxian induced headache.

Those are usually unavoidable and Jiang Cheng would completely understand if Nie Mingjue succumbed to one as well today. Wei Wuxian was especially grating this meeting, and his flippant comment about their relationship was just the tip of the iceberg really.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng agrees and decides to do something nice for Nie Mingjue once they are home, like a massage or something.

Nie Mingjue deserves it, but especially today. It can’t have helped that he had to go in to work before this meeting even though it’s supposed to be their week off.

The ride home is quiet which worries Jiang Cheng if he’s being honest, because Nie Mingjue is a chatty driver. At the very least he sings along to the songs on the radio and he’s not even doing that, so either his headache is really bad or he must be pretty upset over something.

“I love you,” Jiang Cheng says and reaches for Nie Mingjue’s hand.

He doesn’t want to ask again if everything is alright—clearly Nie Mingjue doesn’t want to talk about it right now—and he figures this is the next best thing he can do.

“Love you, too,” Nie Mingjue mumbles but even that sounds lacklustre and a tiny spark of worry settles in Jiang Cheng’s gut.

He doesn’t bring it up again, though, because he figures the car is not the best place to get a man as stubborn as Nie Mingjue to talk, and so he keeps quiet until they are in their apartment.

“Okay, my soul, I love you, and usually I respect your need for silence but something is wrong and I need you to tell me, please,” he says as soon as Nie Mingjue has his shoes off and Jiang Cheng closes the door behind them.

“Nothing is wrong,” Nie Mingjue mutters, but he’s not meeting Jiang Cheng’s eyes and if that wouldn’t be a dead giveaway that something is so very wrong, then the way he keeps his shoulders up would be.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Jiang Cheng gives back, and marches off into the living-room.

“Is it because of Wei Wuxian? Or because of dinner with my parents?”

“It’s not—” Nie Mingjue starts and then trails off so Jiang Cheng must have gotten decently close with his guess.

“You don’t have to meet my parents if you don’t want to, you know that, right? Just say the word and we’ll cancel. It’ll be a disaster anyway and I am in no rush to do that,” Jiang Cheng says with a shrug, because he couldn’t care less if his parents get to know Nie Mingjue.

The people Jiang Cheng cares about and who care about him already met Nie Mingjue and that’s all that matters.

Jin Ling loves Nie Mingjue and what else could Jiang Cheng wish for, really.

“You would just cancel,” Nie Mingjue says but his voice sounds off.

“If you want to, yes,” Jiang Cheng says but he narrows his eyes at Nie Mingjue. “Is it the dinner that is upsetting you?”

“I’m not upset,” Nie Mingjue snaps and it’s so obviously not true that Jiang Cheng huffs out a laugh.

“Please, my soul, you’re so upset. Just tell me why, so I can fix it. If it was Wei Wuxian, I’m gonna fight him for you, promise.”

Nie Mingjue works his jaw a few times, and Jiang Cheng knows it to be a sign that Nie Mingjue is fighting with himself and whether to say something or not so he keeps quiet and let’s Nie Mingjue work it out for himself.

“Wei Wuxian—what he said—it’s not true, right?” Nie Mingjue eventually asks and his voice sounds small in a way that it hasn’t in a long time and Jiang Cheng immediately gets up and hugs him.

“What’s not true?” Jiang Cheng asks, once he has Nie Mingjue in his arms and he can still feel the underlying tension in Nie Mingjue, so he presses a kiss to his throat for good measure, too.

“The thing about—that we’re—that I’m your sugar daddy,” Nie Mingjue gets out with much difficulty and Jiang Cheng freezes, which of course is the exact wrong thing to do, because Nie Mingjue pushes his arms off and steps out of range.

“It’s just—he is kind of right. You’re not poor, by no means, but since you decided to stand on your own feet money has been a bit tight for you and when we go out to eat, it’s usually me that pays. You moved into my apartment and I know you offered to pay rent and I refused but—”

“But know that he said it, you’re doubting,” Jiang Cheng finishes and brushes his hand over his face. “Fuck, Wei Wuxian,” he mutters.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t even know which of Nie Mingjue’s points he wants to argue first and so it takes him too long to answer.

“I didn’t think he was right,” Nie Mingjue dejectedly says and Jiang Cheng vehemently shakes his head.

“I love you!” is the first thing he says, because he thinks that’s the most important, but Nie Mingjue shrugs.

“And for what? My money? It’s not like there’s much else going on for me, with how brutish and angry I am. I know I’m a workaholic and Huaisang will always come first for me, so what is there really for you to like?”

“That’s some absolute bullshit,” Jiang Cheng spits out and steps close to Nie Mingjue to take his hand into his. “You are amazing and gentle and compassionate. Hell, if push comes to shove, I’d put A-Ling first, too, and it’s just one of the things I love about you. We’re family people. You’re a workaholic, yes, but you love what you do and your employees love you in return, so how mad about it can I really be? And you’re not brutish and angry. You’re one of the biggest softies I have ever known! Hell, just yesterday you cried when we saw a baby bunny in the park, how is that not the most adorable thing ever?” Jiang Cheng says and ducks his head far enough to catch Nie Mingjue’s eyes.

