#dude i’m very much romantically attracted to people but i Cannot for the life of me figure out how to write romance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wincore · 4 years

Text

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of.

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low.

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours.

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget.

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore.

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume.

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type.

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises. If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts.

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself.

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask.

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it.

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it.

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily.

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year.

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately.

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one.

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt.

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover.

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours.

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth.

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words.

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table.

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad.

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back.

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing.

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters.

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs.

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.”

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can.

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off.

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating.

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know.

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young.

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.”

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling.

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung.

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses.

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention.

Inviting him somewhere.

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure.

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more.

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter?

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him.

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.”

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.”

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.”

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts.

You’re disappointing.

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose.

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps.

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask.

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you.

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue.

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.”

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you.

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families.

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe.

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard.

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them.

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out.

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure.

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up.

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt.

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder.

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart.

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it.

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him.

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak.

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time.

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional.

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love.

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved.

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding.

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either.

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple.

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action.

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t.

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days.

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.”

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by.

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers.

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever.

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout.

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!”

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?”

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this.

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose.

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond.

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—”

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder.

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him.

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too.

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again.

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling.

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you.

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care.

“Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there.

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally.

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer.

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.

2K notes · View notes

3wisellamas · 3 years

Text

Giant Sweet Cap’n Cakes Headcanon Masterpost!

(Fun fact, I thought most of these up while on one REALLY long hike. ^^; You can tell I fell for these three pretty hard.)

Music:

-I like the idea that, while the three all share a love of hip hop, glitch hop, electronic music in general, and a little lo-fi for chill times, they all have different tastes outside of those. (Meaning if you pass them the aux cord, they WILL argue!)

-Sweet's actually the biggest audiophile of the group, with by far the most eclectic tastes; he will literally put together playlists that go from dubstep to heavy metal to classical to rap to vaporwave to even country. The others don't really get it, but they're cool with whatever he puts on, and learn a lot of new music from him!

-He also owns an electric guitar, which he just plugs into himself to use as an amp and plays early in the morning to wake the others up if needed (he's the early riser and the other two are night owls...)

-Cap'n's definitely got a more narrow focus than the other two; he likes rap and also R&B, jazz, and even a little swing/electro swing. He's also been caught more than once listening to cheesy romantic pop songs, claiming he's just into them for their potential madamoizel-attracting uses but really he's just a sappy romantic.

-He can also rap, very well in fact, and gets Sweet to beatbox while he freestyles.

-Heck, he's just got a good singing voice in general, helped by having a built-in autotune, and dominates at karaoke!

-K_K also has a really broad range, but stays more towards the electronic end of the spectrum -- melodic dubstep, synthpop, disco, trance, chiptune, DnB, even occasionally puts on straight-up ambient spa music to chill out to (the only genre the other two will NOT tolerate.)

-K_K has also, in the past, set up entire mini-raves just by themselves, complete with glowsticks and everything, while Cap'n and Sweet were out doing whatever. They were...not pleased, when they got back, mostly because they weren't invited. All three got to have one together eventually though.

-Physical media is king in their shop; if it's not on a CD, cassette tape, or a vinyl record (or an 8-track, though they have to dig out their old player for it), they will refuse to play it, and might even ask you to leave. "MP3" is an extremely dirty word to them.

-(In fact, they don't get along too well with the MP3 player-headed robots elsewhere in the city.)

-They are indeed always listening to music on physical media as well -- K_K and Cap'n are their own CD players (though Cap'n's one of those models that's also got a built-in FM radio), while Sweet has a straight-up Walkman.

-(He's also the group's cassette champion, claiming his media of choice is superior to CDs because you can record music on BOTH sides of the tape! The other two just don't have the heart to point out that each side only holds half as much music as a CD, and you don't even have to rewind those...)

-Jury's still out on Hit Clips. Cap'n and Sweet think they're just toys, but K_K genuinely collects and appreciates them and treats them like actual music (it helps that they are only around four seconds long!)

-Believe it or not, the headphones are only decoration, all three actually just...listen to their music entirely within their own heads, though they can also switch to playing it externally on their speakers as well. Perks of being robots! Though, sometimes K_K has his internal volume up too high, and misses things that other people say because of it.

-Sweet also has an input port, and connects himself to his turntable to act as the speakers! The other two are WAY too embarrassed to ask if they can use it as well.

-Sweet can play almost any instrument you throw at him, as long as it's not a woodwind (Surprisingly, he can do brass, since those work on vibration rather than air!). He prefers his guitar or violin when he isn't spinning records on his turntable. Where the other two just enjoy music, he's the actual trained musician.

Voice headcanons:

-Sweet: Kind of deep, bass-y, lots of reverb, a slight tinny audio distortion to it like a low-quality recording that becomes much more pronounced when he gets upset or starts shouting. And since he's a speaker, you can literally feel the vibrations he makes when he's speaking!

-Cap'n: Scout from TF2. I am sorry, but I absolutely cannot get that out of my head for him. XD However, he's actually putting that voice on as an "accent" of sorts, his real voice is actually super autotune-y like K_K's, and it comes out whenever he gets flustered, his pitch only getting higher and higher as it gets worse...

-K_K: Pure autotune, he can just do whatever the hell he wants with his voice -- pitch, tone, whatever, and while he tends to keep it a little higher he can and does change it to fit his mood! He often has a completely different voice every day, but the others are used to it. He also just straight-up vocalizes sound effects (like, the kind that make you go "How did you just make that sound with your mouth?!") and can mimic other people perfectly (though the slight mechanical distortion does give it away). There are absolutely no rules when it comes to K_K's voice.

-They harmonize perfectly whenever they sing together!

Sweet:

-I like to think Sweet's actually the brains of the group; like, not SMART, he just holds their one collective braincell most often. He does any technical work when they're building stuff, like soldering circuits or the occasional programming, and even handles a lot of the actual business operations and pays the bills. The other two also like to follow his lead when it comes to rebellion plans, even if he’s not the official leader.

-That said, though? It's balanced out by him being rather hotheaded and having the shortest temper by a lot. There are REASONS why he's not usually out selling bagels with the others -- he's unfortunately prone to some more "extreme" sales tactics, like hurling half their stock at random passersby until they finally agree to buy some. On the plus side, he's always the first to step up to defend the gang from anything that dares to harm them, and is always on guard.

-He can also hold a heck of a grudge -- don't ever get on his bad side! Cap'n and K_K are mostly immune to this though, if he gets upset with them he works through it by the end of the day. It helps that they can all hug it out.

-He's a bit of a perfectionist, often working overtime to try and get everything they build exactly right. He can get really frustrated when things don't work out the way he plans, or when he can't make sense of a problem, or when Cap'n and K_K are goofing off instead of doing their part, and needs to go blast some loud music and blow off steam.

-He does have a really tough time keeping his balance, since his head is a bit heavier than the rest of his body, but he takes tripping over his own feet constantly in stride. The biggest problem he has is with dancing -- while he'll join in with the others on occasion, he can't match their more acrobatic moves and sticks more to actually PLAYING the music they're dancing to.

-He's also really, really unlucky, just in general. He actually considers the other two his good luck charms, since they help him out whenever he trips or gets into a bad spot!

-He's the fashionista of the group, surprisingly. It's difficult for him to find clothes that fit his body, so he tends to get a little creative with it and has a whole closet full of different stuff! And since Cap'n is roughly the same size they'll occasionally swap jackets.

Cap’n:

-Cap'n actually has managed to score a handful of dates with girls in the past! However, NONE of them went well, and only one actually made it to the second date (only to break up right in the middle of it), so he always ends up returning home heartbroken and in tears. Sweet and K_K, by this point just ready for it whenever they hear that he's going out that night, always dry him off before he shorts himself out, take him to bed and cuddle with him (platonically, I don't see them as brothers but I also don't see them as having that conversation until Cap'n's ready, which he clearly is NOT), remind him that it doesn't hurt forever and he isn't unlovable and that he'll find someone eventually, etc.

-They have sat him down multiple times to try and gently suggest to Cap'n that he might just not be into women? And that he’s actually turning them off by trying so hard? To which he's always just like "No, of course not. I'm straight. Love the ladies. Totally. Oh no they didn't catch me checkin' out that one dude earlier did they? Is that what this is about?!"

-(Basically, Cap'n is just a hopeless romantic in love with the idea of being in love, but is absolutely clueless as to how it works or what he actually wants, and his best buds are always there to catch him when he falls. ;v; )

-The glasses are prescription -- he's SUPER nearsighted, a hardware glitch he refuses to fix. Sometimes when he's working on something close up he'll take them off, panicking when he can't find them afterwards, only to have the others point out that they're just on his head. He’s also got non-tinted glasses, but you will not catch him DEAD wearing those unless it’s an absolute emergency.

-This dude is SUPREMELY insecure with himself. Like, his rather questionable fixation on romance aside, he basically runs off of others' validation, the "cool" persona he's spent much of his life building up being how he hides the fact that he isn't really sure who he is, or what he wants to do with his life, or what he's even good for -- the others have learned to check on him now and then whenever he hides away in the back of the shop, since he can slip into some pretty dark places when left alone to sulk. It took a long time for him to open up even to them to share his feelings, and sometimes still has doubts about whether they or anyone else really care about him as more than just The Smooth One...

-He's the only one of the three to actually enjoy the occasional silence, especially when he's trying to think, or whenever he's upset. So, his headphones also serve a dual purpose -- they're noise-cancelling!

-He's the video guy, carrying around a small camcorder and constantly trying to record the group's activities, to put together into music videos! He also just likes to record himself doing stupid stunts for posterity, though K_K just takes these and makes (affectionate) blooper reels.

-Cap'n is not his real name, similar to K_K. However, unlike K_K, he refuses to say what it is, just that it's embarrassing.

K_K:

-K_K has a bad habit of just completely zoning out when he gets into his music, getting completely lost in the groove and needing to be pulled back to reality. It's not a bad thing during jam sessions, but at work, or in the middle of a battle...not so much.

-He kind of needs to have some kind of music going at all times -- silence drives him absolutely CRAZY! Though, because he gets distracted by his own music, he then misses out on entire conversations, only tuning back in towards the end. Sometimes the other two have to repeat or summarize what they just said for him.

-He knows sign language, and taught the others to use it. They're able to communicate reasonably well no matter how loud their shop gets, or on days when K_K isn't able to form words properly (he's just shy, and even when he isn't he gets tongue-tied a LOT).

-He's easily the best dancer of the three, and uses his extendable body to get really creative with his moves! He even knows a little ballroom, somehow, which he'll pull out sometimes to make the others laugh.

-(Seriously, K_K CANNOT stand to see Sweet or Cap'n not smiling. He'll do anything to keep the group's spirits up, usually cracking jokes during a scrap project or doing little favors, and they appreciate all his efforts!)

-K_K has the WORST sleep cycle, ever. If you let him, he will stay up all night working or partying, finally going to bed at 6AM, and will then sleep until 6PM if the others don't wake him up at some point. If they know he was up really late they'll let him sleep in a little, but he's often pretty sleep-deprived and running solely on sugar and caffeine, which doesn't help his natural loopiness.

-He is a VERY physical guy. Seriously, he will just scoop up and hold Sweet or Cap'n like a cat every five minutes; at first they were just like "Oh. Okay. We're hugging now I guess," but after a while they got more used to it and even anticipate when K_K is going to do it. And he also initiates tons of snuggles and gives piggyback rides whenever one of his bandmates (usually Sweet) requests.

-K_K actually scrapbooks, collecting pictures and little mementos of places he and the others have gone and things they've done. After the library fountain is sealed, he pulls them out to show everyone else from Cyber City and reminisce about home.

-It's very hard to make K_K angry, since he tends to stay super chill and brushes off almost everything. But, on those very, very rare occasions when something does get under his metal outer casing, he'll go full-on silent treatment, not speaking to anyone for up to a week as he sulks and stomps around the junk shop, and even refuses to play any music! And no amount of sweets or hugs or cheering up will bring him out of it, either; the other two have learned to just wait him out and let him have his space, letting him come to them when he's finally ready to talk about it.

Misc:

-Though all three love everything sweet, K_K's the only one who really goes overboard with it, making whole meals out of candy. Sweet, ironically enough, actually prefers more salty/savory snacks, while the less is said about Cap'n's hot sauce addiction, the better.

-Okay, actually, I will say more about it. Cap'n loves spicy food in general, and literally drinks tabasco sauce right from the bottle. However, he's got a bad habit of daring himself to eat hotter and hotter stuff, ESPECIALLY if someone is watching, and can easily get in WAY over his head before begging for milk.

-They also all totally drink battery acid like Queen.

-Heck, being both Darkners and robots, they can really eat literally anything. Normal food, milk, oil, batteries, gallons of pure sugar, toothpaste, moss, glitter (NEVER let K_K get hold of any though, he gets lost in the sauce), broken glass, etc, and of course their own deep-fried CDs. Only thing they can't do is water, since, you know, robots.

-With a lot of the aesthetics of Cyber City being close to turn-of-the millennium and early 2000s (CDs and boomboxes, popup ads, wired mice, Queen theorized to be one of those see-through iMacs, EVERYTHING about Spamton), I like the idea that the boys DO NOT have smartphones, and if you handed them one they'd have no clue how to use it or what to do with it. But they do have cell phones: Sweet's got an old flip phone covered in stickers (courtesy of K_K), Cap'n splurged for one of those that slide open and with a camera (he set his background to a tiny, grainy photo of the three of them!), and K_K has one of those indestructible Nokia bricks, that Sweet got him after he kept breaking all his other ones. They can all text, but that's about as high-tech as they get.

-Same with tablets or newer computers in general, they might share one tiny netbook at most. Cap’n never remembers to log out of his Dark World dating profile, so the others will snoop or post embarrassing things to it.

-They're really, really durable, even without milk -- they're made of 90s plastic and electronics, so it takes a LOT to take one of them down! Plus, they regularly repair each other back at the shop (it took a LONG time for them to gain enough trust to physically open and work on each other), so as long as at least one's left to drag the other two to safety they'll be just fine.

-However, if they get splashed with water, caught in the rain, or worse, drowned, they will short out, or shut down on the spot to prevent damage. Once they completely dry out, though, they'll start right back up, no worse for wear. When only one of them gets waterlogged the other two will break out the hair dryers to dry them out faster, or even pop them into the oven in a pan of rice like an iPod that got dropped in the toilet...

Finally, backstory?

-Cap'n and K_K met first -- maybe both as new recruits to another, much less savory gang of music equipment robots, and bonded as a result of being put upon by the more established members (Cap'n probably even had to defend K_K more than once when his inattentiveness got him into trouble!) But, they both had enough one day, and decided to break off and form their own thing, making music and selling CD bagels to support themselves.

-Sweet, meanwhile, has the complete opposite background, coming from a rich and important family of musicians in Cyber City who regularly entertained Queen in her mansion (hence why he always used to get sweets from her!) But, he was kind of the black sheep, preferring his own style of music, and decided to strike out on his own as a street musician instead.

-They met when Cap'n and K_K accidentally set up to sell bagels on Sweet's usual corner, and he battled them to reclaim his turf. But, they were evenly-matched (even two-to-one; Sweet's definitely the strongest of the trio!), and impressed each other with both their fighting and musical skills, so Sweet decided to join their tiny group, and thus Sweet Cap'n Cakes was formed.

-After the whole situation with Queen is resolved, SCC turns their rebellion into an anti-DRM kind of thing? Nobody can hold back the music, man!

