#You know when you're looking for a pencil you can't find until you realize it's still in your hand? like that

[skeletoninthemelonland]

BTC definitely talks to himself. Like while he's working on his projects or walking around, all the while muttering away about what parts he needs or where he needs to go next.

that, my fellow tumblr user, is actually 100% canon! He does it ALL the time throughout the series. He also gets so focused he ends up forgetting where he put his things (and gets angry at himself for it)

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

[kairiscorner]

question of the day: who would fall the hardest if they ever fell in love?

well... i've got 4 candidates in mind, and i think... (1/4)

miles g. morales — guilty of falling hard for you.

summary: miles morales always struck you as an apathetic guy, one who wouldn't particularly take relationships too seriously; until you both fell for each other, you realized... he did indeed fall for you, but he fell hard, way, way too hard for you. pairing: miles 42 x gn!reader genre: fluff !!

miles g. morales was, to you, such a cold, apathetic guy who always looked calm and composed in everything he did. he seemed like a guy that, you believed, wouldn't care too much if he was in a relationship–that he would put himself before his significant other; though you didn't have any evidence to back it up, save for how distant he seemed to you at first. but oh, were you wrong.

miles g. morales wasn't really all that insensitive as you thought when you got to know him, in fact–he was more sensitive to your thoughts, needs, and wants more than any other boy had ever been for you. it took a while, but the longer you spent around him, the more obvious was the fact that he truly, truly cared about you, from the bottom of his heart.

miles g. morales was the boy who'd stay after class, waiting for your class to finish so he could meet up with you and just be around you. ask him to explain why he's always risking his ass getting scolded for loitering outside your classroom, he can't give you one straight answer. "we had free time", "i had no where else to go", "i... left a pencil in that classroom. yeah."

miles g. morales would never admit to your face that he does indeed stare at you sometimes when you're not looking. whenever he sits close to you in class, be it behind, next to, or diagonally across to you–he always finds every angle of you to be a perfect angle to stare at and admire. don't be mad that he's looking, though, he can't help himself; you're way too mesmerizing for him to handle.

miles g. morales whose sketchpad gradually became a book full of... you in it. it started off as simple, small doodles of you; little cartoony you's that he found adorable and kept drawing when he wasn't focusing on anything else. but as time went by, he found himself focusing on you and your features more and more, almost as if he couldn't rip his gaze away from you.

miles g. morales had also noticed that whenever you speak, he hangs on to every word you say. he thought it would've creeped you out at first, how he can remember all the little details you'd tell him when you're telling him about something that happened in your day or how he remembers all the names of your pets, friends, favorite restaurants, favorite bands and artists–he hangs on to every word you utter, and he can't help it; your voice is just too tantalizingly sweet and attractive that he can't not listen to every word you speak.

miles g. morales was the boy who would use his intimidating appearance to his advantage and defend you against assholes who wouldn't take 'no' from you for an answer. he'd stare them down and glare at them, remind them for you that you said 'no', and if they didn't get the message the first time... they'll have to get through him to get to you. "i'm not gonna back down just because they're bigger than me, because i don't fear them. i don't fear them because, for all their brawn, they sure don't have any brains. and whatever happens after, i'll make sure you don't get in trouble; i'll shoulder the fault. i'd do this for you, every time."

miles g. morales would never wish to get in trouble or have beef with anyone else, but if it was you that others were bothering, then he'd willingly do everything he can to keep you safe and unbothered. he doesn't care what happens to him, so long as you stay safe, so long as it isn't your face being beaten in. you insist he shouldn't do these things for you, but... he can't help it. to picture you in danger makes his heart feel heavy; to get rid of that heaviness, he does these things for you, because he... he loves you.

miles g. morales doesn't dream at night, or at least didn't dream for a long while–or maybe he did and just forgets what he dreamt of the previous night–but when you two became much closer friends, he began to see glimpses and images of you in his dreams. in his wildest dreams, he was able to tell you in all kinds of scenarios that he felt weird around you–a good kind of weird. he'd feel a kind of warmth in his chest, accompanied by the pitter-pattering of his heart when your eyes lock with his, and he feels this urge in the corners of his lips to smile widely when you smile up at him. and, he'd never tell you this, but... in those dreams, he'd tell you how he really feels, and you'd teach him how to handle those feelings by placing your hands on either sides of his cheeks and pulling him close to your face–your nose feeling so soft against his own when your noses brush together–and with the feeling of your hot breath against his own lips... he wakes up.

miles g. morales wakes up to the reality that you probably only see him as a very good friend, a friend you used to think wouldn't care about those who love him but was proven very, very wrong. the friendship bracelet you made for him sits there by his nightstand, next to a cutely frame photo of the two of you at your birthday party. you designed that photo frame for him, and despite how a guy like him probably wouldn't care for cute things... he finds comfort and solace in a bit of cuteness in his life; he just wishes he could express that to you, you, who is cuteness personified. he wears that friendship bracelet every day–and wears it proudly. he doesn't hide it under his sleeve nor tuck it away when you're not looking; he's always got it on and shows it off by just having it on him. he loves having mementos of you on him, it gives him a feeling he hasn't had in a long time... and he hopes that, by some miracle, you'd feel that feeling for him, too.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @onginlove @meowmoraless @euphovlq @anikaluv @conitagray @q2ie @zalayni

[mitsies]

flirting ; jujutsu kaisen

yuta okkotsu, megumi fushiguro, toge inumaki, satoru gojo / gn reader

; yuta okkotsu -

‣ yuta's so shy when it comes to flirting, especially as a first-year

‣ once he realizes he likes you, it's over for him- he can't speak to you like a normal human being, or else he actually might explode

‣ he just thinks you're so perfect, he can't flirt with you- he's already trying hard enough not to pass out holding a regular conversation

‣ but sometimes, if he's feeling brave, he'll casually pass you a flower he 'found'

‣ (he didn't just find it. he spent, like, forever trying to pick a perfect one from a pretty field.)

‣ sometimes, though, he slips up and lets a real genuine compliment slip; he'll talk about some aspect of your personality he adores so truthfully- he doesn't even realize he's rambling about you, to you until he's said it

‣ after he comes back from africa, these flirtations are a lot more purposeful but he typically still ends up more flustered than you

yuta's face burned red as dawn as you grinned mischievously, holding in a laugh. "say that again, please?"

he had to turn his gaze from you as you borderline pleaded at yuta to repeat what he'd just said. your hand laced with his own and he already knew he'd lost.

"i said," yuta near-whispered, daring a glance back at you, "i really like your voice. i mean, it's so nice to listen to, and it's so you, i could listen to it all day-"

he cuts himself off when he noticed you beaming at him and he chokes on his words. "i didn't mean to sound creepy," he rushed to add, "it's just-"

"it's okay, yuta." your voice was bright with barely contained affection. "i like your voice, too."

; megumi fushiguro -

‣ see, megumi THINKS he's flirting

‣ when in reality, he's just being... normal

‣ well, society's normal standard of kindness- for him, it's a huge step, but for anyone else, it's basic human decency

‣ nobara once asked if he was dropping hints to his crush, and he responded yes! when asked for examples he told her abt:

‣ that one time he let you use a pencil in class bc you forgot yours

‣ and the other time he half-smiled at your pitiful joke because no one else reacted

‣ another time he told gojo to shut up because he was pestering you (this one was more for him than you, though)

‣ but in all realness, megumi really doesn't know how to flirt with you either

‣ he doesn't get too nervous per se, he just doesn't know how to outwardly express his interest- these little acts of kindness are the best he can manage

‣ he wishes he could do more but he can't- little does he know, it's more than enough

you pulled your thin jacket tighter for the 4th time in the past few minutes. megumi would know, he's been keeping track.

his mind was whirring with questions of what to do; were you cold? (yes, obviously, if you were shivering this much.) should he offer to go grab your coat? (no, he wouldn't even know where it was.) how else could he help?

megumi sighed to himself before shrugging off his sweater. this was the best idea he had. he couldn't have you freezing to death before you caught on to his feelings.

"you're cold," megumi stated plainly. you looked over at him, slightly amused as you responded.

"really? i didn't notice." he rolls his eyes, turning his head to hide his (flushed) cheeks. he didn't succeed. a navy crewneck was tossed towards you, and you caught it stiffly with your numbed hands.

"just shut up and use that." you didn't miss the softness of his voice. beaming, you shrug the crewneck on, smelling the rush of herbal tea and cinnamon- before brushing closer to megumi and taking his arm.

"thank you, i appreciate you, y'know." he felt himself almost falter with your words, before regaining his composure.

"i appreciate you, too."

; toge inumaki -

‣ inumaki is a tease when he flirts with you, and he's confident and everything too!

‣ he likes you, he doesn't hide it

‣ he writes you little notes which he leaves in places he knows for sure you'll find them eventually

‣ the notes usually say things like stupid complimentary jokes or really dumb pickup lines

‣ somehow, toge never runs out of them!

‣ he's more physically affectionate with you than others

‣ oftentimes, he'll approach you by trying to spook you, jumping into your side with a hand over your shoulder

‣ his touches linger, though, probably more than the touch of a friend's would..

maki snorted and panda laughed at the fearful noise you let out, watching you recoil as inumaki's eyes crinkled with laughter. his hand remained rested on your shoulder as you placed another hand over your chest, sighing.

"god, toge, why do you always do that?" he tipped his head at you and raised a brow. you met his eyes, and perhaps the contact lasted a little too long because maki cleared her throat pointedly.

"toge," she greeted, "panda was just telling us about the mission you both were just on." inumaki's face furrowed in faux-annoyance, displaying his feelings about the mission. you almost didn't notice how his hand slipped down your arm and into your hand.

his own palm was warm and soft in your own. a rush of heat took over your face and everything in you was fighting against the urge to squirm away. you glanced over to inumaki, tuning out maki and panda's chatter.

he was looking at you, once again with his eyes creased, glimmering with amusement. you were sure your face betrayed your nerves, and you were about to say something when maki called your attention.

she raised a knowing eyebrow. "everything alright?"

you dry swallowed air and nodded stiffly. "yeah," you turn your gaze to her. your hand, still holding toge's, tightens and you feel him squeeze yours back. "yeah, everything's fine."

; satoru gojo -

‣ this man is the WORST and i mean it with my whole heart

‣ he has no shame when it comes to flirting with you, and you are fully aware because he makes SURE of it

‣ the thing is, though, it's such a frequent occurrence that you're unsure of whether he really means it or is just messing with you

‣ so you mostly laugh his flirtations off- much to his frustration

‣ so.. he has points where he'll stop with the joking flirting and just be all serious and like weirdly genuine about how he feels, it throws you off fr

‣ he'll be making sex jokes and talking about how he's gonna propose and then whips out the most real compliment about your eyes and you're like 'oh...'

‣ you don't really know how to react, and while you're recovering, gojo resumes his stupid demeanor, giving you major whiplash

‣ he also does this at the worst times. like, in a meeting with the higher-ups he'll just look at you and be like 'you're the love of my life' and you are just like 😀

‣ he also buys you lavish gifts. like DESIGNERRR designer things

‣ he will blow his whole bank account on you if you ask

‣ (he does this even if you don't ask!)

you sat next to gojo on a bench, observing as the second-years fight tooth and nail. this was a regular thing, them deviating from the actual practice to beat each other up.

"why are they fighting this time?" gojo's lips curled into a smile at your question. the both of you kept your eyes trained on the students as he responded.

"panda lost maki's favorite polearm. the rest just got roped in." out on the field, angry shouting could be heard. you shook your head. "they're insane. we weren't like that as students, were we?"

"i was, at least." gojo turns his blindfolded gaze to you, and you look back. his hair looks soft and his skin dewy under the afternoon sun. "crazy about you! still am!"

you purse your lips and roll your eyes, turning away from him with a heavy, indicative sigh. you hope he can't hear the way your heart picks up its pace as it thunders loud in your ears. "sure you were, satoru."

you do not see his gaze soften, just a little, before he speaks again.

"i really was, y'know. from the start." you expect him to stop here. he does not.