“Stop it,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“No. Not until you believe me. You are not my sugar daddy, that’s not the kind of relationship we have. We have a committed, romantic relationship, okay?” Jiang Cheng says and he geos warm just thinking about how much he loves this man, no matter how stupid he’s being at the moment.

“But the money—” Nie Mingjue says and Jiang Cheng stops him with a squeeze of his hands.

“If it really bothers you this much you should have said. I can pay rent. We can divide the costs for groceries and eating out, if it makes you happy. I know I’m no longer quite as loaded as you are, but I can pay for my own stuff. You just have to say so.”

“I don’t want you to pay for your own stuff,” Nie Mingjue says with a sigh. “I like taking care of you.”

“Okay. Then let’s just figure out where the line is for you and we’ll work around that, okay?”

“The line is your brother speaking without thinking,” Nie Mingjue grumbles which makes Jiang Cheng laugh.

“Yeah, he’s quite the idiot,” Jiang Cheng easily agrees, though he does have to admit that he breathes easier, now that Nie Mingjue seems more relaxed again.

He hates it when his soul gets all lost in his head, and while it’s been happening less and less recently, it’s still far too often for Jiang Cheng’s taste.

“Seriously, if anyone has that kind of relationship, it’s them,” Jiang Cheng goes on and steps closer to Nie Mingjue again, so that he can hug him again. “Have you seen Wei Wuxian with a wallet in the past year?”

“But they are getting married,” Nie Mingjue whispers. “That’s different.”

Jiang Cheng is silent for a moment, his ear over Nie Mingjue’s heart, just listening to its steady beating for a short time and then he pulls back enough to look at Nie Mingjue.

“I would marry you, too,” he then says and tries not to think about the vague plans he already had about a ring.

Nie Mingjue goes stiff with surprise.

“You would?”

“Of course. I love you. I don’t just say that, you know. I do. I love you so much, and I want this; you and our life. We can marry.”

“That’s not a very romantic proposal,” Nie Mingjue says, but Jiang Cheng spots the tears in his eyes and he knows that this means a lot to Nie Mingjue.

“Well, it’s not like I was planning on proposing today. I don’t even have rings yet,” Jiang Cheng mutters and then the breath is knocked out of him when Nie Mingjue crushes him to his chest.

“Yet?” he asks, clearly hopeful and Jiang Cheng squeezes him back just as hard.

“Yet,” he confirms. “It’s not like I have concrete plans yet, I just wanted to look. But I do want that, eventually, with you. And if you’re still worried, we’ll make it sooner rather than later, no worries.”

Nie Mingjue presses a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s hair and Jiang Cheng knows him well enough to know that he’s crying. It’s one of the things he loves so much about him. Nie Mingjue emotes so hard and so often and he always genuinely means it, too. It’s absolutely endearing.

“One worry,” Nie Mingjue says after a few minutes, and he sounds composed enough. “I am not meeting your parents for the first time and tell them we got engaged.”

It startles a laugh out of Jiang Cheng and he pulls away so he can double over more freely.

“I can see why you’d be worried about that,” he agrees when he gets himself back under control. “So the proposal will have to wait until after dinner.” Jiang Cheng grins up at Nie Mingjue, who seems better now.

Less tense and more happy.

“Alright,” he agrees, a soft smile on his face.

“Come here now,” Jiang Cheng says, deciding that after this they deserve a good cuddle on the couch.

He pushes Nie Mingjue down, before he snuggles up to him, their legs tangled together and Jiang Cheng’s ear over Nie Mingjue’s heart again.

“But seriously, if the rent or money thing worries you, just say so,” Jiang Cheng says, almost as an afterthought, because he doesn’t want Nie Mingjue to worry.

He can damn well pay for himself, it’s not a problem at all, and if Jiang Cheng is being honest he didn’t even notice the pattern they fell into. Maybe it is time to change things up a little.

“No, it’s not a worry,” Nie Mingjue denies. “It’s just—”

“Wei Wuxian got into your head a little bit,” Jiang Cheng finishes for him, because he knows the feeling.

Wei Wuxian never thinks twice before he says anything, but his words have a tendency to hit where it hurts the most and where people are most vulnerable. He doesn’t mean it, and Jiang Cheng doubts he even knows he’s doing it, but it’s a problem.

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue sighs and slides his hand into Jiang Chen’s hair. “He did.”

“Stupid Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng grumbles and turns just far enough to be able to press a kiss to Nie Mingjue’s chest. “We don’t have that kind of relationship, there’s nothing to worry about,” he says again, just to make sure that Nie Mingjue understands.

“Alright,” he easily enough agrees and Jiang Cheng even believes that he does.

“Talk to me if you get worried about that again. About anything, really,” Jiang Cheng slurs, sleep suddenly tugging at him and it doesn’t help that Nie Mingjue’s heartbeat is a steady rhythm in his ear.