#deltarune #sweet cap'n cakes #deltarune sweet #deltarune cap'n #deltarune k_k #sweet #cap'n #k_k #emheadcanons

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tossawary · 4 years

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@ghostly-squid: This is awesome, but I specifically meant "who hears SQH, Professionally Pathetic Retainer of Great MBJ, profess great undying love for the (who still "gently" beats him) dude he cowers before openly and often in (demon) public, and goes 'Yea, I can buy that no questions asked, MBJ is a complete catch and SQH doesn't deserve him'" while SQH is just 🙃 because YES FAIR POINT but also that has GOT to grate at least a little bit, at the teeny tiny bit of pride he's keeping

For like, Decoration, and this all makes me wonder that MORE!! What does SQH think?!? (Or is it just stuck on "HAHA FUCK THIS, THIS SUCKS, IT'S EVERYTHING I WOULD HAVE SECRETLY WANTED BUT TERRIBLE" which is super valid. The lesson is "don't have dreams or the universe and OP Demon Lords will twist them just to fuck with you") (also, I was specifically wondering if MBJ has a split second panic of "holy shit, IS he secretly in love with me?!? He's very convincing"

Or just "see THIS shit is why I don't trust you one bit: you're way too good at pulling Absolute Nonsense out of nowhere")

I chose this specific time period because 1) I didn’t want to deal with the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect side of politics and 2) Mobei-Jun is probably still in his “all humans are ultimately untrustworthy and it’s beneath me to feel anything positive for a human this pathetic” phase, if hopefully near the end of it.

I was imagining that since Mobei-Jun gives a brief rundown of the situation before thrusting Shang Qinghua in front of the Demon Emperor to grovel and plead and fabricate on a level that Mobei-Jun and his family just cannot match, Shang Qinghua gets to have a brief moment of, “WAIT, YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?! PRETEND I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU TO PLACATE TIANLANG-JUN?! MY KING?! Oh, man, what terrible story did this trope escape from...”

Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua both go into this as a Fake/Pretend Relationship kind of deal. So, for a seethingly panicked Mobei-Jun, it’s more of the, “See THIS shit is why I don’t trust you one bit: you’re way too good at pulling Absolutely Nonsense out of nowhere.” ESPECIALLY because if Mobei-Jun didn’t know that his pitiful human servant is lying, he would absolutely be like, “Holy shit, IS he secretly in love with me?!? He’s very convincing.”

So Mobei-Jun spends, like, the first half of this fic extremely angry over the fact that 1) he’s attracted to a human being, 2) he was forced to marry a human being, 3) the human being is his lowly servant and not even anyone particularly beautiful or impressive, 4) the human being is actually kind of funny and affectionate and clever and loyal, and 5) he cannot trust any of the human being’s affection because it’s all a lie, no matter how real it seems.

Until Shang Qinghua just ups and leaves him (very shocking for MBJ) because he’s sick of 1) being looked down on by everyone including his own husband, 2) getting no consistent or meaningful affection or care in return out of something he hoped against all common sense might actually be at least a friendly partnership, and 3) having to dodge assassination attempts by all of their many enemies, especially the people who aren’t Mobei-Jun’s enemies but want to get rid of Shang Qinghua FOR Mobei-Jun.

And Mobei-Jun finally has to admit that he doesn’t hate Shang Qinghua, actually, which is clearly a HUGE step for Mobei-Jun’s development.

Only for Shang Qinghua (over some long-distance communication device, so Mobei-Jun can’t physically stop him) to be like, “That’s nice, I guess. You can’t tell that by the way you treat me, though, and it’s not worth staying married to you for. Sometimes I think I love you, but I really don’t know what you think I’m getting out of this marriage. I just got chased by a knife-wielding assassin who I think was hired by my own in-laws and that’s just one reason I’m not happy, so I’m breaking up with you. Bye and have a nice life, my king.”

Cue Mobei-Jun having to square up emotionally and win back his own runaway husband. I must confess that I am very taken by pretty much any and all takes on Moshang having a Classic Romantic Grovel.

Shang Qinghua’s initial opinion on all this was, “This is all happening very fast and I don’t want him dead and at this point I’m in danger of the Demon Emperor’s wrath if I bail, so I guess I’ll go for it! There is a very small chance that this won’t suck, so hey, let’s put in the effort for that!”

#ghostly-squid #tossawary svsss #fic ideas #moshang forced marriage au #moshang #mobei jun #shang qinghua #ask tossawary

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sunlightdances · 4 years

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Safe Place to Land (Modern!Bucky x Reader)

Author: Katie @sunlightdances Pairing: Modern!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Rating: PG-13 for swearing. No trigger warnings except some alcohol use and drunkenness, and if awkwardness makes you feel weird, which-- SAME. Slow burn. Two idiots. Words: 8K+ aka HOW DID THIS GET SO LONG Summary: Modern!AU. You and Bucky are both standing up for Steve and Peggy’s wedding. Checking in at the hotel for the weekend, you’re horrified to realize there’s been a problem. A big problem. Prompt Filled: “Only one bed” Author’s Note: This is for @fanfictionaries’ Classic Trope Challenge! Congrats on 300 followers, and thanks for hosting! This was so fun to write. Special thanks to @writeyourmindaway for the divider at the beginning and the flower divider throughout the post! Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes or Marvel. I also don’t own the song “Dance with Me” by Kelsea Ballerini, which is where the title comes from. The plot is mine! Please don’t repost my work on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my permission. If you like what you read, please reblog to help share my work!

You’re late.

It’s truly a scene from a movie - you dashing through the airport, your rolling suitcase clicking behind you as it hits every line in the tile. People are staring, and you’re embarrassed, but you don’t have time to be.

Peggy will kill you if you miss this flight.

You’ll kill you if you miss this flight. Not for the first time, you curse Steve Rogers and his romantic streak for having a destination wedding. Especially because it’s going to be small. An exclusive wedding that could have just as easily been done in New York… you stop yourself.

You’re happy to be going to London. You’ve never been before, and you’re even happier to be going to celebrate the wedding of two of your closest friends.

It’s been over a decade since the first time you met Steve Rogers, alone and out of place in New York City, and at first you didn’t bother him - he was clearly going through something, and through your nosy neighbor, you knew he was recently back from a tour in Afghanistan. You were unable to stay away for long though, especially when you could hear the nightmares through the apartment walls, and could hear the grief he was struggling to control.

A casserole outside his door and a late night coffee break later, the two of you were fast friends. He trusted you with his story, and the look on his face when you introduced him to your coworker Peggy sealed your friendship for good.

Finally arriving at the gate, you nearly knock over a very tired, very irritated looking Bucky Barnes, and roll your eyes to the heavens, because of course you’re on the same flight. Why wouldn’t you be? You suspect foul play by your conniving best friend, but you don’t have time to complain about it.

Bucky’s already glaring at you. “You’re late--”

“I know. How did you even know I was going to be on this flight?”

“Steve mentioned it. Said to make sure you didn’t get left behind.”

You roll your eyes, collapsing into a chair near the gate as the boarding process begins, out of breath from your sprint through the airport. “He worries too much.”

“You are late, though.”

You glare right back at him, but can’t help but give him what you hope is a subtle once over - right from the top of his baseball-cap covered head to his Nike-covered feet. It’s really not fair that he still manages to look like a runway model at four in the morning.

Finally you’re called for boarding, and you push past Bucky to get on the plane, where you have plans to promptly fall asleep and hopefully be out for the next several hours.

“Me again,” you hear his deep voice before you open your eyes, and you’re treated to the truly amazing sight of Bucky Barnes’ abs when his shirt rides up as he puts his bag in the overhead bin.

“Terrific,” you mutter, and he snorts.

“Go to sleep.” The heat practically radiates off him as he sits down next to you, him in the aisle seat and you in the dreaded middle seat.

You really are tired - there was a reason you were running late. You have a habit of working too late and not getting enough sleep, another reason you were looking forward to this wedding. Ten full days in England. No work, just rest. And a wedding. But besides that--! No obligations. You can practically feel the stress melting off you.

Almost as soon as the plane takes off and you start to doze, the man on the other side of you starts talking. At first you think he’s talking to Bucky across you, but it becomes clear he wants to get to know you better when he starts asking about your job, and finally, if you’re single.

You crack open an eye in disbelief, and open your mouth to respond before Bucky leans over and says quietly, but firmly, “No, she’s not. Sorry, dude.”

Bucky’s forearm is pressing into yours, and you scowl at him before the other guy replies.

“Oh, sorry. Should have guessed.”

“Don’t worry, it surprises a lot of people,” you tell him. Including me. You look back at Bucky with a what the hell look on your face, and he shrugs.

Shifting, he lifts the armrest between you and leans in, whispering. “Unless you wanted him to hit on you for the rest of this flight?”

You groan internally, because there’s nothing you hate more than when Bucky has a point.

It’s not like you hate Bucky. He just-- he knows how to push your buttons. Being Steve’s best friend in the entire world, it was a packaged deal. Bucky came home a year after Steve. He was injured, and angry, and wanted nothing to do with the same type of optimism you tried to supply Steve with.

You were okay with that. Not everyone is wired the same, and you had no business butting into Bucky’s life just because you were able to help Steve adjust to life after the Army.

He warmed up eventually, after he and Steve both started going to VA meetings and were slowly working through things, though you knew there was a chance that the Bucky Barnes you were going to get to know would be nothing like the Bucky that Steve told you stories about.

Still, it has always seemed like there’s something else there. Something under the surface that makes Bucky wary of you.

You’re civil and have come to accept the facts: you and Bucky will never be friends.

That’s why you’re so suspicious of his behavior on this flight. You figured he’d be rather amused by you getting hit on at 20,000 feet.

Right before you fall asleep, you put that thought safely into the box labeled Reasons You Will Never Understand Bucky and leave it at that.

You wake up to turbulence, and Bucky’s elbow jamming into your ribs.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and when he steadies you, you realize you were leaning into him while asleep, and feel your face turn hot.

You don’t say anything - too worried you’re going to put your foot in your mouth. “What time is it?” You ask instead, and he blinks at you.

“No idea. I was asleep.”

“Oh.”

The silence that settles between you is a little awkward, but you try your best to get over it. It’s dark on the plane. Your left leg is asleep and your neck is so tense you wonder how you managed to sleep at all. Probably because you had the world’s most attractive body pillow, you think.

You pull your tablet out of the seat-back in front of you and turn the brightness way down. Opening a book you’ve been reading, you check the time. Seeing you still have a few hours before you land, you try to get comfortable before you start reading.

You can feel Bucky’s eyes on you off and on for the next few minutes and you try to ignore the feeling it gives you - the hair on the back of your neck standing on end, and when you catch him before he can look away, you feel the jolt through your entire body.

That’s new.

Finally, the announcement comes that you’re landing in fifteen minutes, and everyone around you starts to gather their things and get restless. You feel the excitement building in you like a live thing, and roll your eyes when you see Bucky smirking at you.

“Leave me alone; I’ve never been to England before.”

His smile falters, just the tiniest bit. “It’s nice. You’ll like it.”

It’s a weird comment, but you don’t say anything else. You have a vague memory of Steve telling you Bucky was airlifted to Germany and then to London before coming home after his accident, and you don’t want to say the wrong thing. Contrary to what he thinks, you actually don’t want to argue with him all the time, but especially not on this trip.

Heathrow is a madhouse. It’s even busier than when you left New York, and you’re a little overwhelmed, plus jet lagged. A great combo.

You and Bucky get your bags from baggage claim and then he turns to you, looking a little worse for wear. “I’m assuming we’re at the same hotel.”

“Hopefully not the same hotel Steve and Peg are in.”

Bucky looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but still remains stoic.

“Oh come on,” you say as the two of you head to try to find a cab. “You know if we’re in the same hotel they’ll be calling all hours of the day to get us to do last minute stuff for them. I agreed to be a bridesmaid, not the wedding planner.”

Like the sun finally breaking through, Bucky actually smiles at that, and not for the first time in your sort-of-friendship, you’re struck by it, by how it changes his entire face and makes him look like a completely different person.

“Steve’s been driving me a little crazy, I have to admit.”

After verifying you are both staying in the same hotel where the majority of the wedding guests are, you fall silent as you take in the scenery zooming past in the cab.

Soon you’re approaching the most beautiful hotel you’ve ever seen, and you stare, open-mouthed, because this cannot be the place you booked. You were given the name of a hotel that Peggy said was nice and reasonably priced that most of the other guests were using, and you expected it to be-- well, not like the place she and Steve were staying.

Still: this is-- too much. Opulent doesn’t even cover it.

“Wow,” Bucky says next to you, uncharacteristically awed by the sight.

In the lobby, you’re even more convinced this is all a scam. Which is why when the concierge tells you there’s a problem, you’re almost not surprised.

“I’m so sorry - we have names for both of you on the reservation list, but it seems like they’ve put you both in the same room.”

A pin could be heard dropping for how quiet you and Bucky get.

He’s the first to speak. “I’m sorry?”

“There must have been a mistake… we’re full the next two weeks with several wedding parties and whoever booked it must have made a mistake.” She’s perfectly apologetic, in that British way, but you’re having trouble getting past the idea that you’re going to have to live with Bucky Barnes for 10 days.

“Can I just get another room?” You blurt.

“I’m sorry - we’re booked. There aren’t any other rooms.”

Bucky turns to you. “Look, it’s fine. Where else are you going to go?”

You feel something like panic welling up inside you. You and Bucky, sharing a room for ten days. How are you going to survive what’s sure to be the most awkward thing you’ve ever had to do in your life?

Better yet: how are you going to live with the teasing from Steven Grant Rogers when he finds out you have to be roommates with his best friend?

You sigh.

“The same room it is.”

This can’t be real, you think. It’s too cliche.

“Um,” you say out loud, elegantly, “There’s only one bed.”

“Appears that way.”

“Well? What are we going to do?”

Bucky looks at you, blank. “We’re grown. I feel like this isn’t that big of a deal.”

You feel semi-hysterical laughter bubbling inside you, because this is very much a big deal. Especially when you’re just sort of admitting to yourself that your tiny crush on Bucky hasn’t waned over the years. You’ve always found him attractive and had no problem acknowledging that, but this? This is just too rom-com, even for you.

“It’s ten days. You don’t have a problem sharing a room with me for ten days?”

He shrugs. “What else am I going to do? Can’t bunk up with Steve. We’ll be busy with wedding stuff for the next two days anyway, and then afterwards… I don’t know. I figured you’d be sightseeing?”

You stare at him. “Okay, but… what are you going to be doing?”

He looks down. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. You assume I’m here as long as you are,” he points out.

He’s right - you have no idea how long Bucky booked this trip for. Without wanting to pry, you’re again reminded that he has a small history here, and probably one that he doesn’t want to re-live.

You’re interrupted by Bucky’s phone ringing, and you busy yourself unpacking while he answers it.

“Hey, Steve.” He says, his voice entirely different when he talks to his best friend. “Yeah, just got to the hotel.” A few beats. “I was probably just going to crash for the night…”

You get a text from Peggy almost at the same time, asking if you want to meet her and Steve for dinner, and meet Bucky’s eyes. You must look as tired as he feels, because he makes another excuse.

“If Katie’s not going to be there, I don’t want to be third wheel with you two lovebirds.” Another beat. “Yeah, let’s do breakfast. I’ll call you in the morning.”

You tap out a response to Peggy about jet lag and already being in bed (and it’s not like you don’t want to see your best friend, you’re just-- there’s too many things happening right now for you to even think about going out for a late dinner), and toss your phone towards the bed.

Yet another reminder of the fact that you’re going to be sharing with Bucky Barnes as soon as you’re both exhausted enough to sleep.

When he hangs up, you look at him curiously. “You didn’t mention anything about our living arrangements.”

He sighs. “Look, Steve’s stressed out enough. He doesn’t need to worry about this mixup too. Besides, it’s fine. It’s just sleeping.”