"i think it was your kindness that made me fall for you at first," he mused, "when you insisted to help that kid home on our first mission, even though we could've had someone else take care of it.

you've always been like that. a good person. that's why i fell for you." gojo finished his statement and you blinked twice before burying your face in your hands.

"but anyways!" gojo clapped his hands together, jumping up from where he was sitting. you snapped your head back up to see him striding. "i should probably break this fight up before someone dies."

you stared as he walked off to the students. in the distance, you could see panda pointing over to you and tipping his head worriedly after he'd recovered from his beating, courtesy of maki. you must've looked like a mess because gojo just laughed.

he's going to be the death of me, you mused, he's going to be the death of me and i don't mind one bit.

[natriae]

Hi can I request Ushijima having a crush on reader? 🥰

yes ofc!! This will be placed in highschool btw

If there was one thing you could guarantee every day walking into homeroom it was that Ushijima would be staring at you with no shame. You're fully convinced he hates you. Always glaring at you. He doesn't look away, and he never tries to talk to you. Trying to look though your brain to find any interaction you've bad with the ace and all you can think of was the time you brought him a sharpened pencil for his exam since then one he was using broke. Maybe he didn't was you to do that. Did you over step some boundaries? You didn't understand it until White day.

Walking into homeroom you notice Ushijima wasn't staring at you. It was weird his eyes were focused on his desk and eventually closed once you reached your desk. Looking down you saw a singular dandelion on your desk that looked like it was picked right outside the school. You begin srunching your brows trying to think of who brought you this. There was some dirt left behind and nothing else. There wasn't a note or anything.

Continuing on with your day you still couldn't figure out who left the flower at your desk. At lunch Tendou seemed to be in an awfully good mood. Running around and even going as far as to give Ushijima a kiss on the top of his head. Surpised you looked over and smiled. 'Jima looked up and immediately look back down once meeting your eyes. That was new. Did you mess up again. You decided that you would stop at the gym to confont Ushijima. You wouldn't let him keep treating you like this especially when you did nothing wrong.

~~

School had ended for the day and you were ready to solve this problem once and for all. Marching over the the gymnasium you saw a kid with dark hair in a bowl cut shape. You've never seen him before so you assumed he was younger then you.

"hi! is there anyway i can talk to Ushijima-san?" you asked politely. You tilted you head slightly as you spoke just to convice the kid a little more.

"u-uh yea-yeah i'll go get him right now," The black haired boy turned around as he said that almost running into the door of the gym. He must have thought it was urgent. Good, because the sooner you can get these feelings off of you chest the better.

Soon enough Ushijima came walking out of the gym doors seeming a lot less confident then he normally is. He wouldn't even look at you in the face. This was it. You called him face to face and he still can't respect you. "Ushijima I don't know what I did to you, but can you at least act like a respectful peer and look at me in the face. It wasn't hard for you to do all those months. I'm sorry for whatever I did but can you at least tell me what happened," Finally getting those feelings off your chest you felt a lot better. But what you didn't expect for him to do was to turn and look at the grass next to the door. No response from him. You couldn't help but scoff. Turning around to go home all you heard from Ushijima was, "wait,". His deep voice cut you off and you turned back around to him. He reached to the grass and plucked one of the dandelion from the ground. He eyed it one more time before gently grabbing you hand it placing the small flower on to it.

"i'm sorry the first one i gave you wasn't that nice. This one reminds me of you more," He said quietly. His deep voice still rang though your whole body as your brain finally realized he was the one that gave you the flower this morning.

"no Ushijima i'm not mad about the flower. You were mad at me right?" You asked him. The broad man just shook his head at that. He seemed confused at you accusations.

"why did you think i was mad at you?" He questioned. How ever the tone of his voice had not changed.

"you're always glaring at me and never speaking," holding on tighter to the flower you looked down unable to look at him the the face. The whole situation was confusing and upsetting you to the point where tears were building up in your eyes.

"i wasn't glaring. I was admiring... tendou did say i was being creeping," He whispered the last part of his sentence. " i picked that flower this morning because it reminded me of you, but i thought you didn't like it so i picked another," He said like it was obvious.

"it took you a long time to pick one," you sounded defeated, questioning if what he was saying was really genuine.

"the other ones didn't remind me of you...just those two" evertime he spoke he sounded so sure of himself. That must be what draws people in he's confident in almost everything he does.

"but they all look the same?" you questioned.

"no this one is prettier then the others," You didn't quite get what he saw, but you didn't need too, because you could tell he was serious. Like those two flowers were the only roses in a bunch of weeds, and yes a dandelion was technically a weed but you wouldn't hold it against him.

"so let me get this straight you don't hate me, and you got me these flowers because you...like me?" After your questioning statement he nodded his head once looking directly in your eyes. If the area wasn't so shaded you would be able to see the pink dusting his cheeks.

He wanted to say sorry for being weird, and that he has a hard time communicating his feelings, but your smile was enough for him to feel comforted. He felt even safer when you got down, picked a dandelion from the grass, and placed it gently in his hand. He wouldn't tell you, but he still had that flower years later, in a frame, wilted and dead but still his most prized possession.

_______________________

masterlist

i think i may make a samu but from ushijima pov 🤔

[ivyblossom]

Thank You

I'm so grateful that fandom is there and acting as the infrastructure where fanfiction can go and exist.

I realize anyone could just write fanfiction at any time and it could exist without a fandom to hold it. But people who have the creativity, strength, and courage to create things that don't have a place to exist are rare. Those are paradigm-shifters. Not everyone is a paradigm-shifter.

I'm not a paradigm-shifter. I think if I'd known that fanfiction had a place to go and exist when I was tiny, I would have started writing it the moment I could hold a pencil. But I didn't know, and without that infrastructure and a place to hold the thing, it's just so much harder to see it as an option. It's not always so easy to just do what you want, especially when you're younger or less confident, or if you still follow rules, or believe that rules like that are real things.

So whenever I see posts about the importance of feeding fanfic authors with kudos and comments, I hesitate a little. Because, sure. I get it. It's good to know you're not just shouting in the void, and the engagement with other people who dig your idea is absolutely amazing, it is. It feels great. Feedback is terrific. And I have been incredibly lucky in that regard for the whole of my fanfiction career to date. I wrote shitty fanfiction when I started out, and someone was kind enough to very gently school me to make me better, too. So what would I know about voids and silence? Nothing.

But I can't stop marvelling at the fact that I get to write the thing I feel compelled to write, this thing that's fighting its way out of me and will keep clawing at me until it gets out, because there's a place for it to go where it will be understood and it can exist. I can write it and then look back at it and tell it it's pretty and I love it, and then I can put it somewhere where it can live and where it can be understood, where it will part of a larger community of things that look like it, where it belongs. And then I can look at it and say, there you are. You're where you need to be now, and I'll always know where to find you.

Other people engaging with it is a whole other level, and it is so incredibly delightful, but the relief and pleasure of having what amounts to permission to lovingly expel a super self-indulgent, or silly, or wacky story and see it safely home is so immense I don't know how to properly articulate it.

Comments and kudos are amazing, I love them and I'm grateful for them, and there are so many brilliant and insightful people in fandom who have turned my world upside down with their commentary. Their work in that regard matters a lot, it's life-changing stuff, but comments and kudos aren't the cost of admission. Comments and kudos are fanwork in the same way that fanfiction or fanart is fanwork, as far as I'm concerned. As a fanfiction writer, my fanfiction exists because I wanted it to and I need it to. It's my self-care, it's my hobby, it's my joy. Engagement with it is fanwork and a gift, not payment.

Thank you for being the community where fanfiction can go and exist. Thank you for making space for it to belong somewhere. Thank you.

[pandorasfavorite]

Hi Emma! Can I pls have Dom x Fem reader with the prompts "You don't even realize your impact, do you?" + "All of a sudden I care about things that I never did before, all because of you" i need fluff

Brought to Light

AN: SO CUTE

There once was a time when Dominik couldn't find reason in anything. He became so carefree, letting life take him where it pleased, forgetting who he was. He felt rejected and most of all alone.

The Judgement Day helped, they were friends to him when he most needed it but still in the back of mind he could feel that carefree nature stinging his brain. He knows that makes no sense, how can a person just not care? When he loses a match he can't even bring himself to be upset anymore. When he wins a match he can only focus on what he could do better if it was even possible.

A horrible cycle that he couldn't escape from like a never-ending - "Hey! Get out of your head Mysterio!" you poked Dominik's arm from where you sat beside him.

"Maybe I need to be thinking more", he huffs and slouches further into the couch, letting his head lay on the back of the cushion. You laugh at that, Dominik is always in his head. You could tell when he was zoning out or thinking too much, he barely blinked and he went quiet. Of course, he's always been on the more quiet side though, nothing unusual but Dominik is always tapping his leg or keeping himself occupied. Not now though.

You poke Dominik on his temple now, "You're always in the clouds", you poke him again until he swats you away. "Stop poking me", he will grumble out just as always, every time you told him to stop thinking. You huff but pull back anyway, slouching into the couch and laying your head on the back of the cushion just like Dominik. You relax for a moment in the silence but that has never lasted long with you, not when you are beside him. "I made you something", you say meekly reaching inside your pocket.

"Hm?", Dominik doesn't move but he peaks his eyes open, turning his head towards yours. You lift your hand in front of his face, the purple and black string tied together lying in your palm. You both say nothing, you don't have to say anything, you know what he's thinking. You grab Dominik's wrist and you flip his hand over, tying the bracelet onto his wrist and placing a kiss to the thread. His heart fluttered like never before, the place where your lips touched his wrist and where the string sat was pulsing. It seems as if Dominik has zoned out again but in reality, he's staring back at you, taking in every feature of yours for the 100th time, never seeming to be able to pull away.

"Dom?", you finally say his name outright instead of a 'Mysterio' like usual. His words fall from his mouth like never before, "You don't realize your impact, do you?". Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion at his question and odd statement, you shift a little to get more comfortable sensing a conversation. "..What do you mean?", you say almost hesitant to find out what Dominik truly thinks about you.

Dominik laughs in what sounds like desperation as if your not hearing everything he is saying in one small question. "You make me bracelets and check me for fevers, then you'll compliment me and tell me all about your day after asking about mine. You love purple and you think ankle socks are lame, you prefer mechanical pencils and fucking pencil top erasers..." he licks his lips and sighs. "All of a sudden I care about things that I never did before, all because of you", his fingers fiddle with the loose strings of his new bracelet.

You gasp ever so lightly at the confession, reaching to grab his hand that is playing with the strings to hold in yours. "All of a sudden I care about your stupid erasers", he rolls his eyes and looks up at you. You don't say anything for only a second before you quip back at him, "I love my erasers, Mysterio". He shakes his head and the smile on his face is nearly blinding, he grabs your face and pulls your lips close to his, "God I love you".

[qierxing]

Double Trouble

A/N: An old drabble I had around and decided to punt out for warmup

Ace Trappola x Deuce Spade x Reader

TW/CW: Violence against reader, manipulation

—

Ace and Deuce weren't exactly friends.

And they made sure everyone around them knew it. They've never really tried to cooperate with each other more than necessary; always been more content pushing each other around and slinging insults at each other whenever they had the chance. They were no different from feuding rivals in a way. Frenemies, on a good day.

And yet, their temperament completely changes around you.

It's so small, so miniscule, that you don't realize it until Grim brings it up casually.

"They sure are soft on you, huh?” He drawls when the duo once again lets you get away with scolding them for procrastinating on their homework. 

"I've no idea what you're talking about." You shuffle the worksheets into your school bag, careful not to crease any of the fragile papers. "They know Riddle would be on their asses anyway if he knew they were slacking off."

Your companion groans. "That's not what I'm talking about, [First], and you know it, mya!" He waves his paws in that annoying little Grim way and you know you're in for another whiny temper tantrum.

"You know if even that goody two shoes Clover-senpai were to lecture him, they would just shrug it off like nothin'!" His forked tail waves wildly. "And yet, they just listen to ya and don’t do anythin' bout it!!"

"Grim, I think you're exaggerating." You don't even dignify the angry cat with a comeback when you shove a tuna sandwich in his open maw.