“I will, my heart,” Nie Mingjue whispers and the last thing Jiang Cheng knows is that he presses a kiss to the top of his head.

Tomorrow, he’ll invite Nie Mingjue to dinner, just to drive the point home, Jiang Cheng decides and then falls asleep with a content smile on his lips.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[etherrreal]

“resentment”

Pairing: oikawa x fem!reader Genre: angst Summary: you used to love oikawa’s determination, his drive, his willingness to give his all and sacrifice everything to get the things he wants. now those are the same things that make you resent him. WC: 6,700 Warnings: lots of angst, explicit language, reader’s kinda petty but so is oikawa, relationship isn’t toxic or anything but it could def be better A/N: shoutout to @shadowkunoichi​ for this request! your ask gave me enough serotonin to last for the rest of the week <3 it’s also important to note that the moment i saw oikawa’s smug ass face on screen my brain and heart immediately went “this the one” so here’s some pain ft. my favorite setter -Dawn

The first few times Oikawa cancels your dates for extended volleyball practice, you tell yourself it doesn’t bother you. You’re disappointed, of course –you barely see him enough as it is, despite living together for three months, despite dating for a total of eight– but it’s not the end of the world. It’s just another compromise you have to make, and it probably won’t be the last.

That’s what relationships are about, anyway, you remind yourself firmly, whenever the silence of your too-big for one person apartment starts to get to you. Compromise.

You’re no stranger to compromise, either. You can’t be, not when you’re dating a pro-athlete. You know better than anyone how talented Oikawa is, how admired. He’s worked so hard, and you’re so proud of him. You may not know much about sports, but you do know that your boyfriend has an amazing career ahead of him.

And while the selfish part of you would like to keep him all to yourself, you also know it won’t always be possible, and you tell yourself you’re okay with that. You love Oikawa, and you support every single one of his dreams, even if doing so means you have to eat dinner on your own sometimes.

It won’t always be this way, you tell yourself. It’s just for now. And it definitely doesn’t mean he loves you any less.

That’s what you tell yourself.

It helps that he’s always sorry about it. You hear it in his voice whenever he calls you to tell you he won’t be home until late, see it in the guilty way his eyes search for yours through the screen when he FaceTimes you to let you know you shouldn’t wait up for him. He’s even more torn up about it than you are most of the time, blowing your phone up with apologetic voice notes and text messages with too many emojis.

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: babe 😔😔

[you]:: yes baby?

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 😔😔😔😔

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 😩😩😭😭

[you]:: oh boy

[you]:: you’re not gonna be home in time for dinner, are you?

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i don’t think so 😩😔 we have that game coming up so we’ll be practicing all night

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i’m so sorry baby ☹️☹️ but i’ll have to miss dinner again 😭😭

[you]:: it’s fine, i’ll just find someone else to share my chicken with

[you]:: speaking of, u have ushiwaka’s #? i wanna see something

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: STOPPPP 😭😭 i’m sorry!!!

[you]:: allegedly

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: stop 😭😭 i mean it!! i love you pls don’t hate me 😩☹️

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i’m really sorry babe ☹️☹️

[you]:: if ur apology doesn’t include dollar signs then i don’t wanna hear it

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: check ur email

[you]:: ??

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 👀😇

You check your email, and sure enough, there’s a gift card there to your favorite clothing store, along with a note that reads “financial compensation for putting up with me <3 also if u ever share chicken with ushiwaka i’ll cry and then die so pls don’t.” It makes you laugh so hard you forget about being upset with him in the first place.

[you]:: i was joking!! u didn’t actually have to send me anything u weirdo

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i know 😇😏😘

And when he does make it home that night with an apology on his lips, a bouquet of flowers, and a promise that he’ll make it up to you, it’s hard to do anything else besides forgive him. Because you know that no matter how crazy both of your schedules are, no matter how lonely you might feel without him at your side, he loves you more than anything, and you love him as much in return. And for a while, that’s enough.

Until it isn’t.

You’re thankful to have successfully made it through your first year of grad school with just a caffeine addiction and minor bags under your eyes, but not having to attend your classes or meet with your professors over the break means you’re at the apartment a lot more. You still have your job, but it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore Oikawa’s absence.

It’s not just dates he’s missing anymore. It’s family events, outings with your friends, getaway trips the two of you planned weeks in advance.

You know it’s not his fault. He has things he wants to accomplish, goals he set for himself long before he met you. The Olympics are coming up, and he needs to be ready. You can’t blame him for staying late to get in some extra practice, or for having to attend events with his teammates and his fans instead of you.

You can’t blame him for any of it, at least not without feeling selfish and unsupportive, and somehow that just makes it worse.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to build up the courage to talk to him about it. You almost don’t want to bring it up at all, but after weeks of missed dates and apology bouquets, of waking up without him and going to sleep before he gets home, you crumble. You don’t think you can keep grinning and bearing it anymore, not without starting to resent him.