You hate yourself for the heat you feel at the thought of sharing a bed with him, even though it’s a fleeting feeling that you force away. “Yeah. Just sleeping.”

Bucky says he wants a shower and you offer to order room service. It’s almost 10pm, but you both know you won’t be able to sleep on an empty stomach.

When Bucky comes out of the bathroom, you feel like a teenager. Even he looks a little flushed, but you think it’s from embarrassment. “I-- forgot a change of clothes. Sorry.” He looks so chagrined, you can’t help but snicker.

“Buck, you’re offending my delicate sensibilities.”

His eyes go a little wide and you realize you’ve never called him by that familial version of his nickname before, but it just -- you’ve known the guy almost as long as you’ve known Steve. It just slipped out.

He recovers quickly, winking at you. “Honey, we all know there’s nothing delicate about you.”

You both freeze, both taken aback by the sultry lilt to his voice as he teases you, and again, you’re saved by an interruption - this time a knock on the door saying room service has arrived.

Bucky heads back to the bathroom to change, and you gulp in a few deep breaths before answering the door to get the food.

A whole night of this. You have no idea how you’re going to survive.

Your alarm goes off way too early. In reality, it’s eight in the morning, but you still feel like you’ve been hit over the head with something heavy after a day of traveling.

Moreover, you feel like something heavy is actually on you, and you peek open a bleary eye to see Bucky over your shoulder, his arm slung across your waist like it was always meant to be there.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping you don’t wake him, but also wanting to get out of this situation as soon as possible. You scramble for your phone, the groan leaving him as he wakes up a noise you try to convince yourself you don’t want to hear again.

“What time is it,” he asks, his voice rough with sleep. You shiver.

“Eight,” you reply, finally reaching your phone and sliding a thumb across the screen to turn the alarm off.

He realizes his position and rolls away from you casually, so you mentally decide to pretend you weren’t cuddled up to him for most of the night.

You already have a text from Peggy asking if you want to join her, Steve, and Bucky for breakfast, so you have no choice but to get up and shower, trying to forget the warm feeling of being held by Bucky Barnes.

In an hour, you’re both waiting on a busy street for the almost-newlyweds, and you see them before they see you, Steve’s broad form and Peggy’s impeccable posture unmistakable. You smile unconsciously - they look so happy. You feel a pang though, because you don’t think you’ve ever been with someone who made you feel so carefree.

“Short stuff!” Steve calls, and you roll your eyes, muttering under your breath about how you’re not that short while Bucky snickers next to you, but before you can berate Steve, he’s gathering you into a hug, nearly lifting you off the ground.

Over Steve’s shoulders you see Bucky give Peggy a kiss on the cheek and a shy smile as they hug, exchanging quiet words.

You and Peggy might have known each other first, but she and Bucky bonded right away, making you wonder (not for the first time) why it seemed to be only you that Bucky had trouble getting to know. You brush off the thought - this week was about your friends and their wedding, and you were going to stop worrying about anything that wasn’t making sure this wedding was perfect.

“Missed you,” Steve whispered, “Did you get in okay? Bucky said you were late.”

You roll your eyes again. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He smiles. “Go say hi to Peg. She’s excited you’re here.” He gives your shoulders a squeeze before passing you off to Peggy, who hugs you so tight you can barely breathe.

“You look so--” you sigh, unable to find the words, “Happy. You look so happy, it’s like you’re already married.”

She grins. “I’ve been dreaming about this day for years. I’m excited.”

The four of you sit down to eat and you have the best breakfast you’ve ever eaten. Around a mouthful, you tell the table, “I never want to eat anything but these potatoes for the rest of my life.”

The rest of the meal is spent talking about the wedding and any last minute items that need to be done before the rehearsal dinner later that night. It sounds like everything is going as planned, which doesn’t surprise you when it comes to Peggy Carter.

“And so far everyone has arrived, we think. Have you run into anyone at the hotel?” Steve asks, and you and Bucky both freeze, before he speaks.

“Not… no. Haven’t seen anyone else yet.”

Steve looks between the two of you, eyes narrowed. “What? What happened?” He puts down his fork. “You can’t be fighting already, it’s only been--”

“They gave us one room.” You blurt. “There was a mixup and we have to share a room.”

Bucky steps on your foot hard, because you’ve forgotten his warning about not telling Steve and keeping the groom from stressing out the day before his wedding.

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, waving a hand. “It’s just sleeping.”

You want to scream. Was it just sleeping when we cuddled all night? There wasn’t even alcohol involved!

“Right.” You say brightly, “It’s fine. No big deal.”

Steve is frowning. “I can call--”

“No!” You and Bucky both exclaim.

“Please don’t worry about this. It’s a non-issue,” You say, looking to Peggy for reassurance.

“They’re adults, Steve.”

“Adults who always seem to want to rip each other’s heads off,” he mutters, reaching for his coffee. Over the rim, he meets your eyes, and you shake your head minutely. Don’t you dare.

Breakfast is a little subdued after that, but soon it’s time for Steve and Peggy to go to the venue to make any last minute changes, leaving you and Bucky to your own devices for a few hours before you have to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.

Before parting ways, your phone buzzes.

Steve Rogers: You sure you’re going to survive this?

You: I will murder you.

Across the sidewalk, Steve snorts.

Steve Rogers: I’m just saying. Your crush is kind of obvious, you know?

You: Lucky for you, Bucky literally pays no attention to me. It’ll be fine.

Steve Rogers: That’s what you think.

You meet Steve’s eyes, trying to figure out what he means, but he just shrugs and puts his phone back in his pocket.

The four of you say your goodbyes, and then you and Bucky are left standing on the street awkwardly.

“I was going to go to a museum--”

“I might check to see if Sam is here yet--”

You both speak at the same time.

Bucky clears his throat. “Right. Well, I’ll go check on Sam and you go to your museum or whatever. You have a room key?”

You nod. “Yep. All set.”

“I guess… have fun. Don’t get lost.”

You scowl. “Great, thank you for your concern.”

You’re halfway down the street when you hear him call, “Don’t be late!”

You flip him off over your shoulder and pretend you don’t hear him laughing as you keep heading down the street in the complete opposite direction.

You get back to the hotel in the early afternoon so you can shower and start getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. Outside your shared room, you hear voices, so you pause. You can tell one is Bucky, and soon you recognize the other voice is Sam.

“Really, dude. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Bucky’s voice is gruff. “Do I want to be in London? Not particularly. Can I separate my issues from celebrating this wedding? Yes.”

A sigh, but you can’t tell who it comes from.

“It’s okay to have mixed feelings about London.” Sam says. “The last time--”

“I know what happened the last time I was here.” Bucky interrupts, voice firm and icy. “Sorry. I just-- I don’t want to talk about it.”

A pause. “Okay, then let’s talk about your other issue.” Sam says, and even through the door, you can tell he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on! You’re sharing a room with--”

Not wanting to overhear something else you shouldn’t, you hurriedly put your key in the slot and push the door open.

The two men are silent, staring at you, and you can feel the guilty look all over your face, so you try your best to school your expression into nonchalance.

“Long time no see,” Sam says, standing up to give you a hug.

“Hi, Sam.”

You make some small talk and try not to notice how quiet Bucky is being. He can’t really hate this situation that much… right? Or is it just this place in general? You’re too afraid to ask.

After another hour or so, Sam leaves the two of you to get ready himself, and you race to the bathroom to shower and start doing your makeup.

You’re very conscious of the fact that Bucky is getting changed in the room just beside you, so you take your time getting ready, making sure you’ve done every last thing you can think of before you emerge.

You’re not prepared for the sight of him, more dressed up than you’ve ever seen him. A dark blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbow, showcasing part of a tattoo that snakes down from his left bicep. His newly-shorn hair is artfully styled, the watch on his right wrist glinting in the late day sun streaming into the room.

God, how are you going to get through tomorrow? Seeing him as one of the groomsmen? You’re going to die.

“You look nice,” you manage, not wanting to stare at him any longer.

He looks like he doesn’t know what to say. You’re not sure if it’s the compliment he’s having trouble with, or what. “Thanks,” he says eventually. “You do too.”

The rehearsal dinner is like a fairytale, just like you knew it would be. The food is great, the company is even better, and even Bucky looks like he’s having a good time. There’s lots of toasting the bride and groom to be, and that involves a lot of drinks. A lot.

By the time you’re walking back to the hotel with Bucky, you’re a little unsteady on your feet, but he’s not doing much better, your hips bumping every few feet as you walk.

“You’re a lightweight,” he laughs, and you attempt to glare at him, but you think it comes off more like you’re leering at him. He reaches for your elbow gently and tugs you into the elevator with him, and it’s a challenge to stop thinking all the inappropriate thoughts that start clouding your mind.

Safely in your room, you sit on the edge of the bed and watch as Bucky starts to get ready for bed. You need to get your makeup off and into your pajamas, but you can’t bring yourself to move.

“You’re staring.”

You grin, “Just enjoying the show.” Instantly horrified, you clap a hand over your mouth. “I didn’t say that. You didn’t hear it.”

Bucky’s a little pink around the ears, but he looks smug. “So you think I’m hot?”

You groan. “Shut up. You know you’re hot.”

He looks surprised for a half second, and you fall backwards onto the bed.

“Stop it, stop asking me stuff. I can’t be trusted.” Apparently you can’t take your own advice, because you start thinking out loud, “It’s too bad you hate me. We’d be like, the hottest couple of all time.”

It’s silent, and when you finally look up, he’s staring at you, a frown on his face. “Is that what you think?”

“I know we’d be the hottest couple of all time--”

“No,” he interrupts, exasperated. “You think I hate you?”

“I think--” you suddenly clamp your mouth shut. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.” Bolting past him, you make it there in time, and barely register him coming in a few seconds later, holding your hair back.

God. How embarrassing. Love this journey for you, your brain helpfully supplies.

The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Bucky helping you out of your dress, and a cool hand on your forehead. Then it all goes black.

Your alarm goes off early again the next day. Wedding day. You’re due at the venue with the rest of the bridal party at nine to start hair and makeup.

Your mouth feels like it’s made of cotton, and you curse everyone involved in the dinner for doing so many toasts.

“God,” you groan, and when you open your eyes, you see Bucky on the chair in the living area, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “What--”

“Here,” he says, tossing you your phone, alarm still going off.

There’s a text from Steve asking if you’re alive, and another from Peggy’s bridesmaid group chat with a million love-themed emojis.

“Thanks,” you grumble, bits and pieces of the night before coming back to you. Startled, you look up, “Bucky, I am so sorry--”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves a dismissive hand at you.

“I didn’t mean to drink so much. I’m such an annoying drunk. I--”

“Really,” he interrupts your apology, “It’s okay. You weren’t that bad.”

He’s quiet, which isn’t that different, but he looks… more intense than usual. Contemplative. It makes you nervous. Especially because the night before is still coming to you in pieces.

“Have you been up long?” You ask.

His eyes shutter. “A bit. Had trouble sleeping.”

An awkward silence settles. “What time do you have to--”

“You probably need to get going--”

You both speak at the same time, and strangely, your throat feels tight as he won’t meet your eyes. How badly had you screwed things up the night before?

“Right. I do have to get going. Just going to--” you gesture to the bathroom, and he nods. You make your escape into the shower and spend a little longer than necessary in there, trying like hell to figure out what you could have said to him.

It’s hours later before you see Bucky again. You and the rest of the bridal party are helping Peggy with finishing touches, and the photographer is taking action shots, the entire room a mix of blush pink and gauzy white.

Peggy is a vision - her hair curled and pinned in an old-fashioned style befitting a princess, and her lips painted her signature cherry red.

“Steve’s going to die,” you say, grinning at her, and she winks.

“Almost ready, girls?” She asks everyone else, and there’s a cheer before everyone begins to head out into the hall, gathering with the groomsmen to begin the walk down the aisle.

You’re blindsided by the sight of Bucky in his tux. You take a moment to be thankful you’re walking with Sam, not with Bucky, because surely he’d be able to hear the way your heart is pounding just looking at him.

He looks similarly awed, and your ego takes a moment to soak it up before you can feel embarrassed at the attention.

“You’re… you look great.” He says quietly.

“Thank you. You too.”

The smile he gives you is so soft, you can barely stand it.

“Okay Barnes, hands off my date.” Sam interrupts, linking your arm through his.

Bucky rolls his eyes. Before he can say anything else, the procession is starting, and you’re swept up in the romance of this moment finally happening.

Steve cries.

You do a little, too.

You catch Bucky looking at you with those intense eyes during the ceremony twice, and you’re suddenly more nervous than you’ve ever been, because you still have eight days left of your trip. Possibly eight more days rooming with Bucky if he doesn’t leave before you.

If the tension doesn’t kill you, sleeping in the same bed with him again will, for sure.

The reception space is even more beautiful than the ceremony, and even as you sit there, chin in your palm watching Steve and Peggy dance, you think you’ve never felt more romantic in your entire life.

You dance with Sam, and then Steve finds you, his eyes already a little glazed over.

“Come on, you can’t sit there all night.”

You huff as he finds your hand and tugs you out of your seat. “I haven’t been sitting here all night.”

“You’re not going to deny your best friend a dance. That’s that.”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

It’s quiet for a few moments as the two of you sway slowly, and when you look up at Steve, he’s only got eyes for Peggy, who’s dancing with Sam on the other side of the room.

“I’m happy for you, Rogers.”

He grins down at you, “When are you going to start trying to make yourself happy?”

You groan. “Steve, don’t.”

“I’m serious! Look… I know Bucky is… he seems serious sometimes, and it can be hard for him to open up, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one notices.”

The thought of it sends butterflies straight to the pit of your stomach, but there’s just no way that could be true. No matter how much of a romantic Steve Rogers is and how much he would love for his best friends to get together, it’s just not going to happen.

“Incoming,” Steve whispers, and you turn over your shoulder to see Bucky there, looking a little sheepish.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Steve steps away from you, and your eyes widen at him, panicking. “No problem,” he says to Bucky, “I’ve got a bride to get back to.”

Bucky takes a step closer. “Dance?”

As if on cue, the DJ plays something soft and slow, and you’re left powerless to resist Bucky and the way he’s looking at you - a little guarded, but still open and vulnerable. You feel like you have no choice but to take his hand, a shock working its way up your arm at the contact.

May my hands be the hands you hold onto When you let go of everything else May my arms be the arms that you fall into When the night gets too heavy to hold by yourself

You feel so self conscious as you dance with Bucky, his touch gentler than you ever allowed yourself to imagine it might be. He holds you close, your clasped hands resting over his heart, and you force yourself to enjoy this quiet moment with him.

If you're looking for a safe place to land I will guide you home And if the levy of your life breaks all your plans You'll never be alone

You think about the first time you met him - he was so different then. The same stoic Bucky Barnes you know now, but less quick to crack a joke or a smile. He stuck close to Steve and Sam, but it was clear to you that there was so much more to him than his outward appearance.

There’s the loyalty he shows to his friends. He’s smart - probably the smartest person you know, and so driven. He’s fiercely protective and is observant to a fault, the result of Army training he’ll probably never get rid of.

And -- you hate to admit it, but there was a time when you thought Steve was right. You’d catch Bucky staring out of the corner of your eye and think maybe, maybe there’s something there. And then like a switch flipped, he was quicker to argue with you, every little thing turning into a reason for the two of you to fight.

Now though, the gentle way he’s holding you and the scent of his cologne flooding your senses… you can almost trick yourself into thinking your feelings are reciprocated. That Bucky was just as nervous around you as you are around him.

The song comes to an end, and so does the moment.