You should've realized Grim wasn't overreacting at all.

Yes, the duo weren't friends, but they knew how to work together for a common goal. Unfortunately, you were the one who had taught them that all those months ago in that haunted, decrepit mine.

"Whaddya mean, you can't study with us?" Ace frowns deeply as you rub your neck sheepishly. Deuce wears a similar look with his fists clenched at his side, and if you didn't know any better, it was like the two were disappointed you couldn’t study with them.

"I told you before, I promised Sebek that I would study with him." You cross your arms, "It's not a big deal. We can hang out another time anyway."

Ace's frown deepens more and he and Deuce exchange a glance you can't decipher. A cold breeze winds through the stone pillars of the hallways and you wonder if that's the reason you feel so uneasy.

“It’s not like that guy needs you to be there, right? Just ditch.” You’re left flabbergasted at Ace’s crude dismissal. You open your mouth in a hasty retort but you get cut off.

“Surely Sebek can find another study partner if he really needs to.” Your head whips in shock at Deuce’s flat agreement. He was the one trying to be an eager honors student. Why the hell was he so against two students studying together?

It would've made sense if they were up to their shenanigans again. At least then, you would know it would pass with some time, give or take. But this doesn't feel like a badly timed prank, nor a lead up into a heist that will go wrong. If anything, it feels like they're trying to enforce something on you.

"What is with you two? If you two have beef with Sebek, sort it out with him." Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, laden with the textbooks and notes you need for your study session. "Leave me out of whatever mess you got yourselves in."

You turn sharply towards the library, wanting so badly to put down your bag for your poor aching shoulder. There shouldn't be anything else to address, and you thought you could walk away, and everything would be fine when you returned. 

You thought.

One second you're walking and the next, you're lying on your side, bag strewn across the cobblestone floor. Ink bottles cracking and dripping ink everywhere, pens and pencils rolling away, and all your textbooks’ spines cracked open. You’re gasping for air, breath completely knocked out of your lungs, winded and sprawled on the floor.

“W-Wh–” is the only thing you can utter before you feel a presence looming over you.

“Jeez, prefect, don’t you know that you shouldn’t leave your back open?” Ace’s gloating voice hovers right above your head, and oh, how badly you just want to take his stupid mug and give him a good bash–

“We really didn’t want it to have to come to this,” Deuce’s voice following makes your entire body freeze. “But we don’t want you to get into trouble.”

Your mind runs through several swear words in a loop before you realize with horror that one of them is hauling your limp body up into their grasp. You try moving one of your limbs but only crackling pain greets you, making you suck in a deep, painful breath. A chuckle echoes to your left, and your bloodshot eyes flash to see Ace smirking his usual shit eating grin, hand twirling his magic pen. 

“Nothing personal, [First],” He cheekily responds as he notices your pained glare. Warm flesh pulses under you, and it’s with rage that you’re face to face with Deuce’s worried face next.

“We’ll undo the magic on you later, but please don’t struggle.” He has you in a bridal carry, which is already humiliating in itself, but the fact he has the audacity to tell you to calm down?

“You…won’t get away…with this…!” Every word you utter stretches your ribcage to the point where you feel like it’s cracking open, but you would be damned if you were going to stay silent.

Ace laughs, while Deuce averts his gaze.

“I think we can, [First].”

[teenwolfmarvel-obsessor]

Cingulomania

Full Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist

A/N: I saw this tiktok about 'Cingulomania' and thought it would be a great imagine! I struggled with picking a character, but this one fits since I'm back in my Steve Harrington era, although I've always been in my Steve Harrington era.

Summary: Like most college students, relationships were crucial to having a good time. That was until you decided that dating was getting tiring. You had been on so many bad dates, but none of them seemed to work out like you hoped. It wasn't until one shift at Family Video did you realize what was going on. You were focused on being in someone else's arms rather than the random dates'.

Notes:

Y/N/N: Your Nick Name

Y/F/M: Your Favorite Meal

Cingulomania - the desire to be in someone else's arms.

Takes place in season four (no spoilers)

Warnings:

Long imagine

Steve Harrington x-reader

I handed a woman a copy of The Breakfast Club. She smiled at me and took the bag from the counter. The bell of the door rang when she exited, and a few people stepped in. Robin greeted the new customers, going back to organizing a shelf. "Question," she walked over to me.

I looked up from the agenda of the day. My friend joined me with two movies in hand. "Which one is better, Tron or The Karate Kid?" she asked. I looked at each movie, tapping my chin in thought. Every Friday, Steve and Robin would come over to my apartment and watch a movie.

"The Karate Kid," I said. She nodded and hid it behind the counter so nobody would take it. The customers from earlier came over to rent out their movies.

Robin took care of the small group while I fixed the agenda. Keith wanted us to do a lot of projects today, but knowing Robin and I, we wouldn't get half of them done. We'd usually blame it on how busy the store was, which wasn't a total lie. "Have a great rest of your day," Robin said, waving them goodbye.

She turned to me with her arms resting on the countertop. "I totally forgot I have that date with Sam tonight," I said. Robin's shoulders dropped. "Another date?" she said with a raised brow. I nodded and closed the journal.

I set it below the register, putting the pen on top. I hadn't been going out that frequently. "I promised Sam that we'd eat dinner together," I said. Sam was in my Geometry course.

The two of us had been partners on a project which led to him asking me out. I would've said no, but Sam was nice, and why not? "Is this the Sam with the weird ears or the one that has that snorting laugh?" Robin asked. She pointed to her own ears.

"The one with the snorting laugh," I answered. She laughed herself, covering her mouth to try and suppress her reaction. "Sam is nice, and I'm actually excited for once," I said. Robin smiled and pat me on the shoulder. "At least you're better than Steve," she commented.

Now it was my turn to laugh. She turned back to the outside of the store, watching as some cars drove in and out of the small parking lot. "Don't you get tired of it? I feel like this is your fifth date this month," she said. "It's not a whole lot," I shrugged, "I mean, all four dates have been fails, but I'm confident that I'll find someone."

I always thought it must've been something wrong with me. But Steve would always say that it wasn't my fault, just the guys I was going on dates with. Robin often commented on how the main reason why I couldn't find someone was because I already had someone in my life who was head over heels for me.

And no, she wasn't talking about Keith. At least, I hope she wasn't. Keith never had a good rep when it came to asking people out. "I just don't see you and Sam working out," Robin sighed. "Thank you, Robin, for the encouragement," I remarked.

She rolled her eyes at my response. She hopped over the counter to grab a pencil that had fallen. Robin set it back into the jar next to the computer. "I'm just saying," she put her hands up, "You have the perfect person in your life, and you just can't see it." She ignored my confused expression and continued speaking.

"Steve. Y/N, I'm talking about Steve."

"What?"

"Steve. I'm talking about him," she repeated. "Yeah, I heard you the first time," I responded. I shook my head in disagreement, moving over to the computer to type in today's rentals. Robin walked around to join my side.

She set a hand on top of mine, pulling my hand away from the keyboard. "Cingulomania," she said. Now I was really freaking confused. She let out a long, heavy sigh. "The desire to be held in someone's arms," Robin continued. "Huh?" I replied.

"Oh my god. You and Steve are really the same," Robin said. She reached over the computer to turn it off. Before I could stop her, Robin grabbed the notebook and pen and chucked it over the counter. She stared at me with crossed arms. "Cingulomania. It means the desire to be held in someone's arms," Robin repeated.

I turned to her in the office chair, my own arms crossed. Now I know why Robin told Keith that she could cover Steve's shift. "The reason why your dates have failed is because that little part of your brain is telling you not to move forward," Robin explained. "Are you telling me that I'm self-sabotaging my dating life?" I said.

"That is exactly what I'm saying," Robin said. She leaned to the side, so she rested against the counter again. "Why in the hell would I do that?" I said. "Because you don't want to think about how many times you could've been with Steve," Robin clarified, "I know the two of you like the back of my hand. You're extremely the same."

Robin stood up straight to continue speaking her point. "When the both of you make eye contact, it's like there's a conversation going on without the talking aspect. Whenever we have movie nights, there is no hesitation when it comes to holding each other's hands," Robin explained, "And I see the way you blush when Steve puts his arms around you. Same with him." She put her hands on her hips.

I could tell she was very proud of herself. I stood up from the desk to retrieve the notebook and pen that she threw. "Dustin sees it. Lucas, Mike, and Max all see it. You and Steve are just too blind to see it," Robin said. "You're delusional," I retorted.

"No. You're delusional for not using your smart-ass brain to see," Robin said. I stared at her for a few seconds before putting the book down. I pinched the area between my brows, realizing that Robin was right. "Okay, but I'm still going on the date tonight," I said.

Robin's mouth fell open at the sound of my statement. She followed me as I walked over to another shelf that had been messed up. "Did everything I just tell you not reach your ears?" Robin said. "No, it did," I replied, "I've already canceled once on Sam, I don't want to cancel last minute." Robin groaned, tilting her head back. "Why are you so nice to people?" she said.

I shrugged and went back to organized. She kept her eyes on for a split second before walking over to the front of the store to start on some more chores. For the rest of our shift, I couldn't stop thinking about what Robin said.

Sometimes I try to not let the things she says get to my head. But this one really stuck with me. Maybe she was right. Maybe I am self-sabotaging without even realizing it.

_________

(Later that night)

"And so, I told him I wasn't going to buy the truck because it was a waste of money," Sam shrugged, "I mean, you know how much I just love my cars. This guy was really trying to sell me something that would just fall apart." I smiled, nodding along. I should've stuck with what Robin said.

This date was going terribly. All Sam had been talking about was the cars he or his dad had. And all I had been thinking about was how I wish I could be at my apartment with my friends, primarily Steve. While in thought, I hadn't realized Sam had asked me what color he should paint his Corvette.

I cleared my throat and went back to eating my dinner. Sam waited impatiently for my response. "What about red?" I suggested. "Nah. I've already got two red cars," he replied. My lips pressed in a thin one as I nodded in reply. He grinned, taking a sip of his drink. Molly, our waitress, came over and asked how we were doing.

Sam quickly replied that we were doing wonderful. Molly glanced at me. "Great. The food is great, thank you," I said. She looked at me questionably before leaving me and my date to ourselves. Thankfully, Sam hadn't caught the glance. "So, what're you doing for spring break?" Sam asked.

He cut up his steak, pouring a ridiculous amount of sauce on the pieces. "Not much. I think my friends and I might stay at Lovers Lake for a few days," I answered. Sam nodded and then drenched the rest of his steak in the sauce. "Where are you going?" I asked. "Cape Cod, my grandparents have a nice house right on the shore," he answered.

The more the date continued, the more I realized that Sam was just like the other guys. I looked around the restaurant discreetly to find our waitress. "You should see the view," Sam quickly added. He went on and on about the house and, what do you know, his cars. This wasn't anything like our first date.

I finished my Y/F/M and set my fork on the side of the plate. "My father is having an opening ceremony for his work this Monday. I was wondering if you could be my plus one," Sam said, "There will be a great Jazz band. Wonderful food. And you'll get to meet some of my father's successful coworkers."

Molly came over with a pitcher of water, pouring some into my glass. I smiled at her and took a sip. "Um," I began but was interrupted. "Great. It is black-tie attire. You can wear that black dress you wore for your Speech class," Sam interjected. "Sam, I never said yes," I shook my head.

My date look at me, very confused. He pushed his plate to the side, giving me his full attention. "Why wouldn't you say yes? It will be a great party. You'll meet wonderful people, and-" Sam said. Molly walked over to the table, preventing Sam from speaking any further. "So sorry to interrupt," she said.

Our waitress pulled her blonde hair away from her face, her arms behind her back. "Y/N is it?" she asked me. I nodded in response. "I think we went to high school together," Molly said. She winked at me and covertly tilted her head to Sam. I soon took the hint when I noticed Sam's focus on downing the rest of his water.

"Oh, yes. We had Biology together, didn't we?" I said.

"We sure did. Mr. Harris' class," Molly smiled, pulling an act. I smiled in a thankful manner. She then turned to Sam, who looked up from his now empty plate. "Sir, if you'd like to go ahead and pay where you walked in, that would be great," Molly said. I lowered my head, acting like I was fixing the sleeve of my dress.