You confront him while he’s sitting at the kitchen island in the middle of your shared apartment. It’s rare he doesn’t have a game on the weekend, even rarer he gets to spend the afternoon with you. It almost makes you reconsider –will this ruin your time together?– but you hold fast. You know that if you don’t bring it up now, then you probably never will, and you’re not sure you can take that much more silent heartache.

Oikawa, for his part, does well to listen as you speak. He watches you intently, pretty brown eyes soft and searching, as you tell him about how neglected you’re feeling, how lonely.

You know he’s not doing it on purpose. You know he’s meant every single one of his apologies, and that this is what you signed up for when you agreed to be in a relationship with him. And you love how driven he is, how determined he is to succeed.

You just...you miss him. That’s what it boils down to in the end: how much you miss him. You miss him now more than that time he left to spend a month back home in Japan while you stayed in Argentina, despite the fact that you’re in the same country this time, despite the fact that you share the same apartment. It shouldn’t be possible, but it’s true.

“I know your career is important, and I would never try to get in the way of that,” you tell him, quietly, tiredly. There’s an exhausted air around you he’s never seen before, the kind of whispered sadness that breaks his heart. “But sometimes, Tooru...sometimes it feels like I’m dating a ghost. And I’m not mad at you, or angry, I’m just...lonely.”

You finally look at him, and the emotion in his eyes startles you. He’s actually tearing up –“you’re such a crybaby,” you like to tease him when his eyes water during sad movies, but you always comfort him anyway– and it’s enough to make your eyes fill with tears, too. He looks so sad, so broken, like knowing he’s hurt you –even if it’s been completely unintentional– hurts him too.

He’s quick to stand and walk over to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You return the embrace, resting your head against his chest while one of his hands moves to cradle the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, and you can tell by the way his voice shakes that he means it. “I know things have been crazy lately, but that’s no excuse for leaving you here alone. I never want you to feel like you’re anything besides the most important person in my life. I love you so much, and I promise I’m going to fix this. Things will get better, I swear.”

And in that moment, you believe him. You trust him, after all, and you know he doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. So you let him mumble reassurances into your hair, let him kiss your breath away and shower you in the affection you’ve been missing for far too long.

It’s so easy to get lost in it, lost in him. Too easy.

He’s always been like that; charismatic and witty, magnetic and charming. It doesn’t help that he’s totally gorgeous, too. You knew, from the moment you met him, that if you ever let yourself fall in love with him, you’d be in trouble. It’s why you never took any of his advances seriously, at least not in the beginning.

But he was able to chip at your resolve with every teasing smile and playful wink, every reverent touch and whispered words meant just for you. He let you get to know him; the real him, not that flippant and perfect pretty boy facade he presents to the rest of the world, and so of course you fell for him, because how could you not?

Oikawa is stubborn and prideful, exhausting and even sometimes petty, but he makes you feel like you’re the strongest person he knows. He looks at you like you’re the only one he’ll ever want to see. He makes you laugh and keeps you on your toes, and you know right away –before you moved in together, before you told him you loved him– that you will never love anyone the way you love him, because no one else will ever be able to compare.

That’s why it’s so easy for you to believe him now. Because you know he loves you and that you love him, and the two of you are determined to make this relationship work. So when he promises that things will change, that he’ll be more present from here on out, you believe him.

It’s the first promise he’s ever made to you that he doesn’t keep.

For every event Oikawa does bother to make it to, he misses two more. Your parents, who adore him, wonder why they never see him anymore. Your friends start to ask if you even still have a boyfriend. You find yourself asking the very same thing.

You stop inviting him to events at your university and lunches with your friends. You don’t want to set yourself up for disappointment anymore, and you figure it’s easier to just save yourself from the inevitable. The apology gifts he gives you start to feel hollow, empty, just like your apartment. You stop opening them, letting them pile up in the corner of your living room. Eventually, he stops giving them to you.

You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if it upsets you even more.

The Olympics get closer each day. Oikawa’s practices become more intense and even longer than they already were. There are so many things he needs to do now: games to play, meet and greets to attend. Sometimes if he’s out too late he just doesn’t come home at all. The team sets him up at a hotel, and he stays there for the night instead.

It gets harder to catch his scent on his pillow where it lays beside you in bed, untouched and forgotten. It should hurt you more, but it doesn’t.

There’s an event being held back in Japan, promising a night of drinking and dancing and schmoozing. All the investors and international players and coaches will be there, and you promised a while back to be Oikawa’s plus one.

The vindictive part of you wants to cancel on him, just so he knows how it feels, but you decide you can put your pettiness aside for a few nights if it means free booze and food and a comfortable stay at some ridiculously fancy hotel. You wonder if that’ll be enough to fill the hole he’s made in your heart.

Besides, you want to remind him that you’re the kind of person who keeps your word, even if he’s not.

The flight is long and exhausting. So is finding your hotel and forcing yourself to get dressed, but you get through it. Oikawa looks unfairly stunning in his suit, but you try not to notice. He arrives at the party with you on his arm, wearing a silky gown that matches his tie and jewelry that glitters whenever it catches the light.