If you dance with me Feel my heartbeat through your body to your feet If you dance with me Hold me in the dark now, until both your eyes can see And if it's you and me against the world If I'm your man, you're my girl We'll win you'll see, if you dance with me

Steve and Peggy are leaving in the morning for Paris for a few days, and then to Spain. You feel a pang of jealousy watching them leave the reception, hands and eyes locked together as if nothing could tear them apart.

For a moment, you so desperately want that kind of affection with someone else. You take a deep breath and force yourself to get it together.

“Share a cab back?” A deep voice behind you asks, and you’re surprised to see Bucky. He made himself scarce after your dance and you didn’t see him again for the rest of the night.

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

The cab ride to your hotel is nearly silent. Every small noise is amplified, like you shifting in your seat, and Bucky loosening his bow tie.

“Have you decided how long you’re going to stay?” You ask, finally, the one question that’s been plaguing you.

He looks at you, eyes impossibly blue in the streetlight glow. “A few days, I think. I have some… I have some stuff I want to see before I go home.” He shakes himself out of whatever memory he’s in. “You? The full ten days?”

You shrug. “If I can keep this room, yeah. I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation.”

Bucky nods, turning to look back out the window again. At the hotel, he helps you out of the car and pays for the cab despite your protests, and when you get inside the elevator, you’re struck again by how handsome he looks, flushed from alcohol and a little more tousled than usual; his bow tie hanging loose around his neck and his top two buttons undone.

He catches you looking once again, but you can’t look away. You know you’re not imagining this time how his eyes darken a shade, and you watch with rapt fascination as he licks his lips, leaning down ever so slightly -- the elevator dings and the doors open.

The spell is broken.

“Bucky?”

He shakes himself out of his thoughts almost physically, and then he’s walking away from you, heading towards the room without a backward glance.

The next morning, you and Bucky are tangled together so much that there’s no way you can get up without him waking up first. Your first thought is embarrassment, but then you just… give in. You let yourself enjoy it, only feeling guilty for a few minutes.

You’re so warm and you feel so protected… you once again curse Steve Rogers for making you think about your persistent crush on Bucky, because now you can’t get it out of your head.

“Morning.” Bucky’s voice is rough, and you jump, because he’s still got his arms around you. And he’s awake.

“Morning,” you say cautiously.

“Sorry,” he slowly pulls away from you, the tips of his fingers lingering on your arms. “I’ve been told I’m like an octopus in my sleep.”

Something about Bucky seems different first thing in the morning. His walls aren’t up.

“It’s okay. I’m not complaining about free cuddles.”

He smiles, you can feel it where his stubble scratches your temple. There’s something like giddy excitement brewing in you.

“Can I-- I have a favor to ask.” He says. “I have to go somewhere today… I-- if you don’t have plans, would you come with me?”

You crane your neck to meet his eyes. He looks nervous.

“Okay,” you say simply, because you think if he keeps looking at you like that, you’d follow him anywhere.

He tells you to dress casually, so you opt for a simple jeans and t-shirt outfit with a cardigan thrown overtop. You pack whatever you think you’ll need for a day in your backpack and follow Bucky out when he’s ready. He seems to know where he’s going, and you walk with him in comfortable silence.

He starts fidgeting the closer you get to a massive hospital, and when you get close enough to read the sign, you realize this must have been where he was taken for part of his recovery.

“Bucky--” You breathe, because this is too much. He’s trusting you with too much, and you’re not sure you deserve it.

“I--” He swallows hard, “The doctor who saved my arm still works here. I try to write as often as I can, but I thought a face-to-face visit was probably overdue.” He looks down at you, “I just-- I haven’t been here in years. I don’t think I can do it alone.” His words are measured and careful, and you realize how hard it must be for him to be here in the first place, let alone trusting you with something like this.

You feel tears pricking your eyes and you fight to keep them back. “Okay, Bucky. Yeah. Let’s do this.”

He smiles shakily at you, and on a whim, you reach for his hand. When he freezes, you realize you’ve gripped his left hand, the one with the scars encompassing his wrist and three of his fingers, the hand connected to the same arm that was nearly blown off in Afghanistan, the one that nearly cost him his life.

He doesn’t let go. If anything, he squeezes your hand tighter, and you feel another tendril of affection curl around your heart.

Inside, he introduces himself to the woman at the reception desk, and after a few questions, you’re directed towards an elevator and given directions to the floor the doctor’s office is on. You think Bucky has memories of this place for the way he leads you there with almost no words.

A quick knock on the door, and then he’s shaking hands and exchanging broad grins with a young woman.

“Sergeant Barnes!” She exclaims after letting go of his hand. “It’s about time you showed your face around here.”

Bucky is blushing and you’re so enamored with him you can barely stand it. While he’s talking, you dig your phone out of your pocket and text Peggy.

I know you’re on your honeymoon, but SOS! I need help.

Bucky turns to you, and you realize he’s trying to introduce you.

“This is Shuri. She’s the one who operated on me and helped me with PT after my injury.”

“It’s really great to meet you,” you tell her, trying to ignore her curious look.

“You as well.”

She and Bucky start talking again, and even though you can tell Bucky’s still a little nervous to be here, you’re enthralled by the sibling-like relationship he has with his former doctor.

“I want to make a donation,” Bucky says quietly. “I didn’t know who to go to about it. I want to give it specifically to this ward, to the work you’re doing.”

You feel like you’re intruding, but he keeps looking to you like he needs reassurance, so you smile at him.

“I’ve-- I’ve been putting money away over the last few years and I’m at a place now where I want to help.”

You send another text to Peggy.

Seriously, SOS!!!!! If you don’t call me soon, I’m going to do something I regret.

A minute later, your phone rings, and you excuse yourself to the hallway.

“Thank God.”

“Darling. I love you, but what could possibly be so important that you had to call on the first day of--”

“I think I’m in love with Bucky and I have no idea what to do about it.”

A choked noise comes from behind you and you whirl around, mortified to see Bucky there, eyes wide, pale.

“Oh, shit. Peggy-- I have to go.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Bye, love you.” You hang up quickly, and take a step towards Bucky before you even register you’re doing it. “Bucky--”

“Are you-- I heard you were talking to Peg, I thought something was wrong.”

“I’m-- oh God, Bucky, I-- I have to go.”

“Wait--”

Your tears are overflowing now. You’re so embarrassed, you have no idea how you’re going to look him in the eye, let alone sleep in the same bed as him.

Vision blurry, you decide to take the stairs two at a time instead of waiting for the elevator, and you’re gone before he can catch up to you.

Bucky’s ears are ringing as he stares after you. He feels like he has shell shock again - unable to comprehend anything that just happened.

“Need a chair, soldier?” Shuri asks him, clearly having overheard the entire thing, and he nods dumbly, basically collapsing into a chair near her desk.

I think I’m in love with Bucky.

Your words echo over and over in his mind, and he honestly can’t believe what he just heard.

Your friendship has always been complicated, but the way Bucky feels about you is simple. He’s crazy about you. Crazy for you, and terrified that he’s not good enough for you, so he’s pushed you away time and time again, despite all evidence pointing to the fact that you might like him too.

Sharing a room -- a bed -- with you has been every one of his daydreams come to life. (A lot less kissing, sure, but whatever)

Now this-- this revelation, it’s too much.

“All the most important events of your life seem to take place at this hospital, Bucky.” Shuri says, gentle teasing in her tone.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky groans, “What the hell do I do?”

“You’re going to go after her.” Shuri says simply, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. She rolls her eyes. “It’s obvious you’re in love with her too.” Bucky thinks he must look horrified, because she continues, “You’ve never brought anyone here before. I couldn’t convince you to come back even for a tour of the new labs. And the one time you do come of your own free will, you bring her. What does that tell you?”

A half hour later, Bucky has called you three times and has checked at the hotel twice, and now he’s at a park near the hotel, on a bench, having no idea what to do.

Of course that’s when Steve calls.

“I hear you’re having a crisis.”

Bucky groans. “‘M not having a crisis. A moment, maybe.”

“She told you she loved you?”

“She told Peggy she loved me, and I was eavesdropping, and she ran away crying.”

Steve is silent.

“Right? It’s bad. It’s so bad. Maybe if I’d just been… I don’t know. More talkative during this trip? Or maybe I should have just gotten my own room and saved us both the trouble.”

“Look, no offense, but you’re both so dense.”

Bucky scoffs. “Thanks.”

“I love her like a sister and love you like a brother, but everyone knows you two have a thing for each other. Why else did everyone steer clear of the two of you at the wedding? It’s obvious, dude.”

Bucky has never felt so stupid in his entire life. All these years, he tried to distance himself from you, sure that he was only going to get hurt if he put himself out there. He liked you too much to risk ruining a friendship, even if it was barely a friendship to begin with. Quick to argue and stubborn, you were also generous and kind, beautiful, and passionate about your work and your friends and your family.

You’re everything he’s ever wanted, and you terrify him.

And you love him.

Apparently.

He’s on his feet again.

“I have to go,” He tells Steve. “I’ll text you later.”

“Good luck.”

You’re back at your shared hotel room, trying to pack up and leave before Bucky finds you. It’s childish, sure, but you can’t take this anymore.

You’re going to get a new room at a different hotel, and try to salvage the rest of your vacation.

The door opens before you can finish zipping your bag, and you turn to see Bucky storming in, his face unreadable and a piece of paper in his hand.

“What the hell is this?”

You turn away. “It’s a note.”

You assume he’s noticed your bags. “Were you really going to take off and just leave a note that says you’re sorry?”

His hand on your elbow forces you to turn around, and you feel like you’re going to cry again.

His face softens. “Talk to me. Please.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. You were-- you were trying to do something for you, and my loud mouth just had to ruin it. I never meant for you to find out--”

“You were never going to tell me you’re in love with me?”

You blanche. “God, I mean-- I don’t know! It’s not… this isn’t easy…”

“You still think I hate you.”

You freeze, thinking back to your drunk conversation from a few nights ago. “I don’t think you hate me.”

“Good. Because I don’t. Far from it, actually.”

You try to squash the little seed of hope blooming in your chest.

“You know, when we first met, I was jealous of you. You were closer to Steve in a year than anyone else, and I didn’t know where I fit anymore. I didn’t understand what made you so special.”

Frowning, you try to turn away, but he won’t let you.

“But then I got to know you. I got to know how you care about people, and how you looked after Steve when he first got back. I learned how you do everything you can to make other people happy, but don’t try to do the same thing for yourself. I learned that you’re a lightweight and you’re a flirt when you’re drunk, and I learned that I--” He stops, catches his breath. “I learned that it only took me a few months to fall in love with you so deeply that I can’t see my way out.”

Your insides feel like mush. The touch of his hand slides up to your shoulder, and you feel more alive the closer he gets to you.

“I pushed you away, because you’re way too good for me, sweetheart. You always have been. You don’t need someone like me weighing you down. And when this room mix-up happened, it was both the best and worst thing to happen to me.”

“Don’t you dare,” you whisper, and his brows furrow, confused, as you continue. “Don’t you dare say you’re not good enough. You’re-- I’ve never met a better person than you, James Barnes. I think I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

You’re both silent, staring into each other’s eyes, the room crackling with the energy of confessions and tension.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re kissing, Bucky’s hand moving to the back of your head as his free arm slides around your waist to haul you against him. Fire licks through your veins as he deepens the kiss, barely letting you break for air before dragging you in again, consuming you entirely.

It could be minutes or hours that you’re kissing him in the middle of your hotel room surrounded by your luggage, but when you break apart, your legs are weak and he chuckles as he keeps you upright, a smug smile growing on his face.

“Shut up.” You say weakly.

“Don’t leave.”

You sigh, forehead leaning against his collarbones.

“I haven’t had a vacation in a long time either, now that I think about it.” He offers, head tilting to one side as he looks you over. “You think you could stand to room with me for another week?”

You can’t stop touching him; hands gliding over his shoulders as he noses at the spot behind your ears where you’re the most sensitive. “I might be able to be talked into it.”

He smiles, and it’s blinding. “I love you,” he whispers, right before he kisses you again.

Later that night when you call Peggy on speakerphone and tell her the entire story, Steve takes the phone and says “told you so,” before hanging up.

Bucky’s arms around your waist, you’re already thinking of writing the concierge who made the room mix-up a thank you card.

End

#FanFictionariesClassicTropeChallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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sleephyjhs · 4 years

Text

Seokjin’s Confession (HEADCANON)

[ m.list | requested by @soperaa ]

note: this got a lil bit long i’m sorry!

THE CONFESSION

i have to set the scene for this one

you’re already best friends with seokjin

regarding his demeanour

i really cannot imagine seokjin confession to someone who isn’t one of the closest people to him

oh wait hang on

just remembered the confidence this dude has

okay scratch that

maybe i could imagine it BUT for this you’re already best friends

you two get along like a house on fire

despite him being the actor he is

you could kinda guess he had a few feelings for you

sudden bashfulness and stuttering over words

which he NEVER does around you

by the time seokjin had realised how in love he was with you

it seemed to deep a friendship to ruin by potentially misplacing your kindness to him

and mistaking it as attraction

so instead

seokjin let his feelings for you bloom and flourish inside his own mind

until he could no longer contain his pure adoration for you

he’d spend at least a couple of weeks overthinking how he’d tell you

how madly in love he was with you

not too romantic, that’s a bit full on considering he doesn’t know how you feel

but not too casual. he doesn’t want you to think he doesn’t mean it sincerely

one passion you shared was food

your difference in home backgrounds meant that your staples were very much opposites

but you both made them well

well enough to initiate random dinner dates spontaneously

he knew that homemade food wasn’t a luxury you often enjoyed when studying at home

so he took it upon himself to make you the grandest delivery meal he could

rainbow bibimbap with extra sesame seeds, just how you liked it

kimchi fried rice with egg yolk mixed in

bossam - a staple in many of your feasts

even a few mini tubs of his mother’s kimchi that you so often praised

he stacked all of the delicious food items into a larger paper bag

not before writing his delicate message on the side where it was impossible to miss

instead of his usual star illustrations

seokjin doodled hearts of all shapes and sizes

little pen flicks to imitate popping bubbles and tiny sparks

before arriving, seokjin would let you know he was on his way over with a delivery

storming in during a lecture wouldn’t make the best impression on your professors

he knocked heartily on your door, listening closely to hear you scrambling through the corridor

you were greeted by his hearty smile

he help out the bag with both hands - you hadn’t anticipated this much food

“thank you so much, you’re an actual life saver.”