Sam glanced at Molly and then at me. Molly stood there, smiling. He sighed and stood up from the table. "Just over there, sir," the waitress pointed to the wooden podium. He never thanked her and walked to the front. I watched him as he pulled out his wallet. "Thank you," I said to Molly.

She smiled and set a hand on my shoulder. "Of course. I could tell that he wasn't being very gentlemen-like," Molly said. I thanked her one more time before meeting Sam at the front of the fancy restaurant. It was quiet on the way over to Sam's convertible. Sam hadn't even opened up the door like he did when he picked me up.

And it was quiet on the way to my apartment. I leaned my head against the back of the seat, watching as the trees and light posts flew past. Sam pulled up into the parking lot of my apartment complex. "Thank you," I said as he stopped the car. Sam nodded. He didn't say anything.

I took my purse from the spot in front of my feet. Sam pulled away as soon as I got out of his car. "Well, that went great," I said. I grabbed my keys from the pocket of my purse. The lights were still on when I unlocked the front door, same with the tv. "Your home!" Robin exclaimed, jumping up from the living room couch.

She grinned with her arms up in the air. I took off my shoes, setting them into the basket on the side. "How did you get in here?" I asked. "Extra key," Steve said, walking into the living room from the kitchen. I rolled my eyes and shrugged off my jean jacket. The two of them sat on the couch with a bowl of popcorn sitting on the coffee table.

"And I see you've also raided my pantry," I commented. I noticed that there were a few bags of chips sitting on the island. Steve put up a thumbs up. "How was the date?" he asked, tilting his head back so he could look at me. "It was definitely a date," I answered. Both of them look at me with furrowed brows.

It was nice to get changed out of my dress and into a comfy pair of pajamas. Steve and Robin were still watching their movie when I stepped out of my room. "So, another failed date?" Robin said. I nodded and grabbed a drink from the fridge. "What was it this time?" Steve asked.

Once I had my drink, I sat down on the couch. "All he had to talk about was what car he should drive next to school. Or trying to decide where he wants to go on vacation," I explained, "And don't get me started on how much he wants everyone to know how wealthy his family is."

Robin handed me the bowl of snacks. I smiled at her. "I take it that the date didn't go well then," Steve said. "Yeah. We had this really sweet waitress named Molly. She knew right away how I felt about Sam," I added. I noticed that the two of them were watching the Karate Kid without me.

"I can't believe you guys didn't wait for me. I thought we were friends," I said, handing the snack bowl back to Robin. "You were taking too long," Robin sighed. She leaned back on the couch and pulled the knitted blanket to her chin. I rolled my eyes. Steve took the blanket he was using and draped one end over me.

I thanked him with a smile and put my head on his shoulder. Steve reached for my hand, lacing my fingers with his. Robin glimpsed at me for a second. She winked and brought her focus back to the television.

_________

(The Next Day - A Shift at Family Video)

"What about this one?" Steve said, showing me another movie suggestion. It was Saturday, and the store was surprisingly slow today. I yawned and shrugged my shoulders. "The Goonies?" Steve suggested again. "Oh, Josh Brolin," I said.

I reached for the tape, but Steve pulled his hand away. "Oop, never mind," he said. He leaned over to put the movie back into the pile. "What? What's wrong with Josh Brolin?" I said, turning so I faced him.

He looked at me with raised brows like I had just asked something absurd. "Nothing is wrong with Josh Brolin. The guy is great. But if I have to see Robin make googley eyes at Kerri Green one more time, I'm banning The Goonies from our movie list," Steve said.

I nodded and told him to look through the stack of movies again. He sighed, bringing the pile over to the two of us. Steve leaned back with a hand at the top of the shelf. I looked through the stack, trying to find one that we haven't seen. "Okay. We've got...." my sentence trailed.

We had at least four or five other options, but I still wanted to watch The Goonies. I held up the movie and waved it around to try and convince him. "C'mon...." I said. Steve sighed. "Yeah, sure," Steve replied (GIF Above). I cheered to myself and walked over to behind the register.

Steve set the basket back onto the cart to put them away later. He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. Steve looked at me as I logged into the computer. "What?" I said, not glancing away from the screen. "Nothing," he shrugged. I looked at him with narrowed eyes.

I finished logging the movie into our store's system. Steve followed me with his eyes as I walked around the register to grab my water bottle from the cart. "Can I ask you a question?" he asked. "Depends on what the question is," I responded, taking a sip of my water and leaning against the side of an aisle.

He smirked and stood beside me, his shoulder against mine. "Do you know what cingulomania means? Robin mentioned it yesterday," Steve spoke, "Sometimes I feel like she just makes up random words to confuse me. Which, if she is, it's working."

[Flashback to the day before. Third-Person View]

Robin and Steve walked through the front door of Y/N's apartment, using the key that Y/N had given them. Robin took her Converse off and dropped them into the basket beside the door. She immediately put the movie in and hopped onto the couch.

She ignored the pillows that fell onto the ground when she settled in. Steve grabbed some popcorn from the top shelf in the kitchen, putting it into the microwave. He glanced at the clock, trying to guess when Y/N would get home from work.

Despite Steve's growing feelings for Y/N, he was eager to hear how her date went. He didn't like to admit that part of him was happy she didn't have a successful date. Steve, too, suffered from cingulomania even though he had no idea what that word meant.

Robin had tried explaining on the way over, but Steve was so confused that she didn't even bother to continue. "You really don't know what cingulomania means?" Robin said. She looked over the top of the couch to see Steve. He shook his head and took out a large bowl from the kitchen island.

She rolled her eyes and turned the volume down on the television. Robin had been looking forward to watching a movie with her friends. She was also hoping Y/N would get home soon so they could finish it together.

"How come I've never heard of it?" Steve said, pouring the snack into a bowl. "Because you're an idiot," Robin corrected. "Wow, how kind of you," Steve remarked. He joined his best friend in the living room. Robin took the bowl from him, shoving the popcorn into her mouth.

Steve picked up the pillows that fell, resting them on the recliner beside the television. He took a blanket from the basket and sat back down. "To put it in simpler terms for your small-minded brain," Robin tapped his head. Steve brought his hands up and fixed his hair. "It basically means that you want to be in her arms, or you want her to be in your arms," Robin said.

Now, Steve was even more confused about how Robin could possibly know about his feelings. "You're not very good at hiding it," Robin said. "Well, I must be. Because Y/N hasn't said a thing," Steve replied, eating the popcorn. She never responded to his reply. Instead, she looked at him with raised brows.

She took the bowl from him and put it on the coffee table. Robin turned down the volume, trying to get her friend's attention. "Steve, you need to make a move or something because it's starting to get exhausting watching you two love each other from afar," Robin said.

Steve sighed and looked back at the movie, pulling the blanket so it covered his arms. "I'll do it," he claimed. "When? Because I talked to Y/N today, and - by the way, you two are creepily right for each other," Robin said, changing the subject mid-sentence. Steve thought to himself, rethinking everything he's done for Y/N and what he's said.

Robin set a hand on his shoulder. "You know her. And you should know that she'll like you no matter what," Robin said, "Plus if it works out for you and Y/N. I could totally add Matchmaker to my resume." Steve looked at her, confused. Robin disregarded Steve's expression and leaned back with a smile on her face.

[Present Day. Y/N's Point of View]

I looked up from my water bottle, remembering what Robin said to me yesterday. 'Cingulomania. It means the desire to be held in someone's arms,' Robin's words popped into my head. "I don't know. What does it mean?" I question, going along.

Steve crossed his arms, playing with the loose thread from his green vest. "The desire to be held in someone's arms," he responded. "Oh," I said, nodding. He nodded as well. "I do think Robin mentioned it to be, then," I said. Steve glanced at me.

"Robin made a comment or two about my dating life. And, how there is a possibility that I am self-sabotaging these dates without realizing it," I answered, "Which I don't think is possible because I've had fun....at least I think I've had fun."

He nodded as I spoke. I felt his hand brush mine. "So, then Robs said the word 'Cingulomania,' to which she followed with, 'You have the perfect person in your life, and you just can't see it'," I paused for a brief moment but was cut short when Steve spoke.

"Who's the guy?"

Steve fixed his position, his shoulder against the wooden side of the shelf. His arms laid at his sides rather than crossed over his chest. "You," I said, "Which I thought was completely wrong, but then I thought about how much I want to be with you at all times and not with those stupid dates who, clearly, have no interest in me."

"So, yes, maybe I suffer from whatever the wor-"

"Cingulomania."

"Yes, that," I pointed at him, "And, so what if sometimes I want to hold your hand or feel what's like to be in your arms. Or, I don't know."

Steve brought a hand out and lowered my arms. I guess I had taken after Robin by waving my hands around when speaking. "I think you're hanging out with Robin too much because you almost poked my eye," Steve joked. I chuckled, feeling my cheeks turn to a light shade of pink.

He laced his hand with mine and kissed the top of my hand. "You don't have another date soon, right?" Steve said. "Nope," I shook my head while speaking. He smirked, leaning his head down to kiss me.

He pulled me closer by the waist, my grip on my water bottle slipping. Steve caught it before it fell on my foot. I felt him smirk against my lips and set the water bottle on the rickety cart behind me. Steve pulled away first, the smile on his freckled face never leaving.

"I don't think I suffer from cingulomania anymore," I said. "Good, that's good," he nodded, leaning down to kiss me again.

Taglist: @b-ritney @ramaalkayyali @midnightstar-90 @nix-rose

[hathorneheiress]

Forgotten pictures of the past

14 years ago

The patter of running feet could be heard throughout the massive halls of Hawthorne House, as the grand walls echoed in childish laughter.

Two young boys at the age of six and five running after each other at full speed. The younger lad was ahead of the older. Mischievous green eyes sparkled as fairly flew down the halls. Dark brown hair falling into his lightly tanned face.

"You're never going to catch me!" He squealed in excitement.

"Don't be so sure." The older lad was running almost as fast as his younger brother. Steely grayish blue eyes gave him a determination like no other. Light, wavy blond hair also was flying into his perfectly chiseled face. 

Both ran on and on. Whenever the older lad seem to catch up with his brother, the other seem to get burst of speed. Making the game of tag go on longer then usual.

It wasn't until they were in one of the smaller rooms, but by no means less elegant, that the younger lad, Jameson, looked behind him to see how far his older brother, Grayson, was. Unfortunately, it caused him to trip.

 If it was any old game of tag, Grayson would have tapped Jameson. But it wasn't just any old game where the Hawthornes were concerned. And Grayson couldn't just tap Jameson. No. It involved jumping on top of him and tackling him. For a moment they rolled around the ground, grappling for control.

Grayson won.

With Grayson on top, they had a silent staring contest. Mentally daring the other to look away. Grayson lost this time.

As ever the Gentleman, Grayson reached down and helped his brother up.

"You can't tag me again." He insisted. "You know the rules. You can only tag the same person two times before finding someone else. I've been tagged twice. And by you!" Grayson explained. "Go find Xander or Nash."

"Well, I don't know where they are." Jameson whined.

"Not my problem." Grayson insisted. "You can't tag me again."

"Fine." Jameson huffed. "I'm sure Xander is in the kitchen. That should be easy."

Grayson watched as Jameson ran out in full speed. Maybe he should hide? He thought. So my brothers don't find me.

As he was contemplating this thought, he happened to glance out the window, overlooking the well kept garden.

Sitting in a white basket chair and dressed in a flowery summer dress was his mother, Skye. He didn't know why, but he could feel the breath in his throat catch. There was something about her. She looked so beautiful. So pretty.

As he was silently admiring his mother's beauty, he noticed she was posing for a painter. No wonder she dressed her best. Not that she didn't, mind you.

It was then that he realized he wanted to capture it to. For himself.

Quickly running to another room, he knew what he needed: a pencil and paper. 

It didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for. Quickly he jumped back into the chair. Leaning over the desk, his eyes scanned over his mother's figure.

He was no professional drawer by any means, but he was very talented and he was a Hawthorne. And a Hawthorne was expected to extraordinary, even at the tender age of six.