You’ve barely talked to each other the whole way here, but at the party, amongst his teammates, old rivals, and friends, you’re the perfect couple. You smile, laugh, and dance exactly when you’re supposed to. You play your role so well that no one notices how numb you are, not even Oikawa, even though he’s supposed to know you better than anyone else.

Maybe that’s why you find yourself at the open bar. Oikawa’s off mingling with god knows who, swamped by dozens of people who are always seeking his favor, trapped in his orbit. They praise his hard work, his tenacity, his determination. Once upon a time, you would’ve done the same.

But things are different between you now. What used to be Oikawa’s endearing stubbornness is now an outright refusal to meet you halfway. His determination to be the best has become an inability to compromise; his passion has become obsession. It’s strange to think how all the things that used to make you love him now just make you resent him.

But the liquor here is free and flowing so you knock it back like water, and it’s almost enough to make you forget your heartbreak, your anger. Almost.

All the drinking eventually sends you to the bathroom. You touch up your makeup as best as you can and wash your hands with one of the several different soap options, exiting the bathroom noticeably drunker than you were when you went in.

You’re off-balance enough that when you run into what feels like a brick wall but is actually just a tall, broad-shouldered man, you stumble and nearly fall over. He reacts quicker than you do, catching your elbow and steadying you back on your feet.

He asks you if you’re all right and you reassure him that you are. You swear you’ve seen his face before, but you’re too tipsy right now to bother to remember where.

“I appreciate the help,” you say sincerely, patting his shoulder. “But I promise I’m okay. Thank you again, really.”

He gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you, and he’s proven right approximately five seconds later, when you turn on your heel to leave and nearly fall over again. Once more, he’s there to catch you.

You try to convince him that you’re okay; you’re just a little bit tipsy from all the champagne earlier, but he guides you to one of the stupid velvet couches in the hallway and makes you sit down. He tells you to stay there and wait for him, and you want to protest but he’s already gone before you can make any real sort of argument.

When he returns, it’s with a bottle of water, which you sheepishly accept. He stays with you as you drink it, and your vision and stomach start to settle. You thank him again for all his help. He tells you it’s no big deal, and when he introduces himself as Ushijima Wakatoshi, you laugh so hard you almost spit water all over yourself.

Ushijima raises an eyebrow at you. “Is there something about my name that amuses you?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” It takes more effort than it should, but you’re thankfully able to force yourself to stop laughing. Talk about ironic encounters. “It’s just– I’ve heard of you before.”

“Are you a fan of volleyball?”

You resist the urge to snort, sending him an amused smile instead. “Something like that.”

The two of you chat for a little while, and it’s a surprisingly pleasant conversation. You quite like his company, and you appreciate how he’s willing to keep an eye on you solely out of the kindness of his heart, just to make sure you’re really okay. It’s hardly necessary anymore –the water’s doing a great job at sobering you up– but it’s a nice distraction from the reason you started drinking in the first place.

Or it was, until you start to hear that very same reason calling your name from somewhere down the hall. His voice gets closer and closer, and you shut your eyes, bracing yourself.

“What the hell?”

You open your eyes and suddenly Oikawa is in front of you, eyebrows drawn together and lips pulled into a deep frown. You can only imagine what you look like to him right now, low-eyed and tipsy and sitting on a couch next to his oldest rival.

You can already see the anger in his eyes, the suspicion. He’s jealous, and it’s absolutely ridiculous because he has no right to be. Not after ignoring you for so long. Not after reminding you over and over again that when it comes down to it, you’ll always be second place to his career.

You haven’t been flirting with Ushijima, but now you wonder if maybe you should have. There’s a bitter part of you that wants to hurt Oikawa as much as he’s hurt you, even if it’s only for a moment.

Ushijima seems completely oblivious to the situation, which you’re sure just infuriates your boyfriend even more. He’s described to you in great detail how one of the things he finds most frustrating about Ushijima is how completely and utterly unbothered he is by everything.

“Oikawa,” the man closest to you greets, standing up. “It’s good to see you.”

“Ushiwaka.” The smile your boyfriend directs to his old rival is tight-lipped and void of any of its usual warmth. Oikawa’s gaze settles on you next, eyes narrowing even further. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is plain, dull, as you tilt your head at him mockingly. “Do I know you?”

“Stop being cute.” The way he practically snaps it makes it clear he doesn’t think you’re being cute at all. In fact, he actually looks pretty pissed, and you almost smile at the realization. As petty as he can be, it’s clear you’re better at this than he is. “It’s getting late. It’s time for us to leave.”

Ushijima’s gaze slides over to you. “Do you know him?”

But you’re not looking at him. You’re looking straight at Oikawa, at the tenseness of his shoulders, the way he’s on the verge of fuming. Apparently, just the idea of you being alone with his oldest rival is more concerning to him than the fact that you’ve barely spent any time with each other in the past two months. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Of course.” You stand, closing the short distance between yourself and Oikawa. “He’s my boyfriend. My loving, devoted, perfect boyfriend.”

You place the hand that’s not holding your water bottle against his chest, perching on your toes to deliver a sweet kiss to his cheek. When you pull away, the stain of your lipstick remains, and you wonder if he can feel the resentment in it.