“of course! you should get back to your lessons, but make sure you inspect the bag first. make sure there aren’t any tears or anything...”

you narrowed your brows, but accepted his demand anyway

later that even

you sent a trembly text to seokjin asking for his location

he was at the studio

which was brilliant news for you

you spent the free part of your evening baking your simple yet signature shortbread biscuits

using your favourite dinosaur cookie cutters for extra personality

finally, you dug out your last remaining paper bag

which you were highly relieved you even had

and wrote your reply to jin’s proposal

mimicking the same heart and spark doodles

you interrupted what seemed to be a peaceful break between dance practices

“i bought you something! but maybe just inspect the bag first, make sure there aren’t any tears or anything...”

with all of his members eyeing up his delivery

his ears turned the brightest cherry tint after reading your acceptance

playfully embarrassing him seemed the only way to return his small gesture

and thankfully, it worked in your favour

THE FIRST DATE

comfy clothes was your dress code

of course it was

you were already as close as two peas in a pod

what was the need for formalities?

how causal was too casual though

this wasn’t a sweatpants occasion

but it wasn’t a ballgown and tiara event either

there was little instructions fo what to bring

“some of your favourite snacks. don’t worry about it, but bring them”

you picked up some of your favourite crackers and chocolate breadsticks

a can or two of bubble tea as well

his own apartment was your location

at least it was a place of familiarity

two introverts hardly ever cope with new surroundings well, right?

seokjin had seemingly matched you in outfit vibes

oversized jumper and oversized jeans

comfort appeared to be your shared priority

realistically

you felt no real obligation to impress seokjin

what was left you to show which he hadn’t already seen

he led you out to his balcony terrace

where the perfect set up was prepared for you

on the garden loungers was the perfect arrangement of pillows, blankets and handwarmers

a hamper or two full of snacks

quite a few of them too

not a completely unachievable amount though

over the pull-out washing line

he had slung a large white bed sheet

and sure enough, directly opposite waited a film projector

it was so typical

but yet so unique

grand gestures were neither of your ideal situations to find yourselves in

small and personal complimented you as friends

or more than

neither of you could wait to get the snacks open

an unofficial competition to open the most boxes you could was set

of course, you lost that one

but having the most orange fingers from the cheetos?

yeah that was all yours

he’d compiled a gathering of your favourite short films and animations

everything you loved to watch

everything that reminded you of your childhood

now had a reason to remind you of seokjin

hi honey! tysm for your request, i apologise for how late it is :< online school is harder than i thought it would be :<

#seokjin #bts #bts jin #kim seokjin #jin #bangtan #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts mtl #bts one shot #bts drabble #request #bts headcanon #imagine #fluff #bts fluff

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thegeminisage · 4 years

Note

what do you think are some of the biggest pieces of evidence for cas being ace? i've watched so much of the show in the past month that it all blurs together, lol, so i can't remember many specific scenes. i do remember "i'm utterly indifferent to sexual orientation" (though that wasn't about his own orientation) and cas' discomfort at idea of sleeping with women at the bordello in 5.03... anything else you can think of? I'd be interested to hear your thoughts!

rubs my hands together okay a List yeah i can do a list

wait actually first i wanna say that the biggest reason is because i’m asexual and i said so 0:) like i know that sounds a joke and it is a little bit but SERIOUSLY it’s just a general Aura or what the fuck ever about people. you know how sometimes a friend group formed in teenage years will one by one realize they’re all queers and they just grouped together organically? ace people are like that too. many of my closest friends have been aspec and i didnt even know that when i met them, THEY didn’t even know. but like if you asked me to list the ten people i was closest to over my life the huge majority would be aspec like me. we find each other In The Wild. so when i say he’s ace because i said so like i’m saying I’m Ace And I Can See Him. He Is Ace Because I Said So. my ace-dar is EXCELLENT

okay anyway with that out of the way here’s your actual list. obviously much of this can be a point in favor of many different readings of cas (and i’m not saying those can’t be true at the same time as ace cas!), but i’m ace and he’s ace and that’s what this post is about so i’m focusing on the ace parts. thank you.

list of ace cas evidence:

in general cas has a lot of trouble connecting with humanity at first which is an ENORMOUS ace mood

when dean cracks in the 4.01 deleted scene “yeah i have that problem with women” (after cas talks about the difficult in finding a vessel that can contain him) cas absolutely does not get that joke. we were having ace cas moments right from the get-go

it’s shown as early as 4.02 that cas doesn’t understand personal space. this is him not getting one single thing about human intimacy works and that he’s overstepping a boundary. it’s not just that he’s an angel (though that’s some of it) he just doesn’t intuitively understand physical stuff like that

that dean/anna kiss in 4.10. LOOK AT HIS FACE. that’s a face that says “i had no idea this is how humans were intimate with each other” and also “do i want to try that?” answer: maybe. dean’s very pretty. but something about it just feels like he’s going “whoa i never even CONSIDERED that” - like that to be sexy with the humans he’s into just didn’t occur to him

i know you said so already but WOW 5.03 brothel scene. THEEE ace cas moment

i’d also like to take a moment to tip my hat to 5.04. almost every aspec will have had a period of frustration and self-loathing where they thought at least once about maybe just having sex they weren’t into as a way to be “fixed” or to prove something. when aspecs are at their lowest and most broken, they are having sex they do not want to have. and when cas is at his lowest and most broken (in 5.04 AND 9.03, thank you), what is he doing? having sex! it’s just Interesting to me that the only times cas fucks is when he’s literally in the absolute worst points in his entire life

also, i’m getting out of order here, but that thing in 9.03 was absolutely rape. the way he talked about it after was THEEE most comphet bullshit i’ve ever seen. “that was nice.” “she was...sooo hot.” dean winchester can’t fool me and neither can cas thee tiel.

i know everyone was uncomfortable with the cherub in 5.14 but cas was SUPER uncomfortable. “no one likes it” yeah that’s cause he’s not a big touchy-feely dude

i actually really hate that porn scene in 6.10, but it is a classic “i don’t get it” moment + a side of “monkey see monkey do” later when he decides to mimic it and kiss meg. she started it - he’s just going “oh yeah i remember watching that on TV - like this, right?” he’s pleased with himself for correctly mastering a form of human interaction, he’s not, like, horny.

didn’t get the erectile dysfunction joke in 6.19

obviously, godstiel’s utter indifference to sexual orientation

strongly implied to be in a chaste marriage with his “wife” daphne when he was an amesniac

being repeatedly lobotomized in season 8 is its own can of worms. they were trying to make him straight. alas, it cannot be done

meg propositions him in season 8 and it takes him a bit to catch on. i don’t think accepting means he’s not ace, just that he’s interested in stuff humans do. would have been nice for his first time not to be with a psycho reaper who got him to trade his virginity for a pb&j :/

cas seemed REALLY nervous at the prospect of the date in 9.06, almost like it was something he had to steel himself to do - yet another weird part of human life he was resigning himself to, especially after metatron told him “go find a wife and have some babies” when his grace was taken

cas in season 10 is UTTERLY oblivious to hannah’s advances, even the ones that include nudity (and his own nudity at one point lol), and when he finally catches on he lets her down in the most awkward way possible

in season 11 he says he’s gonna take dean’s temperature and doesn’t see how that’s weird lol

he never got to truly speak to dean about his weird “””attraction””” to amara but i like to think he would have been equally confused

in season 12 in the hotel room where an orgy had clearly just taken place dean snickers and picks up the panties but cas is totally oblivious

ALSO completely oblivious when the waitress hits on him in season 12

this is a little bit of a stretch, but despite being named as jack’s “real” father, his relationship with kelly, his ostensible baby mama by proxy, seemed INCREDIBLY platonic to me. like they were such good buds! but he never had any of that romantic chemistry with her - there were no lingering notes or touches or whatever. he just wasn’t interested in that same way.

exasperated with gabriel and talking about porn stars in season 13 lol

canonically, castiel spent seasons 4-?? falling in love with dean, but he never made a move on him physically - yeah yeah the CW is homophobic but i like to think that most of castiel’s Urges where dean is involved are not in fact of a sexual nature. he wants to be close to him and important to him more than he wants to fuck him. you can long for someone in the ace way without longing for them sexually yk

this is part of why i actually really liked the 15.18 confession - the happiness was in the being, or whatever. he was already WITH dean in almost every way that mattered (i wrote a fic about this). they shared secrets, they shared burdens, they lived together, they fought and worked together, they even raised a fucking kid together! cas was convinced he couldn’t have more than that but also he didn’t really NEED much more than that and thinking about how he had been with dean all along was what made him happy enough to literally die. yeah there’s a version of that scene where the reciprocation was enough to do it but they accidentally hacked it into an ace love scene so i will TAKE it

this concludes my list! i bet it’s a lot longer than u were expecting

[spn masterpost]

edit: a few updates

#liz answers asks #anonymous #liz watches spn #liz's meta #liz's spn stuff #ace cas #long post #i'm sure there are more examples from s15 that i just...forgot...bc i only watched it once #and i can't bring myself to do it again lol

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milfjensenackles · 3 years

Text

devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

2k words | read it on ao3

Cas and Sam sat together in the War Room, attempting to drown out Dean’s screams with tense bursts of conversation.

Sam located Dean a few days ago after discovering that Crowley turned him into a demon. Dean was less than happy to leave Crowley behind for the bunker, so Sam ended up knocking him out and carrying Dean’s limp body to the Impala. Once he’d collected his brother, he called Cas for help. Cas was pissed, to say the least.

“How could you let this happen to him, Sam?”

Sam placed his head in his hands. “I thought he was dead!”

Cas folded his arms across his chest, still angry. He wasn’t really angry at Sam, though. He was angry at himself for not stopping Dean from taking on the Mark of Cain in the first place. All of this could have been prevented.

“Cas, I think the demon cure might kill him.” Sam said, choking up at the thought. “There has to be another way.”

Cas felt a chill run down his spine. Sam was right. “There is… one thing I can think of, but it’s very old magic. There’s no way to know if it would actually work.”

“Well? Spit it out!” Sam was becoming increasingly frustrated.

“True love’s kiss,” Cas said tentatively.

Sam’s eyes narrowed, his face incredulous at the suggestion. “There’s no way that’s actually a thing. And even if it was, who would Dean’s ‘True Love’ even be? Cassie? Lisa?”

Cas shrugged. “I hardly think it could be Lisa, Sam. Dean had me erase her memory.”

Sam huffed at that. Dean hadn’t been romantically interested in anyone in years. He barely even tried to pick up women at the bars they stumbled into after their more difficult cases. Dean hasn’t had a long-term relationship… pretty much ever. The only people he has a consistent relationship with are Sam and his best friend… Cas.

“Cas,” Sam said quietly, “What if… what if you’re Dean’s true love?”

Cas was stunned into silence. There’s no way it could be him. At the very least, Cas knew Dean wasn’t attracted to men. “Sam…”

Sam cut him off. “No, wait a second. Hear me out. You two have been through literal Hell and back for each other. You’re always obnoxiously staring at each other – and don’t try to deny it, I see the way you look at him. You care about Dean more than all of those angels. More than most other humans. You refused to kill Dean, even if it meant losing their support. Does all of this ring a bell?”

Cas was staring off into space, his lips pressed into a thin line. Sam was more observant than Cas had realized. Cas has known about his feelings for Dean for quite some time now. He still had trouble understanding them, though. Sometimes it was overwhelming, how much he cared for Dean. It felt like he might split open with the weight of his desire. Angels weren’t supposed to feel that way, especially about a human, so Cas pushed it away. A problem for another day. He supposed today was that day. Cas shook his head. “What about you? You are his brother. Maybe a kiss on the cheek from you would suffice.”

Sam tossed the idea around in his head before nodding. “Okay. We’ll try that first. But Cas, I’m serious. We’re running out of options here.”

Cas grimaced, but slowly nodded in agreement.

Sam and Cas made their way to Dean, prepared for the worst. What they weren’t prepared for, however, was an empty room, with Dean’s chair kicked over and his restraints undone. Sam and Cas looked at each other, mouths open in an ‘O’ shape.

“Fuck,” Cas swore.

Sam nodded. “Agreed.”

Cas and Sam split up, covering each corner of the bunker to try to sneak up on Dean. Cas ended up in a back hallway, praying to whatever might be listening that Dean was still in the bunker. As Cas rounded a corner, his prayers seemed to have been answered, as he runs right into Dean’s chest. The last thing Cas sees is blackened eyes before he’s slammed up against a hard surface.

Dean smirked at Cas. “Aw, the little angel thought he might stand a chance against me. That’s cute.” Dean slid the angel blade out from Cas’ hands, which were pressed above Castiel’s head now. Dean leaned in, only a millimeter from Cas’ face. Cas looked from side to side, hoping to find something that might help him out of his unfortunate position, but Dean had Cas pinned against the wall. Cas was out of options. He had to at least try, didn’t he? For Dean. Cas mustered all of his strength and pressed forward, attaching his mouth to Dean’s. It was clinical, almost. A simple press of lips. And then as soon as the kiss had started, it was abruptly ended by Dean pushing Cas off of him.

Cas slid to the floor, relief flooding him. Cas looked up at Dean. Dean had his hands pressed to his knees as he leaned against the opposite wall. He looked down at Cas, seemingly bewildered. “What just happened?”

Cas’ eyes widened. “Dean?”

“Hey, Cas. Why do I feel like I just got the shit kicked out of me? How did we get here? Why are you on the floor?” Dean reached out to help Cas to his feet.

Cas was speechless. He floundered for a moment, looking for the right words, before deciding to turn away and walk down the hallway, leaving a confused Dean behind him.

There was a knock at Cas’ door. He stiffened immediately, not looking forward to a conversation with either Winchester brother. Sam stuck his head in. “Were you gonna tell me you figured out how to fix Dean? He just walked up to me and asked about getting some pie and I almost fell out of my chair.”

Cas sighed. “My apologies, Sam.”

Sam moved to sit next to Cas on the bed, waving away Cas’ apology. “Whatever, dude. How’d you do it? Was it a spell?”

Cas debated his answer in his mind. If he told Sam, Sam might tell Dean, which would be humiliating. If he didn’t tell Sam, Sam would become suspicious of him. Before Cas could respond though, Sam took his silence as all the answer he needed. His face lit up with understanding. “You didn’t.”

Cas held his hands up in an attempt to stop Sam from saying anything more damning. “Sam, please. I don’t want Dean to find out.”

Sam looked confused, his eyebrows scrunching together. “Why not? This is incredible! You two obviously both have feelings for each other. Now you can go for it!”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I cannot simply ‘go for it’, Sam. I took advantage of Dean during a moment of weakness. He has no idea that I was the one who saved him, or how I managed to save him. It should stay that way. I don’t want to ruin our relationship. It’s Dean. He means too much to me to lose him.”

Sam seemed to ponder this information for a moment, before saying, “I think that’s all the more reason to tell him the truth.”

With that, Sam left Cas alone to his thoughts.

A few days, Cas was sitting in the kitchen with Sam when Dean rambled in, hair mussed and eyes bloodshot. Cas gave Dean a small smile, which Dean noticed and returned immediately. Cas had been avoiding Dean for the past few days, but luckily Dean didn’t seem to notice.

“How are you, Dean?” Cas asked.

Dean sighed. “Still not a hundred percent, but that’ll happen with demon possession.”

Dean winked at him. Cas felt his heartrate increase, the memory of their brief kiss still haunting him. Sam looked between his brother and Cas, a knowing smile on his face. Cas gave him a warning glare. Unfortunately for Cas, Dean saw this exchange. He pointed an accusatory finger between the two of them. “Are you guys fighting?”

Right as Cas said “No!”, Sam interjected with a louder “Yes, actually.” They both turned to glare at each other again.

Sam held up his hand to stop Cas from saying anything else, before leaning toward Dean to explain. “Cas and I had a… disagreement yesterday.”

Dean sat down across from the two of them. “Lay it on me.”

Cas tried to interrupt, giving Sam a pointed look. “Dean, you don’t want to listen to this. You’re still exhausted.”

“No, Cas, I think it would be good to get Dean’s perspective,” Sam smirked. “So get this, Dean. Cas here did something to a friend who needed his help. This friend might not have survived without Cas stepping in. Cas won’t tell this friend though! I think Cas should tell him. What do you think?”

Cas was furious with Sam and let him know with a single look. Sam looked slightly admonished, which satisfied Cas. Dean, however, was ignoring all of this to ponder what Sam had said. “I think you should let your friend know, buddy. They’d probably appreciate it.”

Sam clapped his hand on Cas’ shoulder, standing up from the table. “See, there you have it, Cas! I’ll leave you two to it.”

“What friends do you got that I don’t know?” Dean asked once Sam was out of earshot.

“None,” Cas responded through gritted teeth.

Dean scrunched his eyebrows together like he was doing mental math that didn’t quite add up. Cas could only imagine it: ‘If 1 + 1 =3, then Sam must be talking about Dean.’ This was the worst day of his very long life. Finally, after many excruciating moments, Dean spoke up again. “Was Sam talking about me?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dean.”