Taking the pencil in his hand he began to slowly and methodically draw the outline. He barely knew he was doing but didn't care. It was oddly relaxing.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Skye was done. Unfortunately, Grayson wasn't. But it was ok, because he had most of outline down. You could tell it was Skye.

A sense of pride came over him. Had he really just done that? It looked so real and life-like. The plain paper was becoming a masterpiece.

He was carefully adding the waves to the hair when Jameson came running up beside him. "Gray," he said breathlessly, "it's dinner time."

"I'll be just minute." 

"We need to be there now. The old man said to get your butt down here." Then Jameson noticed what his brother was doing. "That's nice." he said softly. Before Grayson could register his brother's uncharacteristic niceties, Jameson was gone in a flash.

Sighing, he purposely set his pencil down and quickly made his to the massive dining room. Everyone was already seated.

Trying to fade in, Grayson solemnly took his seat. He knew he was late, and he knew the old man knew he was late. And Grayson wasn't allowed to be late.

No one said anything, but he knew from the brief look his grandfather gave him they would talk later. There was surely going to be a consequence for his tardiness.  

The old man finished first. Grayson could feel the old man's eyes on him as he rose from the table. 

"Grayson." he said, his voice neither harsh or gentle.

Grayson met his grandfather's eyes. "Yes sir?"

"When you are done meet me in the small sitting room int he west wing. You know what I am talking about."

Grayson knew exactly what he meant. "Yes sir." he acknowledged.

Any appetite he had instantly disappeared. Five minutes he discretely excused himself. With a knot in his stomach, he made his way up to the room, taking the secret passageway. Cracking open the swinging bookcase he saw his grandfather standing near a burning fireplace. He watched in silent horror as he saw the old man throw a piece of paper in the fire. No doubt the picture he had drawn and sketched by his own hands.

A part of Grayson wanted to run away, going to go sob into his bed. But he didn't. Even at six, he was raised to be the best, emotionless being his grandfather wished. 

Confidently, like he hadn't seen what had just happened, he pushed opened the secret door. "You wished to see me." 

The old man turned. "I did. Come here." Grayson silently obeyed.  "You know why I called you up here, right?"

Grayson nodded.

"Why?"

"Because I was late." He looked down. 

Tobias took his grandson's chin in his hand, lifting it up till Grayson's eyes met his. "I don't ever want that to happen again. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

Tobias's eyes watched the burning fire before them. "Remember son, just like this fire, the choices you make can either reward you with warmth or destroy you completely. It's up to you which one you will choose."

Without saying another word, Tobias walked away, leaving Grayson alone. For almost 5 minutes he didn't even move. He had failed, again. He was supposed to be the best, but he let his own desires get the better of him. 

Present day:

Avery stared at the huge desk before her. Tobias had been larger then life, and so was his desk. Avery was sure she had searched every inch of it. Looking for clues to be discovered. But there was one draw she seemed to have overlooked.

She didn't realize there was a secret draw, though she shouldn't have been surprised. She was searching for some paper Alisa, her lawyer, said she had. Even though didn't remember having it.

He sharp brain noticed the draw wasn't as big as it looked. That when it dawned on her there was another secret draw underneath it. It didn't take long to unmask it.  

Peering in, she saw more things that got to see what a man Tobias Hawthorne man was. Old pipes, an empty whisky cup, papers with riddles scrawled on. She was getting ready to look over them when something tucked at the back caught her eye.

A simple framed picture frame. Turning it over, Avery gasped. Inside was a drawn picture of a woman. The artist captured the waves of the woman's hair. The round face, long eyelashes, half smile half smirk on the face. It was beautiful.

And the woman was no other than Skye Hawthorne.

Just then Jameson Hawthorne walked in. "Heiress, Alsia is bugging me to come see if you found the paper." He smirked as he snuggled up to her. "What's you got?"

She handed him the frame. "That's Skye."

"It is. Where did you find it?"

Avery showed him.

"Hmm." Jameson looked at it better. "It looks familiar, but I'm not sure how."

Avery shrugged. 

"Wait!" Jameson said, "I think remember. But it can't be."

"What?" 

"It was so long ago but I remember there was this one time Skye was getting her picture painted outside. And Grayson was drawing her from a room upstairs. I never saw it after and I assumed Gray hid it away. Not the old man."

"Well. there is one way to solve this." Avery got up. 

They found Grayson sitting in his office. Papers, pens, and an empty coffee cup beside him. He ached his eyebrow but said nothing as they walked in.

"Avery found something and we want to show you." Jameson got straight to the point.

Avery handed Grayson the frame. "Do you remember that?"

She watched as Grayson took the frame. He hardly ever showed emotion, but she could see the look of surprise on his face. "Where did you find this?" he asked hoarsely.

"A secret compartment in the old man's desk. I guess he was keeping it."

"I thought you kept it." Jameson said.

Grayson shook his head. "The old man destroyed it. Or so I thought."

Avery was outraged.  "Why would he do that?!"

Grayson looked at Jameson instead. "Do you remember how I was late for dinner that one time?"

"Of course I remember. It was the day Skye got her picture painted. She was throwing a fit the whole day because it wasn't going as she wanted it to."

Grayson nodded and swallowed. "Well, the old man made sure I was never late again for dinner. I thought he burnt it."

"But he didn't." Avery said. "Which means whatever happened with you being late, he still admired what you drew. And so should you." She then noticed a screw sticking out from the wall.

She hung the frame up. "There," she declared "out where everyone can see it. Not hidden anymore. But we should get going, because ironically, dinner is almost ready and Alisa will have our hides if don't get down there."

Smiling, she locked an arm around Jameson and one around Grayson, leaving the room and the forgotten picture of the past.

[persage]

TRUE COLORS - BRIAN "OTIS" ZVONECEK

'Cause my boy Otis deserves better

Summary:When you spend your time at 51, you draw Otis on the sly. Everyone notices it, except him. Until fate gets in the way

Word Count: 2.5 k

Maybe it's the way he moves his hands. Maybe it's how he moves the dark curls from his face. Maybe it's the way he wrinkles his nose when he's tired after the shift and starts working at Molly's, tirelessly.

Or it's the way he writes, with his head slightly tilted to the left.

It could be just the way the light fits between his features and makes him pure, bringing out his light skin stained by many small moles. Perhaps it's his dark eyes.

You really don't know. You just can't help but drawing him.

You'd like to draw his eyes after you've seen them even closer and realized how deep they really are, because you're sure they are, more than anything else in the world. Or, again, maybe it's the way he curls his lips as he smiles.

It's probably all together and he doesn't even realize it while a few meters away you're crouched on a chair, in a corner of the 51, almost invisible and your hand moves over a sheet and captures his image, without mistakes or smudges. You could be drawing Brian with your eyes closed by now.

"Are you still here?" Your half-sister, Leslie, asks, noticing you. You've been spending a lot of time at the 51 lately (and equally at the Molly's) officially because you're soon to be Boden's new secretary, secondly to spend time with Lesley. What you didn't expect was to find yourself spending most of your free time observing Brian, scribbling his face here and there, forcing yourself from time to time to portray other colleagues as well so as not to arouse suspicion. "Let me work Lesl" You reply, letting the pen run across the paper noisily. "Our Little Artist" Kelly teases you, ruffling your hair.

"When will you set up an exhibition with our portraits?" Herman asks, chuckling. "That wouldn't be a bad idea you know" Mills replies, winking. "Think about it y/n" You smile uneasily.

"I should find better models" You reply as Cruz and Otis - Brian - shake their heads. "Listen to the nonsense" Your eyes meet and you smile at him and he reciprocates before the siren of the imminent call forces him to leave. You sigh.

He fascinates you just like he torments you, you long for him and at the same time you are afraid to get to know him better. There's something sweet, genuine about him and you admire his courage and his work, but at the same time you're terrified because deep down what do you have to offer? What can make you interesting to him? You're just a failed student who needs to work here to make some money, a failed artist who has lost her inspiration, who can't help her sister in a difficult moment, who didn't get a degree, who can't control the emotions.

"You never color it" Boden has noticed one day, admiring your drawings. "I think it would ruin it" You have replied. The truth is that you are convinced that to do this, especially when it comes to Brian, you should need to see the color gradations of his skin, his face, his freckles or his eyes. It is incorrect to portray a subject and complete it inaccurately. You will use color on his drawings when and if you can see him at very close range. Closer than the Molly's counter or the 51. For now you settle for pencil or pen.

Sometimes you dwell too much on his well-defined lips. It's one of the parts you like to draw the most, after the eyes. Then you look at the finished drawing and wonder if you are experiencing something that will never happen, or not experiencing it at all. And with every call they come back with wounded expressions from a difficult intervention and some new scar on the body or the soul ans you wonder if it really makes sense to waste all this time.

It must be said : fate works in a curious way at times.

You're -again- drawing Brian, he's wearing his uniform and he's approaching the truck laughing with Mouch. The 51 is quieter than usual today and there are few calls, an unusual thing but you don't mind. You smile when Brian turns to face you and pretend to be focusing on someone else, momentarily terrified that he will think you're crazy. You place your pen on the table in front of you, tie your hair into a spooky ponytail, then start over with the care you reserve for important things. Brian  sighs, turning back in your direction, Mouch's hand on his shoulder as he shakes his head repeatedly. You wonder what they're talking about, you get the distinct feeling that it's you, and you feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Stupid little girl.

" Someone has a crush" it's a voice behind you. The worst voice you could hear in this situation: Joe Cruz. Brian's best friend, roommate, his other half.

"Of all of us Otis? Why?" Cruz sits across from you, a hand under his chin and an inquisitive expression on his face that does not hide his happy grin. And you're terrified, now there's no way Brian won't know about it now. "I don't have a crush. I draw all of you Cruz" you reply, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks.

"Yeah sure. You draw me once in a while, once of Herman, maybe three times of Kelly because it's particularly handsome, but I'm sure most of them are about Otis." You shake your head.

"What makes you think that?"

"I've been watching you Little Shay. You know, it's pretty obvious. You're not as good as you think at hiding." You open your eyes suddenly and feel your face get hot with embarrassment. Brian's eyes are still fixed on you and this with Cruz's words short-circuit you.

"If I were you I'd make a move" You need some fresh air. You get up and head for the exit, forgetting the notebook with your drawings on the table in a hurry.

When you come back for it, an hour and two cigarettes later, it's gone.

Two days, seven hours and a new notebook later, your half-sister has abandoned you at Molly's, a beer in front of you to finish and the light chatter of the last remaining customers. Someone sits next to you and lets their chair clatter to the floor. You don't turn around and stay focused on the beer because you know all too well who's next to you. Your senses alert, your heart furious. Brian.

"It's amazing" the voice is warm, but slightly high in pitch and secretly insecure. You shrug. "Thank you" you reply. Your brain is so muddy that you don't even wonder what it's referring to

"This is yours" now you look up and you see it. Brian's hand just reaching out to give you back the notebook. You stare at him dumbfounded. You admire the way the light falls on his face, how he smiled lightly and the lips you've always drawn so carefully, even more beautiful at that non-distance. For several seconds you don't say anything, but you stay still to study him, to study his colors, his embarrassed, sweet expression. Everything seems to stop to you.

"Otis, can you close?" Question Herman before leaving the pub, making you awaken and ashamed at the same time, realizing what you're getting into. You take the notebook without saying a word and start to get up and leave, but the boy's hand stops you, gently grabbing you by the wrist. It is soft, despite the hard work his skin is not rough. His warm skin seems to burn yours, leaving invisible marks.

You look at his fingers wrapped around your wrist, then at him, his dark eyes still fixed on you. He lets you go slowly, almost reluctant to break the contactn and you realize that he has the power to make you sit back, without saying a word.

"Sorry," you say sheepishly, looking away and letting your hair fall in front of your face to cover the blush on your cheeks.

"You shouldn't apologize" He replies, continuing to observe you. You feel his hand approaching your face, his fingers lingering near your hair, and you know what he's about to do, and you wish he would. You would like to him slowly pull your hair back, put it behind your ear, to let his big fingers slide against your skin and you would like to tilt your head to one side, to let yourself go to that contact. But he doesn't.