“I just forget sometimes, is all. You know, since we never see each other.”

You don’t bother to examine the look on his face. You can’t find it in yourself to care anymore. You turn to Ushijima instead, offering a tired but genuine smile.

“Thank you again for your help, Ushijima. It was a pleasure to officially meet you. Have a good night.”

You turn on your heel and walk away, down the hall and past several magnificent paintings, past any apology you would normally be ready to offer. It’s petty and deliberate, the kind of reaction you didn’t think you were capable of before this, but it’s all you have left. Oikawa doesn’t care, hasn’t cared for a while actually, so neither will you.

You don’t know what he says to Ushijima or if he even says anything at all, but you do hear his footsteps when he runs after you. They slow as he gets closer, but you don’t stop walking, don’t turn back to look.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What– what the fuck was all that back there, huh?”

You stop. Slowly, you turn to look at him, but you don’t say anything. You just stand there, watching, waiting, feeling absolutely nothing as you do.

“‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’” It’s a poor imitation of your voice, but the intention is there. “So what, I don’t spend enough time with you and suddenly it’s okay for you to flirt with someone else?”

You laugh without humor. “That’s what you’re stuck on? The fact that I had a conversation with him and not the part where I said we never see each other? You truly have a gift, Tooru.”

The frown on his face deepens, but the anger in his eyes softens a little, replaced by a hint of guilt. There’s regret there, too, over not keeping the promise he made to you. You would be more moved by it if you weren’t so completely infuriated right now.

He closes his eyes, letting out a sigh. “I’m not going to have this argument with you. Not here.”

“Where should we have it then, hm? In the lobby? At the hotel? We’re damn sure not having it when we get home, because you’re never fucking there!”

You don’t mean to scream at him, but that’s what comes out. You’re not sure which one of you is more surprised by it. Oikawa stares at you, wide-eyed and stunned, as if you’ve just slapped him, and you stare back, breathing hard. You’re so focused on each other you don’t even notice you have an audience until you hear a new, familiar voice speak.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi steps between you, concerned and cautious.

He’s the only one here, thank god, but his appearance reminds you that this is definitely not the time or the place for any of this. You shouldn’t care who overhears you, but as angry as you are, you’re not selfish enough to air out your relationship’s problems in front of all of Oikawa’s friends and colleagues. You still love him, after all, even if it’s hurting you to do so.

Iwaizumi casts a wary glance between you and his best friend, almost like he’s preparing himself to play the unwilling referee in what seems to be an inevitable fight. Any other time, you might’ve laughed at the look on his face, but not now. “Everything okay, you two?”

It’s not. It hasn’t been for a while, and right now Oikawa’s looking at you like he’s finally realizing that too.

The car ride back to the hotel is eerily silent. You and Oikawa share no words, no fleeting glances; you don’t even sit close enough to touch each other, not even accidentally. The ride up to your floor is spent in a similar fashion, a cold distance settling between you that’s never been there before.

Or maybe it’s been there for a while, and it took you screaming at him in the middle of a party for the two of you to notice it.

Miraculously, you make it into your room in one piece. The two of you remove your coats and shoes in that same suffocating silence. You make it to the bedroom without exchanging a single word, and he takes a seat on the bed while you sit in front of the vanity and begin removing your jewelry.

Another long stretch of silence later, and then he’s meeting your eyes in the mirror to ask, “Can we talk?”

You consider telling him to go fuck himself instead, but somehow you bite down the urge.

“About what?” You take off your necklace, a pretty golden chain with your birthstone on it that he got you for your birthday. “About how I wasn’t flirting with Ushijima? Because I wasn’t, if that’s what you’re still so torn up about.”

“I know you weren’t,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. It’s a bit longer than you remember; that’s how long it’s been since you’ve really gotten the chance to look at him. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“I do. You were jealous.” Your earrings are the next to go, another gift from him. He’s scattered himself into so many pieces across your life; you’re not sure how you’ll ever be free of him, or if you’ll ever want to be. “But you had no reason to be. I would never do that to you.”

“I know.” He looks down, fidgets with his fingers, meets your gaze again through the mirror. His tie is loosened around his neck, making him look disheveled in just the way you like. “I’m sorry.”

“Great.” Your tone is short, clipped, as you finally remove the last of your jewelry. “Is that all?”

“Please don’t do that. I’m trying to have a conversation with you here, so that we can fix this. I mean, don’t you want to talk about everything, especially after tonight?”

“I’ve already said everything I needed to say, Tooru.” You break your gaze from the mirror, turning to glance over your shoulder at him instead. “You know exactly what the problem is, just like I know you won’t do a single thing to change it. You can’t, because my feelings –our entire relationship– all of that stuff’s always going to come second to the things you want.”

The frown from earlier is back now, this time paired with a hard look, like he can’t believe you’re questioning his commitment, even though he’s given you dozens of reasons to do so. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” You rise to your feet, a dry, humorless laugh escaping your throat as you do. “Tell that to the countless dates you’ve missed. Tell that to the bed you hardly sleep in anymore, to all the times I’ve fallen asleep without you and then woken up only to realize you still weren’t there.”