“Is that why you’ve been so cagey about the whole demon thing lately? What did you do? Should I be concerned about some weird angel mojo thing goin’ on inside me?”

Cas sighed. “No, Dean,” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “Sam and I were running out of ideas. We had to save you. I knew of only one way to do so. It is known as ‘True Love’s Kiss’. We were going to have Sam try it out by kissing your cheek, but you escaped. You located me first. I thought you might kill me, so… I had to try, Dean. I hope you can forgive me.”

Dean stood up abruptly, shocked by the information he’d just received. Cas didn’t know what to do, so he stayed seated, uncomfortably waiting for Dean to react. Dean walked over to where Cas was seated, staring at him with a complicated look on his face. Cas couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He didn’t have time to wonder, though, because Dean fisted his palm into the lapel of Cas’ trenchcoat and pulled him out of his chair, covering Cas’ mouth with his own. Cas immediately responded in kind, his hands moving to run through Dean’s hair. Dean’s tongue swiped across Cas’ bottom lip, and Cas gasped, which allowed Dean to better explore him. Dean’s hands travelled down Cas’ sides to his hips and pulled Cas closer. Cas moaned, and Dean swallowed the sound greedily. After what felt like hours, Cas forced himself to pull away and press their foreheads together, both of them breathing heavily.

Cas noticed Dean’s shoulders shaking, and he immediately realized that Dean was laughing. Cas was bewildered. “What’s so funny?”

Dean took a deep breath, trying to control himself. “So… you’re my ‘True Love’, huh? It’s like that fairytale garbage. We’ve been such idiots. All it took was me becoming a demon to figure it out.”

Cas smiled. “You’re the idiot in this relationship.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and said, “Oh, is that so?” before leaning in again, capturing Cas in another kiss that they both grinned into. Cas was overwhelmed. He never thought, in a million years, that this was how their story would come together. Cas still had a lot to learn about being in a relationship, and he knew Dean didn’t have much experience with it either. He understood now, though, that they had plenty of time to figure it out, and his best friend would be at his side through it all.

#i just started s10 and i love demon dean so this happened #deancas fic #destiel fic #deancas #destiel #first kiss #spn fic #lauren writes

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rk1kheadcanons · 3 years

Note

I have a prompt idea if you’re down, no rush at all! I just love the idea of rk1k meeting in college & it just being the first time either of them experience this real and deep love for someone. Like Connor is more on the reserved side & maybe was a lil sheltered, & while Markus is more outgoing he still approaches their relationship very carefully at the start. Both of their feelings for one another develop so strong so quickly, & maybe it scares them a bit and they don’t want to admit it to the other at first just how deeply they’ve fallen for each other because their relationship is still rather new, but it just ends up evolving into this really powerful/beautiful relationship. Can u tell I’m feeling soft rn lol

It's okay Anon, we'll be soft together.

When Connor first enters college, he's still awkward and feels like this is highschool 2.0 all over again. He has no high hopes of it being better than the good times (sharing anecdotes and movie quips with Kara and Chloe in Drama class) or worst than the bad times he experienced (bullying he experienced at the hands of Gavin Reed c/o the varsity football team and fighting with his own closeted feelings).

Connor expected his experiences to just...be.

Connor didn't come here for a good time; he didn't come here for any sort of time. All he intends to do is finish his criminology degree within these four years and dip.

Within a couple of months, he's more sure of himself. He's met some good friends like Simon and Daniel, and Simon's main squeeze, Josh. Daniel and he are best bitches 4 life at the start. He then meets North in English composition and the same happens all over again. The boss WLW and MLM solidarity were real.

He grows into himself with his friends. Now recognizes that he's a hot, gay bitch that has little time for messy people and likes to keep it that way.

He wears a camouflage of the 'shy, sweet type' so he can move around and be unseen easily even as he is constantly on the swivel, partly why he decided to become a detective: he was perfect for it.

His dad thought so too. Had said he would be so dangerous in their respective field because of how he was. He knew Connor was fucking manipulative and maniacal with the cutesy face and dangerous martial arts he'd learned-he'd raised him ofc. That adorable face was a damned front and Hank would guffaw when people fell for it.

Gavin Reed was the first to get his comeuppance senior year of high school and learn this. Connor had played the scared, shy guy- he'd then proceeded to beat the sounds and colors right out of Gavin's raggedy ass.

Now Connor had a damned fan. That bitch followed him to college he was so sprung n that ass whooping. Maybe he gave him brain damage?

Connor ignored him like he did everyone else on campus he wasn't trying to see. He remained reserved and clean-cut. Very few had seen the real him.

Connor had also vowed to not look for a relationship with anyone either in college. Bootycalls? Okay. Something to scratch that itch so he could remain focus on his studies, alright, but not a whole romantic situation.

Connor was just trying to get rid of Gavin for the umpteenth time since this year had started and of fucking course the rest of the football team was there. Gavin didn't know the meaning of "no" and "personal space" and was going to press the issue.

Here steps forward this God of a man. He checks Gavin and Connor's heart in a couple of words.

Gavin's threatened; Connor's titillated.

Markus Manfred enters stage left.

Stupid Markus Manfred and his stupid face, and his stupid heterochromia and stupid kissable mouth. Literally, fuck this dude.

No, literally, fuck him against some fucking lockers in the locker room after Markus winning game right now, get in him, because, because...

God, the way Markus chased his mouth with his own. The way he'd been stripped and lifted as he weighed next to nothing, the quick yet superb preparation on the fly and then the feeling of him quickly and effectively just getting inside... Connor's one leg shook with the stimulus, his other loosely hung around Markus waist for dear life.

Rip to his pants.

He can feel how he's being physically jostled by the other's larger hands, one on his side, the other under his thigh and it's just-

Connor's face is hot and flushed and he knows it. His damned eyes keep fluttering like he's seizing, mouth open and quite possibly drooling like he cannot control his facial muscles, control the noises pouring out of himself as every stroke inside of him touches that one sensitive spot just right.

His nails bite into Markus beautiful copper skin, flecked in freckles as Connor yells out his joyous release to everyone within a three-mile radius.

When it's said and done, they both had to recap how they even got into this scenario.

Neither were complaining, not really, just really taken aback that had happened out of the blue like that and felt so natural. Markus had been chiding Gavin about being a creep, to which Connor amended he was a stalking creep. It hadn't flown over we'll with Markus since he was the captain of the team.

Gav was hazed, he was pissed and retreated. They had stayed and talked to each other. Just talked. Markus invited him to that evening game to which Connor advised he'd already be at because he was a band member. It was early and they had parted but that whole day was filled with happenstance's of Markus appearance and talking to him. The pull had been strong.

The attraction was overwhelming and it was a bit terrifying for both parties to admit. They had just been talking to each other. Nothing significant or substantial.

Markus felt maybe he was riding a gaming win high along with his obvious attraction to Connor.

Connor felt like maybe it was mutual attraction and appreciation for him.

They both left it at that. Where Connor had not seen Markus before, he now began seeing him everywhere: in passing, in some classes, he acts as a student assistant for additional credit and functions.

Connor being in the college band and having a very beautiful jock show him this sort of attention was flattering he has to admit, and that he's a bit curious about him.

Markus asks him out on an official date.

Connor really wants to scoff at him because the scared, nerdy kid inside of him says this is a trap, he's doing this for an elaborate prank, that this is somehow tied to Gavin and you will regret this.

Connor has a hard time believing that someone that looks like Markus would genuinely be interested in a person like him. Then again, he had just blown his back out magnificently not that long ago.

Markus is all warm and fuzzy, bubbly and chipper and Connor gets drunk on the free serotonin every time they meet.

He takes the plunge and says yes to the date and has never regretted it.

The conversation is immaculate, the expectations realistic and superb, and Markus is not just a jock: he's down to earth, adopted into money but lives simply. He wants to be a painter like his dad...

His father is the Carl Manfred, the famous painter and Connor feels like he had an aneurysm.

Connor tells Markus about his Lieutenant Dad, Henry 'Hank' Anderson. How he was the youngest lieutenant on the Detroit police force and Markus stupidly and excitedly smiles and says "I know! I was such a fan of your dad. He helped my dad when art thieves were stealing one-of-a-kind art from the museum!"

Connor is so damned smitten with this lovely creature that it's insane. He thinks he really might lo..like Markus a lot.

Connor's thoughts derail at the word choice a scowl on his face. What was he, 10?

Markus would run away so damned fast if he said those words to him. Just because they'd been going out and now regularly intimate didn't make it love, right? Why, then, did it bother Connor that it felt so right only with this man?

Markus notices the sour disposition Connor has, tries to get him back into the conversation, and even though Connor says he's okay, Markus knows that he's withdrawn from the conversation fully.

Unbeknownst to Connor, Markus had his strong feelings as well over the matter.

He was feeling Connor hard. It blindsided him and he knew that he needed to talk about this with Connor, lest one or both of them get hurt.

They both had fallen hard, much harder than they thought they would.

Instead of that talk Markus promised himself he was mature and level-headed enough for them both to have or even Connor just acknowledging the truth of the matter, they left the relationship in a sort of limbo, as is, neither wanting to face that four-letter word headlong in such a brutally honest way, fear that maybe just maybe what each of them had been feeling wasn't that and neither wanted the hurt if it wasn't L O V E.

I have more ideas on this one but I'll cut it for now because it's huge for a Tumblr post, lol. If it gets some interest, I have no problem with continuing it in another post of my own. HMU if you do like like. 😘

#rk1k #rk1000 #conkus #anonymous #college au #dbh #detroit become human #citrus #🌸 post #a literal story lol

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shimmershae · 3 years

Text

Just watched the episode and I’m going to have a lot of thoughts for you, most of them probably bordering on incoherence (LOL) so this is your last chance to nope on out of this post because I’m going to go ahead and put everything else behind a cut to save the eyes that do not want to see any spoilers at all. Unlike mine, that very much wanted to see but in a lot of cases? Could not see shit, but I digress.

Shae’s stream of consciousness coming at you in 3-2-1.

First of all, can I saw how good it is to have my show back again? Like, no. I don’t quite have Season 5 levels of excitement about the new/last season, but it is definitely nice to have all these characters back.

So all these thoughts of mine. Okay. Bear with me because there be a whole lot of them, lol.

My immediate impression as the episode opened was WHOA. Such a cool shot of Daryl with one light wing, one dark wing (representing the two sides to Daryl maybe--the man of honor versus the man he was raised to be, hmm?) looking out over some dark vista of something. Seriously. It’s dark. My room is also dark at the moment and still I was squinting to see. To make out what I’m “looking” at. I really, really hope the rest of this season isn’t this hard to make out.

Is that a tank? Kinda sorta a callback to Rick’s first episode? If so, cool. If not, well. Us fans have always put way more thought into things. For real. Change my mind.

Holy intense eye contact, Batman! Daryl Dixon has literally never looked at anyone--not BethusConLeah--in quite the same smoldering way as he looks at Carol. It’s next level. I don’t know why people be fooling themselves into thinking different.

Let’s see. I can make out--besides Daryl, Maggie, and that face mask dude I already forgot the name of--Kelly, Magna, Jerry (who’s that with him?), and Carol. Sorry. My world, like Daryl’s, inevitably narrows to Carol. She’s loking fierce and fine AF per usual.

Was that Rosita I noticed rewinding to relive Daryl eye-fucking Carol?

I’m guessing this is the army base they talked about in 10C.

That Walker perking up like “I smell food--pancakes and bacon and oohhhh” has me giggling inappropriately right off the bat. WTF.

Look at all my fabulous ladies tiptoeing through that Walker minefield. And Carol spotting that gun that might be useful right away. Listen, if you don’t think her mind ain’t always ten steps ahead of everybody else’s, you’d be wrong.

So. Are these Walkers just so old and feeble not even the call of fresh meat attracts them? Because just tiptoeing through their midst without the knockoff Lady Gaga meatsuits or skin masks has never really worked before that I can remember.

I just want to see most of this season. Is that really too much to ask? Don’t X-Files and Game of Thrones us, Angela. Please and thank you very fucking much.

Okay. Is the one drop of blood thing making anybody else have 28 Days Later vibes? Kinda? Sorta? No? Just me? Okay then. Carry on.

Wait a minute, though. How they be explaining how Daryl keeeps acquiring all these new tats all the time? Hmm? It’s like they just quit giving a shit about continuity in these latter seasons.

I mean. Do Walkers sleep now? LMAO. What is this? I guess they’re constantly evolving?

There’s my baby Lydia. Love my smol bean.

Alright though. I love to see the ladies of TWD kick some ass. It’s very gratifying. Gimps would never. Thank you, Angela.

Clever, resourceful, calm and collected, quick thinking Carol to the rescue! Seriously. Her haters must be withering away inside with absolute envy.

Hey, ya’ll. Remember when Carol was still mastering her sharpshooting skills at the Prison yard and shot at Rick’s feet? Her little “sorry, sorry”? LOL. If Rick could only see her now. Wait. He already knew what so many of his stans refuse to acknowledge--Carol=ultimate survivor and true savior to the group many times over.

Maggie’s got herself a gun, too. Go my badass girls.

Of course, Carol’s got everybody’s back. Of fucking course, Daryl’s got hers even when everybody else seem frozen in some kind of awe or stupification or something. Microcosm of the whole damn show right there.

Carol’s like “here’s your knives, love of my life.”

Eh. Maybe that’s just me.

Nah. She’s totally thinking it, too.

YAS! YAS! Norman Reedus and Melissa McBride with the top billing. How very far my babies have come.

Listen. I miss all the characters we’ve lost. Absolutely. But I love the ones that are still with us, that have been with us for so very long so hard. Whether I love their stories or decisions or not.

Is that THE Alexandria sign? That sign’s been through some shit.

DOG! Daryl kneeling to embrace our Grimes babies has me all up in my feels. And how cute is Dog getting all excited and making sure he’s the first one there to welcome back, Daddy?

Hershel is literally just as puppy dog cute as Glenn ever was. Really some Grade A casting.

What did Maggie call Mr. T? Ducky? Dougie? Sometimes with Maggie? I really cannot tell. Anyway. He’s Mr. T. for me until I find out differently, probably through rewatching with close captioning, lol.

Maggie’s got more people. So. Some new redshirts to sacrifice for plot purposes. I don’t know if I should bother learning their names or not.

I seem to remember Meridian being mentioned in one of the episode synopses.

Sophia’s hair tie around Carol’s neck will never fail to be an emotional throat punch. My heart.

“They come at night and by the time you see them, you’re already dead.” Welp. Guess that means we ain’t seeing shit for at least this first third of the season, lol. Very horror-eque though.

“You’re leaving to fight ghosts.” Aaron, to Maggie. So I see Aaron’s the type to get the hell outta Dodge when the Boogeyman comes calling, hahaha. Least he was. In the old world.

Rosita’s pissed off expression at Gabe’s decision to volunteer for the so-called suicide mission gives me life.

My baby Carol is tired AF of suicide missions. You can tell. Also? Methinks she has something to prove to Daryl here. Or at least feels like she does.

Dog with his little tactical vest. I love it.

I guess I get why they had Carol and Rosita stay behind. They had to more evenly split up the badassery to make things more fair and balanced, lol.

Okay. So Negan’s definitely earned everybody’s disdain. But they’re being woefully short-sighted by not at least hearing the dude out. Isn’t he at least native to the area?

“That is God telling us to turn around.” I’m actually on Negan’s side with this one, but Gabe answering him with “I’m pretty sure he would have run that past me first” has me howling with laughter. Father Gabe has gone straight up savage in these last couple of seasons. Rosita’s influence, perhaps?