After a few moments he pulls his hand away, thinking maybe he's going too far.

Sure, your notebook is filled with portraits of him, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

"You're good" He whispers. "You're really good little Shay, you shouldn't waste such a talent." You just smile, let a sheepish chuckle leave your lips. Brian doesn't say it, but he feels like he's never heard a better sound in his life. He wonders how he didn't notice it before. Of course, as soon as you arrived at 51 he immediately set his sights on you, but he never really did it with an intention: partly because you are Shay's little sister, partly because he never thought he had any chance despite what Cruz said.

In short, Cruz doesn't always have brilliant intuitions when it comes to women.

Maybe Dawson's jokes could have enlightened him, sure, but anyway...Brian has never been a phenomenon with girls, in a barracks full of men like Kelly Severide why would you have to look at him? And instead you looked at him all the time, drew him so much that it filled entire pages, tracing his features with a pen and making him look much more handsome, bold, courageous, appreciable than he probably was. Because you see him this way.

"At first I didn't know whether to come to you or keep the notebook," he admits. "Then I thought it was a good excuse to talk to you."

"You don't need an excuse to talk to me Brian" you answers automatically, without thinking. He smiles, feels his heart melt in his chest. Hardly anyone calls him Brian, especially at the station.

"I needed to find the courage" he murmurs, clearing his throat. "It's easy in the barracks, between one joke and another but talking... I mean for real... It is different. Especially with someone like you"

"Someone like me?" you raise an eyebrow as he smiles. He is impossibly beautiful as his cheeks turn pink.

"An interesting girl, a curious one. An artist y/n"

"You're the only one who thinks of me like that. Artist."

He shakes his head. "That's not true, we all think so and if you start showing your drawings the whole world would do it" You shyly grab his hand which is still on the table.

"Thank you, you don't know how much this means to me." He hold yours back and intertwines his fingers with yours. He seems made to hold your hand, he seems born to grab you, to keep you close. And you wonder if hugging him gives the same effect, if even his lips are made to kiss yours.

"Listen, y / n ...." he takes on a serious tone of voice and you almost worry.

"Why have you never colored me? I mean, do you see me in black and white somehow? Does my aura tell you something? I'm not an artist, so I don't really know how these things work, but it scared me to death. Do you see me in any strange way?" he looks nervous

"Is that what worries you?"

"What else should?"

"I mean you find the notebook of someone who drew you too many times to count and you're worried about the fact that I don't color you?" you use a hint of sarcasm, realizing this confuses you.

Part of you feared there would be a different reaction, not anger knowing Otis, but at least a detachment, a rebuke. Anyone else would have been upset, but not him, he seems happy. He studies you carefully.

"You think I haven't seen you?" Your eyes widen and total silence envelops you. "What?" You're the one who doesn't understand now.

"Do you really think I haven't noticed that you spent your time looking at me and drawing me?" he shakes his head, amused by your shocked expression  "You've been going on like this for months, aren't you going to pretend that you don't believe me?"

"I..." You can't say more. He laughs and you look at him, and then start laughing , because Brian has written "liar" on his forehead. "No, you didn't understand a damn thing my dear Brian" You retort.

"Oh I don't, but Cruz does. It was just hard to believe"

"And why?"

Brian doesn't answer, he caresses his goatee thoughtfully and you understand that you won't get the truth. Not yet. "Because you're beautiful y/n, people like you fly too many meters higher then me. In short..."

"I've looked at you from the start, Brian." You confess, this time without shame, your will to make him happy is stronger than any embarrassment. You know he needs to know it, to realize his value, for once to be the protagonist, the hero of your story, of your drawings, of your life. Him and no one else.

When silence returns, he turns to you again.

"So? Why didn't you color me?"

"I've never colored you because... I had to see you up close, really close, to be able to color you the way I want" you simply reply and he opens his mouth to say something, but he can't formulate anything, not when you continue. "Modigliani painted empty eyes, without pupils, because he couldn't paint what he didn't know: the souls of the people he was portraying. He only painted those of his partner Jeanne. I suppose it's the same for me. I can't color you without knowing the your true colors, without knowing what undertone your skin is or the paths that the veins form on your body."

Without realizing it, you've started to run your fingertip along his wrist, where the vein pulsates under the skin.

"Do you think." His voice is hoarse, scratched with emotion and excitement. "Do you think you'll give me the chance to let you find out?" He asks shyly. You nod with a slight smile.

"Are you asking me out Brian?"

"I'm asking you for dinner, then let's see what happens."

"Only one?"

"Maybe more than one"

[emma-cantmakeuphermind]

Study Date Pt. 3

Sean Diaz x Reader

1 2 3

Warnings: none,, but kissing? so much fluff

Words: 985

*Y/N's POV*

It's 4:45 pm... Sean will be here in 15 minutes. All day time has gone by so slow, I've been waiting impatiently since we hung up. I already got my math stuff out on my desk, and took my time to make myself look presentable, but not too much to where it looks like I'm trying too hard.

I've liked Sean for so long, but I never really got the impression that he felt the same way. Until I gave him my number and he called our study session a date. I immediately ran to my room and jumped up and down when I got home that day. All my friends tell me that I have terrible taste in guys. I don't understand why though. I mean, yeah, I guess hes not everyone's go-to type. But hes so sweet, and hes a dork. My friends say hes too awkward, but aren't we all? We're 16 year-olds, it'd be odd if we weren't. Now, hes coming over. To my house. To do math work. While my parents are at work. What could go wrong?

It's 5:01, he'll be here any minute. Breath, calm down. Ugh I'm so fucking nervous. Y/N focus, he's coming over for you to help him with math, not for you to fuck things up by being all awkward. Besides, I don't even know if he likes me like that, plu-

*DING DONG*

Shit. He's here. Breath and open the damn door.

I walk out of my room and to the front door. I smooth down my hair quickly before I turn the door knob. As the door opens, we make eye contact. Even though it's simple, I can't help but feel my cheeks get warmer as I smile to greet him with his skateboard in his hands.

"Hi Sean! Come in." I say sweetly. "Hey Y/N, mind if I sit my board here?" he asks pointing next to the door. "Not at all. My parents aren't home so we don't have to worry about them. We'll be in my room anyway so." I trail off not wanting to make things awkward. "Okay, cool." he sounded, bored almost? Maybe I'm coming off too excited? I'll try to tone it down and just help him with his math work.

"So, what parts of the math work are you struggling on?" I asked hurriedly as my excitement has basically completely faded. "I don't understand any of this mean, median, mode bullshit. It doesn't make any sense." he says sounding irritated, but not at me, the math stuff. I grab my books, some paper and a pencil. We sit back on my bed and get comfortable enough so we can work properly.

"Okay so, basically when you're given a data set and you're asked to find the mean, median, and mode, you need to do 3 different things. One find the mean, which is another word for average. Lets use the data set 8,3,5,2,6,8,4,7 for example. To find the average by adding up all the numbers and then dividing by how many number you have in the data set. So for this set we'll get the sum of 43 and then we divide that by 8 and we'll get 5.3, that's our mean. Now we find the median, first we need to put them in order from least to greatest, so 2,3,4,5,6,7,8,8 and we find the number in the middle and in this case we have two numbers in the middle, so all we do is add them together and divide by 2. 11 divided by 2 is 5.5, and there's our median. Lastly we need our mode. This one is the easiest, we just need to see which number reoccurs the most. For this set its 8, because while all the other numbers appear once, 8 appears twice."

(sorry for the rambling lmao I didnt intend that to go on so long)

I pause to look up at Sean, only to be met by his gentle stare. I hesitate for a moment. "Does that make any sense?" It comes out like a whisper. "Yeah, I think I get it now." he doesn't take his eyes off me even for a moment. And it's just now that I realized how close our faces are, as I can lightly feel his breath on my face.

"Good, good. Um so" I fail to form a complete sentence as my heart rate continuously climbs. Sean's eyes flicker down to my lips for just a millisecond, I would've missed it if I had blinked in that moment. And in this moment I feel like we're finally telling each other everything we've needed to say, without a word actually being said.

Sean finally breaks eye contact, mumbling a "Fuck it" and takes the books, paper, and pencils and tosses them to the side. He takes my face in his hands and places his lips on mine. I sit frozen for a second before I start to kiss him back. I relax a bit with my hand placed on his chest as he grabs my waist for a moment to pull me onto his lap. My arms wrap around his neck to deepen the kiss, as his wrap around my waist.

The kiss only lasts a few moments but at the time it felt like a lifetime. For once I feel like were finally on the same page. I pull away from the kiss and we lock eyes. His stare is a bit hazy almost like hes in a state of complete serenity. I place my hands on his cheeks and pepper small kisses all around his face.

"You missed a spot." he says puckering his lips. I chuckle at this mumbling a quick "You're such a dork." before leaning in again to kiss him on his lips. He pulls away with a lopsided grin and he says "I may be a dork, but at least I'm your dork."

[transkittyinatoaster]

Snack for a parasite

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: Idia, Rigel, and Perse(OC by @midnightmah07)

Content warnings: Arguing, mild swearing, and discussion of ED(eating disorders)

(until my lazy self downloads some dividers, we'll have to get used to the dorm lounges)

Rigel spun his pencil on the solid tables of the dorm as he swung his legs underneath. Ahead of him was Perse whom was eating a rather mediocre meal

But there was a silence everyone grew accustomed to, as if it was a part of them

“Do you ever wonder how if the multiverse theory is correct, there's a universe where it isn't?” Rigel suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Perse stopped as she slowly looked at the demon across from her, staring at her with those curious red eyes

“Rigel, do you ever think about what you're going to say?”

He shook his head which caused her to mumble “of course,” before she continued to eat

“Hey,” she began, “did you eat?”

“Eh? Oh, yeah, I ate.” He smiled

She stared at him. “Food. Rigel. Did you eat food? Real food?” She clarified

He went silent

She sighed as she got up to go make him something, “Wha- Hey, wait!-” He got up to follow, but she was already gone, so all he could next was to just sit down

He held his hands together as his feet drummed the floor as he waited apprehensively

She didn't have to do this and she knew that

And he felt bad for the fact she was doing it

He got by on his diet

And now here she is, making sure he ate what everyone else was eating It… felt weird

The food tasted weird

Wrong

He likes the taste of the cardboard from his torn up notebooks

He took one out and tore off a piece, sticking it into his mouth as he chewed on it as a small snack

The small crunches and tears filled the otherwise silent lounge as he ate and swallowed, taking the wood in as food, even if it was the furthest thing from it

He swung his legs as he waited for her return, he probably won't eat what she made

It was pointless anyway

She could be eating the food she made herself but was making it for him

Maybe that's why the food tastes weird

It's because she's making it specifically for him instead of herself or whoever

He got up and walked around, his steps thudding against the marble as he paced in circles

Perse, on the other hand, was making Rigel some sandwiches of a wide variety for Rigel, ensuring he had something he found enjoyable

She always did find it odd when he was the only person who ate Lilia's food with splendor

She sighed as she slightly realized signs from all over the years they've been going here

Maybe he's too far deep to be saved, maybe this'll be worthless in the end

Like a snake eating its own tail

Her thoughts were broken when she saw a hand snatch one of the made sandwiches She turned and saw Idia holding it in his mouth as he grabbed other snacks

She grimaced

This was her housewarden?

“Idia, you do know that's for Rigel, right?”

He glanced at her, now holding the sandwich “Hm? Oh, yeah, I do.”

She slightly scowled

“Then why did you take it?”

He sighed, slightly scowling “I honestly don't see the point in you making food for him. He's not going to eat it. Plus, you're acting as if he's anorexic or something.” He sighed

“As sweet as what you're doing for him is, it's ultimately pointless.”

She stared at him

Appalled, in all honesty

A man, who grew up with Rigel, a man who's more of a brother to him than she is a sister Calling her efforts futile

“.... Are you fucking kidding me?”

“E-eh?” Idia squeaked, slightly shocked by her language

“Idia, do you actually pay attention to your dorm mates?”