The words feel heavy and bitter on your tongue, your anger growing the more you think about everything you’ve endured over the past few months, all the different ways he’s managed to disappoint you.

“There’s nothing untrue about it, Tooru. You just don’t care about me the way I care about you.”

“Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me I don’t care about you?” he demands. “Of course I care. I love you, dammit. How could you ever think I don’t?”

“How couldn’t I? God, have you seriously not heard a single thing I’ve said this entire time? I’m practically in this relationship by myself, and you’re doing absolutely nothing to change that!”

“You think I like having to leave you on your own so much? You think it doesn’t break my heart seeing the look on your face every time I have to tell you I can’t make it to all the things I want to be there for?” He’s on his feet now, hand jabbing at his chest, like if he could rip out his heart and show you the scars there, he would. “Because it does, okay? It makes me fucking miserable, but what else am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to be there, Tooru!” You don’t know when you started crying, but you are. You’re yelling too, hands shaking, voice raw. “You’re supposed to be there when I need you, not make stupid promises you can’t keep! And even if you can’t be there all the time, you’re at least supposed to try!”

“I am trying! I’ve been trying this whole time, and you know that!” He sounds as exasperated and raw as you do, waving his arms around, red-faced and distressed. “You knew what my goals were before we started dating. I never hid them from you. You knew exactly what I wanted, you knew how hard I would have to work, how hard it would be for us, and you agreed to be with me anyway! You promised me you wouldn’t let it come between us!”

“Well, that was before I knew how fucking impossible it would be!”

There’s nothing productive being exchanged between the two of you anymore. You’re just screaming at each other. You call him obsessed and self-absorbed; he calls you needy and demanding. He tells you to grow up and stop asking for so much, and you tell him he’s chasing a pointless dream.

You’re not trying to compromise with each other, or trying to make the other see your point of view. You both just want to hurt each other, and you do.

You’re crying by the end of it; so is he, but you both refuse to admit defeat. It’s one of the many things you have in common: your stubbornness. You’re out of breath and hurting and there’s a small part of you that just wants him to hold you, but at the same time, you can’t stand the sight of him anymore.

You storm out of the room before he gets the chance to, looking back to catch him throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. You throw yourself onto the couch and opt to sleep there for the night, because you know that if you don’t, you’ll probably end up strangling each other.

Oikawa, for once, is wise enough not to follow you, but there’s a quiet voice inside your heart that wishes he did.

You wake up the next morning with a stuffy nose and a migraine. The price of crying yourself to sleep, you suppose. Your appetite is gone but you know that if you don’t eat anything soon the pain behind your skull will only get worse, so you force yourself to stand from the couch.

You step on something hard, eyes widening at the indignant noise of protest it lets out in response. You lose your footing almost immediately, toppling over onto the carpet. It’s everything you can do to throw out your hands and avoid smacking your forehead against the coffee table.

“What the fuck, Tooru?” You scowl when you realize it’s not a random object you’ve tripped over, but rather your own boyfriend, who for some inconceivable reason is laying on the floor beside the couch. “It’s bad enough we spent last night fighting– now you’re trying to kill me, too?”

“I could say the same thing to you!” Oikawa exclaims, returning your scowl with equal exasperation. He’s rubbing at his chest, a pout tugging at his lips as he groans. “You just stepped on my chest. I could have died.”

“Oh, bite me, drama queen.” You roll your eyes, preparing to stand up again, but then you notice the dark circles on his usually flawless skin, the messiness of his hair, and the fact that he’s still wearing his suit from last night, though the tie is gone and the first few buttons of his shirt are loosened. “...did you actually sleep out here? On the floor? Why didn’t you just sleep on the bed like a normal person?”

“I couldn’t.” He pouts even more, and when you nudge his leg with your foot, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It didn’t feel right without you. It never does. But it felt even worse after last night.”

It melts your heart, you admit. Just a little. But it’s not enough to make you forgive him or to forget your argument, and right now he’s looking at you like he knows that too.

Still, you feel the urge to remind him, “I’m still pissed at you.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. Not just for what I said last night, but for everything I’ve done before that. I never should’ve made you feel like you’re asking for too much, because you’re not, it’s just…” He takes a shaky breath, leans his head back against the couch from where he sits beside you on the floor. “...it’s hard.”

He turns his body slightly so he’s facing you fully. He starts to reach out a hand towards you, almost like he wants to cup your cheek, but he seems to think better of it and lets his hand drop down between you. You almost smile.

His eyes are hesitant as they meet yours, apologetic. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you, either.” You fiddle with the straps of your gown where they’ve slid down your arm. You were so exhausted and upset after your fight with him that you didn’t bother to change out of it. “...do you really think I’m needy and demanding?”

“Of course not,” he answers easily. “Do you really think I’m chasing a pointless dream?”