I see what Angela is doing. Trying to make Negan the voice of reason. In this particular case? It’s kind of working. I’m still ultimately on Maggie’s side with this though BECAUSE GLENN.

Imagine showing up to work and unironically dressing like a storm trooper every day. Excuse me while I LOL.

Even in the ZA, there’s bullshit paperwork.

“Pumpkin colored spacesuit.” Good one, Ezekiel.

LOL forever. I love Princess.

“Michonne. Our Michonne shut people out of Alexandria for years.” Timely reminder that choices aren’t always perfect. Neither are people.

WTF is reprocessing? Sounds ominous. LMAO at Eugene’s “Okay. We gotta go.”

What in the actual hell with all those bagged, squirming undead? Creepy AF in that subway tunnel.

Should I just go ahead and call that the Easter bunny? We’ve had some version of it pop up since Season 1.

Is it stubborn pride with Maggie or what? Why go through with something when all signs point toward the wisdom of stopping? You can argue that she’s acting similarly to Carol last season, but there’s a huge difference here folks. Carol did her damndest to Lone Wolf that shit and minimize the danger to those she loved. Maggie’s straight up enlisting those she “cares about” to carry out her mission of revenge or vengeance, what have you. Let’s see if she gets near the amount of hate for it. Personally, I don’t blame her for her feelings one bit. They are valid. But her knowingly drawing the others into the game? That’s my sticking point. That’s how she and Carol differ, even if some people refuse to see or accept it. Anyway. Hopping right on off my soapbox.

“Why don’t you get up on your little tippy toes and try?” Omigosh, I’d dying. When I tell you I about passed out with laughter, I do not exaggerate. I should hate Negan forever and I do. Really. But I adore JDM and he frequently makes me LOL. He’s made Negan entertaining if not completely redeemable since Angela took over and more layered so I say kudos.

He has a point about Maggie playing dictator. Damn you, show, for slanting the writing just that smidgen that makes Negan make sense over his victim. I guess, though, it’s better this way. Gives both characters more shades of gray.

“He’s a dick but he makes sense.” I feel like this is Angela calling us all out when we dare to harbor any lasting resentment toward Negan for what he did to Glenn.

Speaking of--Negan. You deserved Daryl’s punch to the mouth. You just went a bridge too damn far.

“Keep pushing me, Negan. Please.” Warning shots fired, Asshole. You better watch yourself around the Widow Rhee.

Have I mentioned how much I love Princess? Her shipping the Commonwealth guards is killing me, lol. I can’t wait ‘til she meets Carol and Daryl. She’s going to have their number in two seconds flat.

I like Ezekiel and Princess as a duo. I’m not saying romantically necessarily. I just like them in scenes together because they’re fun. There’s sort of a protective indulgence Ezekiel seems to telegraph whenever they’re in scenes together. Like he’s like don’t hurt this one. I don’t know. For all these words I’ve written, I can’t quite find the ones to adequately describe what I mean.

The wall of the lost gives me such Battlestar Galactica feels. What sad thoughts it inspires.

Eugene in that Commonwealth gear. Omigosh, lol. So did they just sneak up and take Princess’s little Commonwealth ship’s gear when they were sneaking off on their own to have a quickie?

Princess finding that note for Yumiko on the wall actually gave me chills. Yeah. I’m easy. Just the suggestion of someone getting reunited with lost family gets me all up in my feels. Yumiko saying “I have to stay”? I felt that.

Oh no. Dog ran off! Somebody protect my favorite fictional puppy. Of course, Daryl goes after him. He’s always been the sweet one. Merle said it.

Eh. Negan taking Maggie’s hand at the end there would have smacked too much of Negan Sue and Maggie’s biggest plot of the season would have been prematurely dealt with so I get why they did what they did. But c’mon. It’s not really that big of a cliffhanger, is it?

Okay, so Angela calls those sleeping beauty Walkers “Lurkers” and I get it. Apparently they’re a bigger deal in the comics, but I really don’t remember seeing them all that much on the actual show. Somebody jog my memory.

Of fucking course, you can actually see what’s happening in the inside the episode clips. I wish we could choose to view the episode with that lighting because some of us be blind. And this time I mean in the more literal sense. Not the figurative one.

Anyway. I’m going to stop trying to write a novel for ya’ll and move on to better things. Like maybe a nap. Maybe some early dinner. I don’t know. I’m tired AF and need a little recharge.

Before I go, though? Overall impression of the episode? I liked it. There were parts that I loved (all the ladies being badass, every second of Carol, Daryl reuniting with the Grimes babies and Dog, all things Princess, some of Negan’s one-liners about had me busting a gut, Rosita serving looks, Kelly and Lydia getting to be badass too) and parts I didn’t love (not being able to see a damn thing, Angela trying to tip the scales in Negan’s favor, not enough Carol or Aaron or Rosita, no reunion between Aunt Carol and the Grimes babies even though that picture floating around suggests it was at least shot, not being able to see a damn thing, all the Alexandria people playing follow the leader for Maggie when she’s been gone 6 years and Daryl’s right there--hell, even Father G deserves the honor over her because it’s obvious they’re not exactly on the same wavelength anymore).

I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m just glad to have our show back.

Later, lovelies.

#The Walking Dead #Season 11 #spoilers #TWD spoilers #things that make me smile and cry #and giggle and giggle

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phis-corner · 4 years

Note

Chloe and/or Kagami?

character asks!

First impression

Chloe: your stereotypical high school bully, I guess. was literally designed for the viewer to dislike her, and I did, because she was a combination of every person who’s ever bullied me in school.

Kagami: the stereotypical asian child portrayed in western media. perfect grades, insanely talented, never loses, doesn’t have a social life or social skills, etc etc. I love her because I can relate to her but also Ass-truck did this because he’s a racist scumbag and he can go set himself on fire because not all Asian kids are like this.

Impression now

Chloe: canon is being fucking terrible to her and I hate it because they gave her a shot at redemption. and she was doing really good at trying to be a better person too, and then they just shot it all down for no good reason. so yeah, I hate canon Chloe because she’s a bitch.

Kagami: that poor child has grown up under a woman who rules her household with an iron fist and has no fucking idea what qualities she should look for in a romantic partner, as proven by her ‘crush’ on Adrien. she likes him because she believes he’s perfect, and so together, they’ll make the best match because she’s also perfect. there are so many things wrong with that dfkjdfjdf

Favorite moment

Chloe: when she went “SORRY, DADDY” and then Venom’ed her own father. granted, he was akumatized at the time, but still. iconic.

Kagami: those precious awkward smiles on the bridge during that one episode where Marinette and Kagami had to work together for friendship day or something

Idea for a story

Chloe: one of these days, I want to give this girl a happy ending. I don’t know what kind of happy ending because I suck at happy endings, but she fucking deserves one.

Kagami: she completely snaps and rebels against her mother, doing everything she’d never been allowed to do and actually starts acting her age and not like a mature adult because she’s just a fucking kid stop putting so much pressure on her. either ends up with Luka or realizes she’s aroace because I honestly like it either way since Luka is a great guy.

Unpopular opinion

Chloe: uhhh idk what’s what in terms of popularity but that girl needs therapy and a lesson in empathizing with other human beings (and coming from the autistic person who lowkey cannot empathize with others, that’s bad)

Kagami: definitely not an unpopular opinion and it’s not really about Kagami but THE DRAGON MIRACULOUS SHOULDN’T BE THE MIRACULOUS OF FUCKING PERFECTION, ASS-TRUCK. THE POWERS ARE WIND, WATER, AND LIGHTING. DOES THAT LOOK LIKE PERFECTION? IT SHOULD BE THE FUCKING ELEMENTS, OR WEATHER, BUT NOOOOO ASS-TRUCK HAS TO GO AND BE EVEN MORE RACIST BECAUSE HAVING KAGAMI BE YOUR STEREOTYPICAL ASIAN CHILD WASN’T ENOUGH, YOU HAD TO MAKE HER MIRACULOUS SYMBOLIZE PERFECTION EVEN THOUGH IT MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE-

kay i’m done now

Favorite relationship

Chloe: honestly i don’t like the way Chloe interacts with anyone in her life, but the butler dude whose name has Jean in it does his best I think.

Kagami: Kagami and Marinette’s relationship is so underrated

Favorite headcanon

Chloe: idk i don’t think about her all that much tbh

Kagami: she’s actually very very not attracted to Adrien but she just doesn’t know what romantic attraction is yet because her mother is apparently incapable of affection like my parents no offense to Tomoe Tsurugi because I’m sure she does her best though. some people are just emotionally constipated

#asked and answered #ask game #arin :D

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life-through-my-eyess · 3 years

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Hello!!! i’m here seek advice, please help :’)

(apologizing in advance for any mistakes, forgive me english isn’t my first language </3)

So i’m a 19 year old girl, I have a wonderful girlfriend and she’s the only person I want to be with for the rest of my life, and our relationship is everything I have ever wished for. 💖

Problem is: I have no idea if i’m bisexual or lesbian… Let me explain! All my life, through out kindergarten, middle school and high school, i’ve only ever had crushes on other girls. And late high school (and now, university) i’ve only ever been in LOVE with a girl! (my GF, let’s call her “L”)

Now, “L“ and I have been together for about 4 years (yay!) and we’re both very happy and satisfied with each other. (emotionally, physically, intimacy, etc!) And it’s worth mentioning that she’s the first person i’ve ever dated, I have not been with any man or woman before in any sort of relationship.

So.. this is all I know, you know? like I’m very happy that my first dating experience (plus: with a woman!!) is a very a satisfying and fulfilling one, however, I do not have any experience with the opposite sex. But the idea of me dating a man, being intimate with one, or being pleasured by a p*nis makes me uncomfortable. I could never imagine myself marrying a man, having kids with a man or having children from a man either. And this isn’t just because i’m happily taken, this has been my thought process ever since I was a little kid, and have been like this WAY before I even knew “L”.

I know exactly what you’re thinking: “you’re obviously a lesbian!” Right? well.. here’s where the issue comes in. People say lesbians cannot be attracted to men. And here’s me, attracted to men, but not in a “i’d fuck that guy” kinda way, but more like when i see a cute/handsome/good looking dude I can acknowledge that, y’know? Like oh look that’s a fine looking man right there, like I appreciate the beauty or whatever, and would not hesitate to look twice at a nice faced fellow. (wether he’s masculine or feminine doesn’t matter either) I am however not interested in getting to know any guy for the purpose of romantic or sexual attraction. (I’ve been like this as long as I can remember)

This is a bit embarrassing to admit, but I have actually had a “crush” on a male, ONCE! And guess what, he is not real LOL, he’s a fictional anime boy and was the first dude i’ve ever “wanted to be with”, I was 11 years old. And what’s even more embarrassing is that i used to read “character x reader” fanfiction, because that’s how much I “loved him”… yikes! Anyways I got over him after like a year, and now he’s just my favorite character, but yeah…

So, my simple question is: am I a lesbian or a bisexual?

Hey, bud let me tell you. Your English is freaking dope, well done 👏. Should be proud of yourself 🥰.

Honestly that’s so sweet, that’s really cute and adorable.

The thing is, you don’t need to label yourself or rush into anything. Take your time and take it easy, don’t rush into labels or feel like you need to because you don’t. You see, lesbians can find men attractive and find them handsome. For sure I see men and I’m like oOOooOo he’s good looking and handsome and everyone’s like, “aren’t you gay”, like bruh doesn’t mean I can’t find a man handsome. Im gay not blind?. Anyways, it’s normal and it doesn’t mean your bisexual. I find them handsome but not in an objectifying way like I want to do shit with them. I don’t objectify women let alone men.

I hope this has helped I didn’t want to make my response so long because I can talk for the whole of England 😅😂. But honestly, this doesn’t mean your Bi and being gay doesn’t mean you can’t be attracted to the opposite sex. It’s your world and don’t allow anyone to tel you how to run it especially not society.

I hope you had a lovely day and thank you for asking and stumbling across my blog. Best of luck with your girlfriend, hold her close as it is so hard to find anyone decent. Take it easy, you got this 💕👏

#anonymous #advice #my ask #tell me about your crush #send asks #girl who loves girls #uk lesbian #gay blog #gwlg

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jacmyheroacademia · 4 years

Text

Hanahaki Bakugo X FemReader Part Three

Writers: Jac and Zeptikye Warnings: Mentions of blood, sickness, and medication Pairing; Bakugo X Female Character All Chapters

[Hey guys! Here’s a longer chapter, sorry for the delays in posting! Also I should have a master list up for this fic sometime today! -Jac]

Katsuki was woken up by the sound of the door opening, immediately jolting himself from sleep as he didn’t recognize this room as his own. Recovery Girl set another glass of water on the nightstand next to him, setting her hands on top of each other on her cane.

“I believe that you should be able to go to class.” she said simply.

Katsuki’s eyes widened in surprise, “Oh shoot-” he muttered as he sat up quickly- “What time is it?” He asked, reaching for the glass. “An hour before Mr. Aizawa should be beginning class. However, the situation’s currently out of my hands as all I can do at this point is provide you with the medication and painkillers if you choose to take them. Since Hanahaki is a rare disease that stems from strange trauma, I cannot force you into a confession; it has to come naturally. So, I believe that you should return to your regular daily life with that kept in mind.”

Katsuki swore quietly, “alright.” he muttered simply, glancing down as Recovery girl put a small bottle of pills on the nightstand that made his heart lurch a bit and the flowers in his lungs flutter as if they knew what was coming.

He thinned his lips, his mind mulling over the different options and opting to grab the bottle of painkillers instead. Recovering girl sighed softly but nodded, “Take two a day until you are hopefully able to confess- and never take more than that dosage alright.” she told him firmly.

Katsuki nodded, hesitating a moment before pocketing the other bottle and heaving himself to his feet to move towards the door.

“Oh- and Bakugo.” she said as she moved with him to the door, “A confession is still the easiest way to relieve the pain weighing you down. The medication is not supposed to be a permanent solution.” he paused a moment before he grunted with a nod, not hesitating any longer as he immediately jogged down the hall to head back to the dorms to get ready for class.

[Y/N] rubbed her eyes as she tied her tie, having gotten very little sleep last night. She could feel the pills recovery girl had given her begin to kick in, frowning at the heavy feeling they added. She had told Recovery girl earlier in the night that she didn’t want the pills or the surgery, but until she confessed to Bakugo Recovery girl had recommended she take the suppressant pills anyway so as to not let the rose thorn cause any further damage. She closed her eyes for a moment with a sigh, slowly picking up her backpack and trying not to allow the medication to affect her too much.

Her throat wasn't hurting as badly, but the emotional side effects were weighing on her heavily already and it hasn't even been a day.

She sighed quietly, closing her eyes and holding a hand in her hair for a moment. “Ok…” She mumbled, running through the schedule again in her mind. She would have a period of time from just after classes to around eight p.m where the medication would wear off and she would have to take pain killers- Recovery Girl had warned that taking it any sooner would cause negative effects, but taking it a minute late and her flowers would flare up again.

She sighed as she looked at the ground … She would need to confess to Bakugo soon- she knew that the medication wasn't supposed to be permanent- but she was having trouble thinking of a situation where Katsuki would ever return her feelings.

[Y/N] sighed, rubbing her temples. She didn't want to lose the relationship she currently had with him- she genuinely liked having him as a friend… But it seemed that option had been taken from her. It was either she confessed and he somehow miraculously accepted her- or she got surgery.

She felt tears well up behind her eyes as she stared in the mirror … How could Katsuki Bakugo ever accept feelings from someone like her?

She clenched her teeth, the numbing feeling pounding down on her body preventing any real opinion she could give.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly before finally turning to her door to leave her dorm. [Y/N] moved out of the building in what almost felt like a daze- her thoughts running blankly.