He opened this mouth to answer only for her to continue “Oh who am I kidding, of course you don't. You're a housewarden and you can't match the faces to names of IRL people, but you do it easily in games.”

“Idia, you grew up with Rigel, you know everything about him so how the actual fuck are you going to stand there and tell me that my efforts are useless when you, of all people, should know, that Rigel's diet consists of nothing but lead, plastic, metal, dirt, wood, cardboard— Things that have no business being in anyone's diet tract, is in his!” She yelled at him, her hand slamming against the counter as she gestured to the outside

Where Rigel was

Idia shuffled nervously underneath her words

Perse was mad

Maybe her anger was directed to Idia and not doing anything sooner

Maybe it was the world

Everyone. Everything. Who knows.

Rigel heard them to

It was hard not too

Especially since some students made mumbled on how Perse when she's mad sounds like a banshee

Rigel leaned against the doorway, listening to the one sided argument between his sister and Idia

“— Maybe if you weren't so preoccupied with your own devices, you'd have known that Rigel is suffering, and-” Her voice went silent and dead as Rigel finally decided to enter

“Hey, guys!” He grinned at the two, pretending to not notice the red tips of Idia's hair turn blue again

“Ri-Rigel, how long were you there?” Perse asked

“Oh, I just got here!” He grinned at her

Idia grumbled slightly, not believing Rigel for a second but not questioning it

“I- I see… Well, I- I made you some food for later.” Perse gestured to the sandwiches she made

“Oooh! They all look so good! You didn't have to, you know that, right?” Perse nodded

The demon shifted slightly, tugging at his cloak as he stared at the pieces of food she made him

“... I'll eat it later.” He said as he grabbed some bags to put them in for later

“You'll at least have one of them for lunch, right?” She asked as she placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder

“Of course!” He lied with his black grin

His teeth reflecting the fluorescent blue lights of Ignihyde “Now, you look tired, how about you go rest?” He asked a small tilt of his head

“Well… I guess I am a little tired..” she grumbled slightly, running a hand through her hair and softly tugging at her ponytail, “I suppose a quick nap wouldn't hurt..” she mumbled with a shrug

“There ya go!” Rigel softly nudged her to the door, “you go have a nice nap, and we'll wake you if we either need anything or it's dinner.”

“Now don't keep me sleeping for that long, Idia might start a fire.” The two laughed as Rigel gave her a quick hug before she left

He turned to Idia whom also left the room, his arms filled with some snacks and such

He sighed as he backed up, leaning against the counter as his nails dug into the marble, his breath slightly quickening for whatever reason

There was nothing wrong as of this moment

But Perse's unnecessary care and love

She made this for him

For whatever reason

He stared at the bags with the sounds of nails against marble filling the silence

He wasn't going to eat them, of course

He never ate the food she gave unless she was in the room with him

He sighed as he reached took an empty bag that pulled out with another

Stuffing the plastic into his mouth as his teeth began to dig and tear, allowing it to become swallowable

His mouth made the chewing motion a few more seconds before stopping, a soft scowl forming on his features as his mind raced

Maybe—

He heard footsteps and saw a student enter

“Eh?- Oh, hello, Rigel-Senpai.” The student greeted

“Hey….”

There was an awkward silence as they two stared at another

The student went to leave, deciding that whatever he wishes to grab wasn't worth it

“Hey.” Rigel called out before they left

“Do you want a sandwich?” He smiled sweetly to the boy

tag list: @midnightmah07(hi again!)

(first time doing something like this, so if I messed up on anything, pls don't hesitate to tell me)

[ageless-aislynn]

Okay, I think I finally have actual proof now that I did NOT cause my computer issues. I found a forum where other people with the same make/model and two make/models right next to it all have had similar issues from day one with their PCs. Then Dell revoked all of the previous driver updates they'd been pushing and yesterday, here comes 3 marked critical: BIOS and the Nvidia and Intel graphics drivers, all brand spankin' new (literally released that week or that day in Intel's case) and with the purpose of "fixing bug checks and providing system stability." Bug checks being the official term for a Blue Screen of Death, that is. Normally I wouldn't update on day one of a new release but, well, my computer crashed this morning when I just turned it on and it was sitting idle after about 5 minutes of up-time so I figured that was my sign.

All 3 updates are now applied. If you pray, I'd appreciate it. If you have time to spare me some kind thoughts, to put some positive energy out there in the universe, just whatever, I appreciate it. I didn't realize how much I truly rely on my computer to deal with my anxiety, depression and panic attack issues until not only do I NOT have access to the things I use to try to get through them all, but the computer's switching off at random times has made all of them so much worse.

Yeah, Halo's just a game but it's truly helped me redirect if I'm struggling with anxiety or a panic attack that's looming. Getting really involved in Mass Effect: Andromeda's various romances, making GIFs of them, learning to craft weapons, that sort of thing, it's helped me focus on things other than worrying about RL stuff. I really could use all of those things back, you know? Plus, I was looking forward to so many of the new games I've added to my Steam library. Learning something new can also help redirect my brain when it's spiraling out of control.

And this isn't even to touch on doing creative things like making GIFs, vidding and writing. I'm still working on my "15 Minutes" ch7 by hand but it's so much slower than being able to type it. I was really hoping to have at least this chapter up before Halo s2 starts but I'm not sure if I can, if I'm just scratching away with pencil and paper, not even certain how I'm going to get those words on the Internet anyway.

I mean, just imagine how frustrating it would be if whatever device you use would just blink off with no rhyme or reason, no way to predict when whatever you're doing will just be gone. Sometimes it does it a couple times a day, sometimes 8 times an hour. You can't do 90% of what you usually do online anyway and the other 10% feels like you're walking through a minefield, just waiting to take one wrong step. And nothing works to fix it. Nothing. You spend hours researching, desperate to find The Thing That Will Work and it's just not out there. That's been the past few weeks with this computer.

Considering that my previous computer is ALSO in this make/model line, just back several years, makes me wonder if the issues it began to have out of the blue in October, 2023 are related. I've seen a LOT of mentions in that forum of people whose computer suddenly went bad in Oct, 23. That seems like an awfully big coincidence, doesn't it?

Anyway, just wanted to check in. Hope you're all doing well and here's hoping that I'm now on the road to getting to just... do things on the computer and the Internet again like I used to. I miss it so much and I really miss all of you. Love to you all. 💖

[evelxtus]

Thoma, Albedo, Kazuha and maybe Gorou & Heizou if ur up for it, confessing to gn!reader headcanons or scenario, just because

℘ . . . they confess to gn!reader. ⚘

featuring · thoma, albedo, kazuha, gorou x gn!reader.

note · sorry for not adding heizou, still wanna know more before writing about him :] and sorry i'm a bit rustyyyy but i like this work. :0 ty for requesting!

thoma.

Thoma's confession is something you could see coming, you can see how his behavior towards you changes a bit before he tells you how he feels.

Thoma does whatever it takes to make you smile, and puts your needs before his own. He perfectly notices when you're in an uncomfortable situation, and gets you out of trouble with ease. And in general, finds a million ways to keep you company even when he's working for the Kamisato's.

Sometimes he even sneaks out of his job for a little while, just to find you and give you some excuse to join him.

“You know what? The flowers in the pot that I watered for all this month have finally bloomed. I know they are your favorite flowers, so are you coming to see them? I even took one for you… but don't tell anyone!”

Also, if you don't know how to do an activity well, he always knows how to help you improve quickly and efficiently. Seeing the good work you two do together, his mind can't help but wonder... if you also feel the same way about him or that connection is only felt by him.

“We're done! It wasn't that much, was it? We really do make a great couple! Couple… of work, of course…hehe…”

If Thoma takes too long to confess, his mouth will betray him sooner or later. And despite the fact that his words come out a bit chaotic due to his nervousness, and he's totally blushing, he will not stop looking you in the eyes with security, knowing that this is what he truly wants.

albedo.

When Albedo realizes how much he is in love with you, his first reaction is confusion.

“Love is but a chemical reaction. Why does it feel more complex than that…?”

Whenever you go to Dragonspine, he tells you to visit him to make sure you're totally okay after wandering around such a dangerous place.

“These mountains are quite hostile. Please stop by my camp once you're done, I'll make something hot for you to drink.”

He is almost always alone, and worrying about experiments and things that concern him, but when it comes to you, he can't get you out of his head, all the while thinking “I hope y/n okay.” or “Should I go find y/n?”

Or the way whenever he's talking to Sucrose, he finds some way to name you in the conversation. Of course, Sucrose is already more than clear that Albedo has feelings for you, and it's thanks to her that the alchemist began to think about that subject.

“Am I...talking about y/n too much? My apologies, I thought it was relevant to the topic of conversation. I should… go back to camp, there are things I need to discuss alone.”

After that, every time your image appears in his mind, his cheeks take on a slight pink color, and has his pencil ready to draw a sketch of you, because it's the only thing that calms him in moments like this.

It doesn't take long until it's impossible for Albedo to keep to himself what he feels. He thinks that this feeling is something superior to him and if he keeps quiet for a long time, nothing good will happen.

His confession flows smoothly at the moment of truth, but Albedo pauses a few times, deliberating which words to use or which are inappropriate. Albedo wants everything to be perfect for you, even when he's not.

If you accept him, he'll have a hard time making eye contact with you without turning pink, and he won't be able to hold back an unintentional smile that creeps across his face every time he's by your side, making him more distracting than usual.

kazuha.

As soon as he realizes how he feels, Kazuha becomes more confident with you. He still talks in that poetic way from time to time, but he doesn't have as many formalities.

He's not afraid to praise you from time to time, even publicly. Paying you compliments and seeing your shy reaction in response makes his heart noticeably faster and fills him with pride at the power of his words.

May even tease you about it. He finds it quite adorable about you, seeing how frustrated you are at his flattery.

“The power of my words over you just makes me want to keep showering you with compliments, isn't that what someone like you deserves? Don't be shy, look at me while I tell you about what my mind wanders about.”

And in this moment when he tries to tease you so you keep blushing, that's when Kazuha starts speaking from his heart, letting out what he really feels.

The change from joking to speaking from the heart is quite noticeable. His tone lowers a bit and becomes more serious, his eyes wandering over the horizon wistfully, thinking of a thousand endings this could have or what if you don't reciprocate.

His vocal cords betray him from time to time, and some words come out trembling, showing that behind that certainty hides a rather fragile wandering samurai inside, moved by thousands of feelings, that no matter how hard he tries, he can't ignore.

gorou.

I've said it thousands of times in other posts but he's 100% wagging his tail around you uncontrollably.

And when he's telling you how he feels about you, he wags his tail nervously from side to side, with his ears down and fiddling with his fingers.

Literally can't sit still and can't keep up the appearance of General of Watatsumi's troops next to you.

If his comrades saw him act that way with you, he would surely be the subject of many jokes and would be Inazuma's laughing stock, or so he thinks.

Back on topic. Before you can answer his confession, Gorou will be out of sight. He may be far away, hiding, and thinking about what he just did while mentally smacking himself.

“I'm an idiot coward! Why did I run away? Y/n probably hates me now. I should come back and apogize later. Owww, I've ruined everything.”

We all know he's a cute whiny boy. We love him either way.

© Do not use, translate or repost this work on any site.

[rikiblues]

close your eyes

featuring. nct na jaemin x fem!oc contents. college!au, romance, fluff, banter, literal sleeping together

track. teddy bear, nct dream word count. 2612

note. a submission for a writing event by decelis_acvdemy on wattpad.

"You," Jaemin announces, "work entirely too hard. You skipped movie night for homework!"

Jiwon looks up tiredly at him. "You do realize I'm working on a deadline here," she deadpans. "Tell me how you expect me to sacrifice three hours for a movie."

Jaemin frowns. "Are you feeling okay?" he asks, stepping back a bit, instead of leaning all of his weight on the side of her study desk, so as to give her some space, instead of crowding her. "You haven't really been responding very well tonight."