“Definitely not. Your dream isn't pointless, Tooru, it’s amazing, and it’s one I know you can reach.” Your hands brush where they rest between you. He tenses slightly, like he’s not sure you’ll want to touch him after everything, but you slide your fingers through his and watch as he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “I was just angry.”

“Me too.” He squeezes your hand, and you let him pull you a bit closer to him, let him press a kiss to the back of your palm. “I don’t want to fight with you. And I definitely don’t want to disappoint you anymore.”

“I don’t want to blame you or resent you anymore, either.” You inch closer and he lets you rest your head against his shoulder, resting his own against yours in return. A clock ticks on the wall behind you. For the first time in a while, it feels like the two of you are back in sync. “So what are we gonna do about it?”

It’s the million-dollar question, it seems. And it’s the one that, after weeks of heartache, of missing each other and blaming each other at the same time, he finally has the answer to.

When you return to Argentina together, everything changes. Oikawa’s determination goes back to being something you love, now that he’s putting it towards making sure the two of you get to spend time together. He’s at the apartment more; does his best to get to dinner on time, to attend outings with your family and friends, and to meet you halfway at fancy restaurants and magnificent museums and shower you with his undivided attention.

It’s not perfect. He’s still busy, so he can’t be with you all the time, but the effort is there. You see it now more than ever, and it’s all you’ve wanted.

It doesn’t last.

You spend three blissful months together, both of you putting in an equal amount of effort to make it work, to understand each other and support each other, even when it seems impossible. But Oikawa’s schedule becomes more and more unyielding as time goes on, and it’s not long before the cycle of absence starts all over again.

If you had to really pinpoint the beginning of the end, you’d say it’s the night of your presentation. The research project you’ve spent countless hours working on has finally been completed, and tonight you’re going to share it with the public; this thing you’ve struggled with since you entered grad school, this thing you’ve put your blood, sweat, and tears into, both metaphorically and literally.

It goes incredibly well, as your professors and mentors reassured you it would. Your classmates, friends, and parents are all there, and they get to watch and glow with pride as the room erupts into applause once you finish your presentation, knocking the whole thing out of the park just like they knew you would.

The only one who isn’t there is Oikawa, despite you telling him about this ages ago, despite it being written on the calendar hanging on your fridge. You know he texted you with some excuse, but you don’t bother to check which one it was this time.

It should hurt more. It should make you want to shout and scream, to sob and cry, but it doesn’t. The anger you felt before, the fury and heartbreak; it’s not there anymore. It’s gone. You’re not sad or upset or disappointed. You just don’t feel anything at all.

Your friends offer to take you out for the night to celebrate, but you politely decline. Instead, you make your way to the apartment you share with Oikawa, finding it emptier than it’s ever been before.

Months ago, you might’ve cried. Now you do nothing, say nothing, feel nothing. It’s just numb.

By the time Oikawa does make it home, you’re already packed. You’re sitting at the table, waiting, still as a statue. He greets you in a flurry of brown hair and frantic movement, an apology you don’t care to listen to fast on his lips. He whirls by you so quickly he doesn’t even notice your bags stacked next to you.

“Shit, baby, I’m so sorry! I know I’m late, but I’m here now and I promise I won’t be going anywhere for the next few–…”

It takes him a few moments, a couple of double-takes, but finally, he registers the silence around him, the sight of you at the table, surrounded by your things. For once, he has no idea what to say; you see it in the way he looks at you, the way he freezes, wide-eyed and almost afraid.

“My research presentation was today,” you start. “It went great. They’re going to publish it in a journal.”

You watch his face crumple right before your eyes, watch the way his shoulders slump. He looks more defeated now than during any of his previous losses, and so, so incredibly guilty.

“But I thought it wasn’t until–...but it was, wasn’t it? Oh, god. I– I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

You stand up. The smile you send him is tired and a little sad, but it’s not bitter, at least not anymore. You’re past that now. You’d like to think you both are.

“I’m so proud of you, Tooru. You work harder than anybody I’ve ever known. I just know you’re going to reach every single one of your dreams.”

You mean it, too. Oikawa has an incredible future ahead of him. You’ve always known that. Once upon a time, you believed you might be a part of it, but not anymore.

“...but I also know that I can’t be with you when you do. I can’t– I won’t be second place for the rest of my life.”

He’s incredibly stubborn, and this time is no different. He tries to change your mind, tries to convince you to stay, but it’s far too little and far too late. Too much has happened between you two, and you just don’t have it in you to be disappointed anymore.

You love him. You do. You always will, and you tell him so, too. But just because you love someone, you remind him softly, doesn’t mean you’re meant to be with them. You love him enough to let him go, and you’re hoping he loves you the same.

“But you promised you’d stay,” he whispers, more heartbroken than you’ve ever seen him over all of this, over you. “You promised we’d figure it out. And now...now you’re just giving up on us?”

You place your keys on the table. The clock in your– no, his kitchen ticks along. It matches the slow, broken beating of your heart. He’s run out of time, and you’ve run out of chances.

“That’s just it, Tooru. I have nothing left to give you.”

This time when you leave, you don’t look back.

Written by: Dawn