“[Y/N]- [Y/N]!” She finally heard Uraraka's voice calling to her as she stepped into UA, [Y/N]s eyes widening. “Oh! Yes? Sorry?” She asked quickly.

She gave her a slightly sad smile, gently tapping her shoulder. “You ok?” She asked softly, [Y/N] nodding softly with a quiet smile. “Just tired, sorry.. what was it?” She murmured with a quiet smile. Uraraka shrugged, “just wanted to know if you were feeling any better” she said honestly as they walked.

[Y/N] kept her smile on her face, shrugging. “On and off…”

Uraraka nodded, “well I hope you feel better! Recovery girl gave you some stuff to help right” She said off handedly.

[Y/N] nodded weakly, “Yeah- nothing permanent but its supposed to help.” she told her.

Uraraka nodded opening her mouth like she wanted to ask something else but they were quickly interrupted when they walked into the usual commotion of the classroom. She blinked quickly, every sound that reached her ears sounding amplified.

She grimaced painfully as she ducked her head, “sorry- I'm gonna go sit down-” she told Uraraka briefly, making her way to her seat and pulling out her headphones to hopefully block some of the noise.

Her already sensitive ears ached, her lungs following after and causing [Y/N] to screw her eyes shut and set her head on the desk. She set some soft white noise to play on her phone, hoping someone would tap her on the shoulder when Aizawa began teaching.

She kept her head down, her jaw tight and her posture stiff. She closed her eyes as she felt a deep numbness cover her sadness- it was a horrible feeling, and it was only day one.

The medication dampened her despair towards it- but [Y/N] still knew it should be there and could feel it's absence- knowing she wanted to be done with this as soon as she could.

She felt a tap on her shoulder after a few more minutes, [Y/N] pulling her gaze up blurrily. She pulled her headphones from her ears, being able to handle the noise now that it was just Aizawa speaking.

Her eyes scanned the classroom, getting caught on the back of Katsuki’s head, the angry blonde slouched in his chair as usual, [Y/N] feeling a soft tint of blush meet her cheeks as she thought about him. The comfortability of him being there actually being one of the only emotions she could feel a little deeper.

She subtly shook her head, trying again to focus on what she should be. She opened up her notebook to take a few notes on what Aizawa was saying, glancing at the short list she had made the night before of prospective ways to confess to Katsuki- recovery girl has said it might help tame the flowers a bit.

[Y/N] chewed on her lip as she read over them, huffing a small sigh. She was still so new to the idea of love, to the strange feeling in her stomach she now recognized as romantic attraction, even if it was dulled by the medication. But it didn’t change the fact that none of the ideas on the list really felt like … her- or like anything Katsuki would particularly like.

[Y/N] sighed, shaking her head as she folded the list and pocketed it- not finding anything in it that would actually help. Right now she needed to focus on her school work, she would think better about the situation with Katsuki when she wasn’t supposed to be paying attention to something else anyway.

Class seemed to drag on for two times longer than it should have, [Y/N] already tired. By the time the bell finally rang she was already feeling ready to go back to the dorms, forcing herself to sit up a bit straighter as Aizawa left the room to be replaced with Present Mic. She furrowed her brows, closing her eyes a moment and taking a deep breath- as her aching throat has caused her to breathe shallow and therefore have a moment of dizziness.

“Hey- you okay?” Momo asked in concern from behind her, Todoroki looking to her earnestly as well. “You seem really tired- if you want me to take notes for you I can.” She offered, Shoto nodding as well.

[Y/N] forced a smile and shook her head. “I can make it, I don't want to bother you.” She murmured. Shoto seemed to see right through that excuse, giving her a piercing look that had been perfected over a year of the two of them being able to practically silently communicate.

‘what's actually going on?’

She shrank slightly, ducking her head. She sighed, discreetly signing a miniscule response.

‘not right now.. please? I'll tell you later.’

Shoto looked concerned but nodded anyway, Momo looking between the two of them and pulling out her phone to give them at least a bit of privacy, Shoto reaching forward and squeezing her hand.

A soft smile managed to pull it's way across her lips, [Y/N] gently squeezing back and moving her fingers up to sign a silent ‘thank you.’

Shoto nodded, offering a miniscule smile onto his face before leaning back in his chair, [Y/N] happy to be reminded she had a friend to talk to. She sighed as she sat back in her chair, closing her eyes a moment before refocusing her brain. It was going to be a long day.

…

Katsuki growled as he stuffed his things in his backpack quickly, forcing his way past people and towards the bathroom as he felt another freaking peony try to make its way up his throat. He clenched his jaw together, silently cursing.

The day had moved excruciatingly slow as Katsuki did his best to power past his new sickness, steamrolling himself into working even harder to prove to himself he could do it.

He grit his teeth and shook his head violently, trying to shake off the exhaustion as he stomped down the hall.

“Whoa dude- you looking even more murderous than usual.” Eijirou said as he caught up to him. Katsuki simply seethed, hiding the pain and the exhaustion with a scowl. Kirishima raised a brow but ultimately shook it off, probably just assuming Katsuki was in a bad mood.

He managed to swallow back a few of the massive flowers- the petals immediately blocking his airflow and causing Katsuki to choke as he began to run towards the bathroom. Kirishima yelped something in surprise but Katsuki didn't hear it as he ran into the men's bathroom, stabilizing his hands on the sink and coughing violently.

Katsuki hacked up another bout of flowers, his breathing strangled and fast as he tried to catch it again.

He took a few struggling deep breaths as he looked into the mirror, his lips stained red with blood, his face pale and dark circles under his eyes.

He thinned his lips with a growl, ripping paper towels out of their container and ridding himself of the blood- doing his best to clean the sink.

The sight of the flower petals made his stomach hurt, as if his love for [Y/N] was something inherently wrong, destined to slowly torture him from the inside out … How could something so genuine turn into something so vile?

He stared at the flowers miserably as he dumped them in the trash, his lips thinning as he tried not to shiver.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad- to confess his brain tried to argue, you two are already friends, and romance is just friends with … Kissing? I guess? His brain tried to rationalize, but Katsuki shook his head, that didn't feel right- his emotions went deeper than just wanting to kiss her.

He genuinely… cared. Cared about her safety, cared about if she was happy, cared about wanting to make her happy, cared about keeping her safe, cared about keeping her his friend… He cared about a lot of things.

The sound of the bathroom door opening jolted him back to reality, Bakugo scowling and stepping away from the sink. He loved her … Genuinely loved her- … Why was that so freaking scary to come to terms with?

He wiped his hands clean again and combed one through his hair, forcing air down his lungs as his brain tried to make coherent thoughts.

His stomach ached as he realized he hadn't eaten anything since the night before, Katsuki quickly scooping up his backpack from the bathroom floor to head to lunch.

Kirishima was standing outside, leaning against the wall and biting his cheek in concern. He immediately pushed away from the brick as he saw Katsuki, falling into step beside him. The red head didn't say anything about the weird behavior, but the silence was almost more exhausting than listening to his endless jabbering.

“Shut up.” Katsuki grumbled as they walked, Kirishima raising a brow- “I didn't-!” He tried but Katsuki interrupted him. “You're thinking too hard, idiot. Let it go.”

“I… O-ok..” Kiri replied hesitantly with a soft sigh, shuffling his feet for a second.

The two made it to the lunch room in silence, Katsuki glancing to the left as he saw [Y/N] sitting at her usual table beside freaking half and half, a sight that usually made him so upset now just being a minor numbed annoyance.

He allowed Kirishima to guide him towards the line, sulking behind him as he examined the two. [Y/N]s hair was pulled up and away from her face, her beautiful eyes looking tired- or maybe that was just her talking to Todoroki who was almost always emotionless.

He glowered quietly, trying to distinguish what they could be talking about, shaking his head with a snort a moment later. Katsuki made to turn his attention back to the line, yet his eyes found themselves drawn back to [Y/N] as she sat up with a sigh.

She pulled her hair loose, combing it away from her face and holding a palm to her forehead as she fisted her [hair color] locks. A [eye color] eye cracked open, a faint grin touching her full lips as she replied to whatever IcyHot had said.

Why'd she have to be so freaking gorgeous.

His cheeks immediately reddened at the thought as he reprimanded himself, he shouldn't be focusing on things like that- he wasn't one of the freaking pervs like grape head … but it was hard not to when it was her.

It was unfair, really, how beautiful she was without realizing it- both inside and out. He growled at himself, thinning his lips as he tried again to pull his attention away.

The petals in his chest writhed like angry vines twisting around his lungs, wanting him to acknowledge his feelings. She was … Stunning. The way her hair fell, the muscles in her back, the way her figure curved so perfectly like it would fit in Katsukis arms if he could-

He stopped his thoughts there abruptly, huffing angrily and shaking his head. It was ridiculous, really- to think she could… They were just friends…

Him and Kirishima moved forward in the line, Katsuki losing sight of [Y/N] and staring at the floor. He wasn't good with emotions, with expressing himself, being soft-spoken, quiet, kind… None of the things [Y/N] probably wanted in a partner.

A hiss left his lips, under his breath but apparently loud enough for Eijirou to hear. He nudged him again. “Can I know what's going on now?”

Katsuki considered for a long moment, Kirishima was his friend- arguably his best friend besides [Y/N] … And maybe he knew more about this stupid lovey stuff than Katsuki did. “Let's get lunch and go to the roof… Then maybe.” Katsuki finally muttered.

Kiri pouted for a second before he huffed, grinning softly with a nod. “Alright. You ok? It sounds like you're dying.” He joked, nudging him with his shoulder. Katsuki only grunted unpleasantly, punching him lighting in the arm.

Eijiro looked like he wanted to say something more, but Katsuki simply pushed past him to get food.

The pill bottle was in his backpack if he needed it, he had taken one of the pain killer pills a few hours ago- and Recovery girl has said he could take two if needed … but Katsuki shook his head, he didn’t like the way the medication messed with his head.

It made him more confused, if anything. Katsuki shook his head in an attempt to clear it, taking his food and sliding a chip into his mouth. Kirishima nudged him, holding up his own food. “To the roof?” he asked, Katsuki grunting and beginning to walk that direction- hoping that [Y/N] wouldn’t be mad that he didn’t eat lunch with her.

Besides not quite knowing what in the world he would say- he didn't quite think being around her without meds was a smart idea.. he didn't know what the flowers would do. He closed his eyes, sighing softly. Didn't change the fact that he was fully, hyper aware of where she was in the room and how far away he was moving.

“Dude … what’s going on?” Kirishima asked in genuine concern as they moved into the stairwell. Katsuki grunted again, simply trudging up the stairs.

“I'm sick, g*dd*mnit.” He grumbled. Kirishima’s eyes widened in surprise, “You’re what?” he said in quiet shock. Katsuki curled his lip, shooting him an annoyed look- the ever constant pain making him cranky.

“Sick. What- you deaf?” He growled, shoving his shoulder against the door to take them outside. Kirishima gave some sort of stumbled yelp as he followed after him, “Sick with what?! It’s not serious is it?” he asked nervously.

Katsuki huffed, plopping himself down against the wall roughly. “Well I would say puking out flowers along with every other internal organ I have is at least annoying.” He snapped sarcastically. Kirishima’s crimson eyes widened in confusion. “You’re puking up what?” he asked, clarifying. Katsuki gave him a flat look, shoving a bite of food into his mouth before answering- already feeling somewhat better with the sustenance.

“I have Hanahaki, you dunce.” He mumbled. Kirishima’s eyes widened, “Oh … oh shoot.” he muttered quietly, “I didn’t think that was a real thing people actually got!” he said in shock. “What’re you gonna do about it?” he asked quietly.

Katsuki grunted as he continued eating, silently pondering how large the rock he’d apparently lived under had to be to not know what this was at the start.

“Don't know. But I ain't planning on surgery.” He murmured, uncharacteristically quiet.

Kirishima nodded, “I’ve heard the surgery is living hell …” he said, eating a bite of his food as well. “Do you know who … uhh-” he asked.

Katsuki nodded, ignoring the faintest tint of pink on his cheeks as he shoved more food in his mouth. Kirishima stayed anxiously silent for a bit before Katsuki finally found himself spitting it out, as if a part of him desperately wanted someone to confide in.

“ It’s [Y/N].” he spat after a moment. His friends blinked in startlement, sitting back for a moment before a smile split his face and he slugged his arm “Well no duh.”he joked lightly. Katsuki scoffed, “Don’t act so happy about it- … I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.” he grumbled, coughing slightly and taking a deep drink of water.

Kirishima tilted his head, propping a knee up as he leaned back against the wall. “Well, why not confess?” Katsuki turned to him with an incredulously raised brow, “Are you kidding me? And risk freaking her out and losing her friendship? No way- took way too long to earn that already.” he grumbled angrily.

Kiri shrugged. “Well you don't know that, and it doesn't have to be a big deal, you can still be friends if she says no, right?”

Katsuki shook his head, “Recovery girl doesn’t think so. She said if she doesn’t return my feelings the flowers will just keep growing.” he said, his face an angry grimace.

Eijiro furrowed his brow, biting his lip as he slowly came to the realization as to what that meant. “Oh..” Katsuki nodded, “It’s s***” he muttered, setting down his half eaten food.

He propped his knees up and draped his arms over them, ducking his head as he went silent.

“Well…” Kiri murmured quietly. “I think your best option right now is to tell her.. and we'll figure it out from there..” A growl left Katsuki’s throat as he shook his head, “You don’t get it!” he exclaimed, “It’s not as easy as just telling her-” he yelled before a rough round of coughing interrupted him, Katsuki gasping in pain.

Kirishima immediately moved to help him, Katsuki swatting him off at first until another hacking cough shook his body.

“...Well then.. Could you explain it to me?” Eijiro replied after Katsuki caught his breath.

Katsuki’s shoulders shook as he felt like he was having to break through the wall that his small dose of medication had put up in order to accurately capture his feelings.

“I just-” he coughed again, the flowers seeming to know what was on his mind. Kirishima waited patiently, rubbing his back. Katsuki growled, pushing Kirishima’s hand away. “I don’t have time for this!” he finally managed, “I’m not ready for this. I’m trying to stay on top of school, and training, and hero work. I can’t give her a decent relationship, I don’t have the time or the emotional space to give her what she deserves.” he stuttered, finally feeling like he was scraping the top of the truth.

A gentle laugh from Kirishima surprised him. “I think if you're already in the mindset of making sure she has ‘What she deserves’ proves that you already have the emotional state..” Katsuki growled, “No- you don’t get it.” he argued, the flowers in his chest squirming- “I’m not- … I wouldn’t be- …” he growled, heaving a sigh.

“If she accepts my feelings then she’ll expect us to start dating, spending time together, I’ll have to worry about her emotions and she’ll have to worry about mine. She won’t just want a highschool romance she’ll want a real meaningful relationship- and neither of us are ready to hold up that responsibility with all the other crap we’re dealing with.” heword vomited. “I … I’m not ready for that responsibility.” he finally forced himself to admit.

Kirishima smiled ruefully, tilting his head as he set it on his knee. “But you can’t make that call for her, you don’t know what she’ll decide, not really. And that’s the entire point of talking to her, so you can figure it out between the two of you.”

Katsuki went silent at his friends annoyingly rational thinking … “It still just feels like a bunch of bull crap…” he muttered. Kiri snorted with a roll of his eyes. “Then I don’t know what else to tell you, man.”

The food on his plate had gotten cold by now, Katsuki glowering down at it as he tried to process … he knew Kirishima was right- he had no right to try to read [Y/N]’s mind or what she wanted versus what he thought she deserved … all he could tell her was the truth.

He growled a huffy breath, ducking his head in frustration with a sigh.

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