"I'm distracted," she gestures to the papers strewn across her desk, the scattered pens and pencils, eraser teetering on the corner of the desk—which he scoops up and safely returns to its respective spot beside her pencils—one lone paint palette resting beneath a box of acrylic paints also far too close to edge of it, so Jaemin pushes that farther up the desk, too. No paintbrushes, though he knows those are still at the top of her wardrobe, drying out after her impromptu painting session yesterday.

"Too distracted," he frowns, gently prying the pencil from her reddened-from-pressure fingers. "I get it too, you know, how hard it is to stop when the urge to do something about creativity blocks, hits you. I also want you to know that there's a limit to these things."

She huffs. "I can't help it if my stupid brain won't give me a proper idea," she says, sulking as she utters the words, though she most likely doesn't realize it. Jaemin thinks it's adorable. "I've been trying to get past the stupid art block, but none of my ideas are good enough."

She gestures to the angrily-torn out, balled-up pages of paper in the wastebasket beside her on the floor. Jaemin makes a mental note to take the better ones out of the pile, if only to tease her outwardly with it but actually keeping them for her future reference. As temperamental as Jiwon is, she tends to forget in her frustration at herself that her past supposedly-failed art serves as a good frame of reference for what she can do later down the line.

"That's because your brain is overworked," he scolds. "You've been at this since before I arrived, idiot. It doesn't take a genius to realize you need rest."

Jaemin had come over earlier to her dorm at her request to bring something to eat because she was "far too lazy to drag myself down ten flights of stairs right now," only to find that she was really immersed a tad bit too much to do more than bite into her food in between sketching on her drawing block. Being the caring boyfriend that he is, he hadn't discouraged her, just nagged at her to eat in a very annoying way until she gave in.

It's been almost four hours since then, though. Jaemin has almost finished a drama series by now. It's a lie to say he isn't concerned; of course he is, he loves Jiwon. He loves that she's so passionate about all of her interests, even if they fizzle out after a short period of hyperfixation, but that's one of her quirks.

Except for art. That one is lifelong, at this point. For all of the three years that he has known her, art has been practically the center of her life. Pencil lead smudged on her hands, just like it is now, streaks of an almost-non washable paint in a swirl of rainbow colors on her arms and hands, sometimes her face, too, which more often than not earned her a scolding from her parents and teachers.

But the bigger issue is that she's overworking herself at this point.

"But it's not even that late," she protests, looking at the clock. "It's only barely eight p.m..."

"I know, but you've been working this hard all day, and you're not getting anywhere."

"But if I try a little harder..."

"Jiwon," he says, firmer. Jiwon's stubborn, pleading expression falls into one of dejection. Once upon a time, Jaemin would've worried that he went too far and said something wrong, but now he knows that it's just her being upset at herself for going too far. Even if Jaemin doesn't necessarily agree with it, he's also aware that right now, the most important thing is destressing her cluttered, overloaded brain.

"Okay," she sighs out, standing up. She wobbles for a moment and she grabs at the desk to regain her balance, which immediately has Jaemin taking her arm, holding her up, recognizing it as a dizzy spell, a thing she experiences far too often from how she forgets to eat in the concentrated haze of making art. "Oh. Sorry, sorry, I'll eat something now..."

Jaemin has to smile at her somewhat ditzy expression. She has a weird way of laughing off even a few of the worst things that have happened to her, though he supposes that it's not so concerning when they already know that having her eat something would fix the dizziness very quickly.

"Want me to get you that apple you bought earlier?" he offers as they walk out into the living room of her dorm. She used to share it with someone else, who dropped out halfway through the year. Jaemin has been taking advantage of that to pop in on surprise visits to her during the day, and sometimes he's tempted to stay over for a night, but imagining how badly that could go keeps him from doing it.

"Yes, please," she mutters, throwing herself onto the couch. "I doubt I could handle anything else right now."

While she turns on the TV and flips through Netflix (before remembering that she has yet to finish 86's first season, to date), Jaemin heads to the kitchen to retrieve her apple for her. He often does this kind of thing for his friends and roommates, which earned him the moniker of "mom," but Jiwon is really the only person he truly gets satisfaction out of taking care of. Her, and his younger friends.

She's so absorbed into the screen that she startles when Jaemin sits beside her, handing her the plate of sliced apple. "You didn't have to do that," she notes, eyebrows lifted. Her gaze turns right back to the screen, which Jaemin takes no offense at. He is surprised that she continues talking. "I get that I messed up for myself, but I can eat an apple, you know."

"I don't think you can last the next episode without falling asleep," Jaemin smirks. She scoffs.

"You wanna bet?" 

"I already know it. One-hundred-percent assured."

"Oh, you're on, Na Jaemin," she grins. Jaemin isn't quite sure whether it's from watching the young, teenage soldiers on screen interact with their miles-away commander, or his challenge, but either way, it's a cute smile.

"Bring it on, Kang Jiwon." 

***

Contrary to expectation, Jiwon lasts until two episodes before the half-season finale, and then she turns to Jaemin and says, "I want to go to bed now. You should head back before it gets too late."

"I'll stay with you," Jaemin says nonchalantly. "My roommates are going to be out until really late."

"And?" she stares at him, eyes wide.

"I don't want to sleep alone," Jaemin answers, standing up. "Come on, Jiwon, it's not a big deal. I'm just going to sleep next to you. It's the weekend, too, so we're not going to have to go anywhere, right?"

"Well..." she hesitates, seeming to weigh between her choices. "I guess..."

"It's not mandatory," Jaemin clarifies, smoothing back the hair that had gotten loose from her ponytail away from her face, rather absently. "No pressure."

"No, I want you to stay," she decides, standing up and tugging him towards her bedroom, much, much more spacious since the roommate's stuff had been taken out of there. Jaemin internally second-guesses himself for a minute, but he talks himself out of it, reminding himself that they're technically not doing anything wrong (even if Renjun will have a neurotic fit when he finds out...well, he just won't). 

He stands by the door, watching her arrange her messy bed—twisted, balled-up covers, both of the pale violet pillows she uses at two opposite ends of the bed, a few books scattered across the flower-patterns decorating her bedsheet—before she lets Jaemin near it. It's endearing to see how she frowns at herself for letting her space get so messy. He knows she usually makes a point to order everything and put it all in place before she sets foot outside of the dorm.

"Okay," she turns, exhales. "Come on. I'm beginning to feel dead on my feet."

Jaemin chuckles softly and joins her, watching her climb into her bed only for a second before he does the same, though somewhat awkwardly. It's...strange to be here, right now. Not to mention incredibly awkward. Before he can say something stupid, he says, "your bed is really soft."

Jiwon blinks at him, from where she's adjusting the covers over them. Jaemin doesn't object, since she's got the air-conditioning turned on at twenty-six degrees. "Uh. Yeah, my parents got this for my brother when he moved into the dorms but he disliked the way it's so soft, so we traded mattresses." 

"Good call, I guess," Jaemin returns. A silence falls over them as Jiwon lies on her back snuggled under the comforter up to her chest, Jaemin sitting up leaning against the headboard with the comforter only covering his lower half.

Their eyes meet and they stare at each other for a full ten seconds before they burst out laughing.

"Jeez!" Jiwon wheezes, sitting up. "We're ridiculous, acting like a pair of teenagers on their first date!"

"Right," Jaemin snorts, pulling her closer the way he always does. "This is literally no different. We're a bit too nervous for just literally sleeping together, seriously."

Jiwon lets him essentially cuddle her. Jaemin doesn't look like it, but he is actually rather affectionate in many ways, and physical affection is one of his love languages. As such, Jiwon is the subject of quite a lot of hand-holding, random hugs, and just being affectionate in general. Jaemin is aware she doesn't mind at all, so he doesn't feel uneasy about doing things like that.

"I don't think I can fall asleep any time soon now," Jiwon admits softly, her voice just a whisper. With Jaemin's arm thrown loosely over her stomach, her head pillowed on his other arm, they're somehow in a closer position than they have ever been in before, but it's...comforting, to say the least.

"Shall I sing for you, then?" Jaemin purposely whispers in her ear. She shrieks in surprise and hits him.

"Jerk!"

Jaemin giggles, not releasing his grip on her. "Sorry, sorry!"

"Sure," she lightly pinches his arm, freezing a little bit when Jaemin starts running her hand through her short hair, a little bit longer than the absolute minimum required to tie a ponytail. She claimed it was for aesthetic reasons, though the bigger reason, he knows, is because she can't be bothered to take care of such long hair, practically waist-length, all the time. "What do you propose singing?"

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star—" 

"God, no."

"Rockabye baby, on the treetop—"

"Na Jaemin!"

In response, Jaemin starts laughing, which sets off Jiwon, too. They devolve into laughing so hard, tears form in Jaemin's eyes. His own ridiculousness and how there's still a thin barrier of awkward tension that they have yet to break.

So, he hugs her closer, and says, "tell me something I didn't know about you."

"Huh?" He can't see her face, but he imagines her frowning in concentration. "There's a lot that you do know about me. As for what you don't know..."

"Anything is fine, really."

"Huh." this time, it's more of a contemplative sound. "Do you remember when your mother said that I would make a good teacher?" Jaemin does not, but he hums in response anyway. "I laughed it off back then, but did I ever tell you that when I was a kid, I really wanted to be a teacher?"

"Really?" Jaemin is surprised. "What kind of teacher?"

"I don't know. Kids don't think too deeply about those things, you know?"

"Why did you? Want to become a teacher, I mean. You've always said you don't have enough patience to handle a class of children."

"There was this teacher when I was in the first and second grades," Jiwon's voice is soft, almost sleepy; a very in-character thing, for her to get sleepy just as they start properly talking. "She was always very nice to me, never stopped me talking when I got going or had an idea. There was an autistic kid in our class, too, and she never treated him differently. In fact, he and I were the favorite kids. When I finished first grade, I actually cried about having to have a different teacher."

"Awh, that's so cute."

"I was seven," Jiwon says with an intentional sulky tone. "So, when my brother started the first grade in the same year I started the second, he got the same teacher. You know about his ADHD, so you know how difficult it can be..."

Jaemin does. When he first met Jiwon's brother, he was quite hyper and excitable, and understood lots of things differently than most of them did. According to her, he was like that but ten times more hyper in his childhood, and it didn't help that most adults in his life treated him like he was a bad kid.

"She was the greatest teacher he ever had," the smile in her voice is evident, blooming like a sunflower in the sun. Jaemin finds it beautiful that her pride in her family and loved ones take precedence over much else, much like how Jaemin puts his mother before everyone else. "He was her best friend by the end of the year, and what do you know, he cried, too. I mean, have you ever known him to cry about saying goodbye to someone?"

"Never," Jaemin finds the idea alien. But he knows her brother has feelings, too. "That was what made you decide?"

"Yeah. Until my mother, ever so practical," there's a teasing hint of fondness there, "convinced me that I would die penniless and stressed out because kids are hard work and teachers don't get paid enough."

"I mean, my mother survived?"

"She had a husband to support her. I was in my 'die a single woman' phase."

"Ah. That explains so much."

"Shut up," she laughs, hitting his arm. "I wasn't upset about it ever, actually. I was cycling through a lot of professions at the time, so it isn't too big of a disappointment that it took a day to get talked out of it without much effort. Even if I do think about it sometimes."

"Imagine me dating a teacher."

"Your mother would approve. Now tell me something about you."

"I never drink because my mother said she doesn't like to drink and would prefer it that I did not drink, either," Jaemin says the first thing that comes to mind. Jiwon snorts, clearly disbelieving. "I'm serious, I really don't like doing it! It tastes weird, too."

"Such a momma's boy," Jiwon teases, but her voice is slurred now, beginning to sound more sleepy and tired than anything.

"That is my pride, Jiwon," he says very seriously. He can't stop the yawn that escapes his mouth after he says it, though. "Now I'm sleepy."

"Then sleep," she mumbles, shifting so that her legs aren't twined together. "Good night."

When it's silent for almost a full minute, Jaemin realizes that she really isn't joking; she's actually fallen asleep. Her soft breathing is the only sound in the room now, aside from his own.

With a fond sigh, Jaemin closes his own heavy eyelids, still hugging Jiwon.

yes, i still hate it. but thanks to all of you who reassured me it's okay haha ilu guys.