#i feel like i ended up going in circles and went into a deep explanation of my thoughts oops

[paintingformike]

I got really curious after one of your latest posts about your thoughts on bi mike vs gay mike. what's your main evidence for bi mike?

personally, I was a bi mike truther until I started my latest st rewatch a week ago. I always thought that mike had a genuine crush on el in season 1 but this time I noticed that mike didn't really show any romantic interest in her until lucas pointed out that mike likes el. before that, it was just mike being his friendly and caring self. and idk, every romantic moment between them seemed so forced to me, like mike was just doing what he thought he was supposed to be doing. and yeah, that whole dialogue before their first kiss was also weird. I haven't started season 3 yet, so maybe there will be some moments that'll show that mike is bi but for now, my only evidence of him being bi is byler/rockie parallels because vickie is clearly meant to be bi. I'm just so confused now, honestly, because I was so sure that mike is bi before this rewatch lol

sorry if some of these sentences don't make sense, my English is really bad...

nooo anon dont worry about your english, you’re perfectly understandable! to me personally i do see them portraying mike having genuine (but shallow) feelings for el via the inherently romantic tropes applied to them in s1-s2 (getting interrupted, the tiny bit of tension between them and all that), but that’s it, and the way i interpreted the painting plotline also makes me believe he had a shallow infatuation for el, but i’ve read a lot of gay mike analyses that have made me reconsider my stances on his sexuality and the byler storyline.

the byler/rockie parallels are also strong evidence of bi mike (and byler getting together in general) but it’s not really enough for me to discount the possibility of gay mike in the show considering a lot of points that make me believe they might go that route are narrative choices for his character. one example being the way he only showed interest in el after it was pointed out to him by other people, like you said, the stark contrast in how they make lucas and dustin show interest in multiple women but little to nothing from mike in comparison, they’ve also made him mirror will in this aspect (the way they both react to max in s2 compared to lucas and dustin).

season 3 was the most “i’m just doing what i think i’m supposed to do in typical het romantic relationships” season for mike because...he really was just being coached around by lucas constantly, looking totally clueless without him and most of his actions just him trying to adhere to societal expectations like getting his girlfriend a gift (?) and just. not initiating anything himself out of genuine love for el, he really needed a third party to hold his hand through navigating his relationship 😭 also the byler fight in s4 and how he said “thats because shes my girlfriend will” emphasizing the status of their relationship instead of saying something more genuine like el being important to him so obviously he’d write her letters...the majority of it was just him putting up a performance.

tbh he can still be bi and conforming to whats considered “normal” and thats what i was always firm in, but it can also be that they’re trying to portray how he really has no clue how to act when it comes to girls because he just feels no attraction to them. like the reason he needs his hand held through his relationship with a girl is because as a gay man it was never meant for him from the start, and the reason he can’t tell her he loves her is because...it was always impossible for him to feel anything towards her. he didn’t realize it at first (he wasn’t even sure of the difference between platonic and romantic before they kissed) but by s4 he was fully aware he only felt platonic care for el and was scared of losing her if he was honest about his true feelings (which explains the desert heart to heart he had with will.)

the duffers (or any other person from the writer’s room) have watched shows that portrayed internalized homophobia and characters that dated women while being cloested gay men, such as dawson’s creek and eyewitness, so that’s another factor that makes me think they could be writing mike to be gay because they’ve already gotten ideas of what it’s like, they’re not completely clueless. anyway this got too long (sorry anon i got carried away asjdksj) but the bottomline is i think both bi and gay mike have equal chances of being canon and are strong contenders in their own right, and while i used to think they wouldn’t explicitly confirm his sexuality, i realized they basically have to because they also need to clarify in the plot the true nature of mike’s feelings for el throughout their relationship and if he ever really loved her or felt attracted to her, it goes hand in hand with his sexuality arc and they can’t really just brush this over without leaving some kind of gaping hole in the storyline. mike’s gonna have to express how he really felt about el throughout their relationship so yeah...those are my two cents 👍

[unreliablesnake]

One-night stand (König x reader)

Note: I have no explanation.

Warnings: afab!reader, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering. MINORS DNI!!!

You didn't know anything about him, you couldn't even recall his name. But the way had held you in the bar as you were sitting in his lap, his big hand secretly exploring your hip and ass, you knew you wanted to spend the night with him.

So here you were, in a hotel room near the bar, neither of you patient enough to last until you got to your apartment on the other side of town. This giant man had you pinned to the mattress by your stomach as he kneeled next to the bed with his head between your thighs.

Two thick fingers were pumping mercilessly, always taking you up high, then coming to an abrupt halt to let the feeling slip away for now before you climaxed. It was sweet torture, something you usually would have hated, but with him it felt surprisingly good.

"Do you want to come?" he suddenly asked when he felt your body tremble, close to reaching an orgasm again.

"Yes, please," you whimpered, barely able to focus on your words when you were so close to the edge.

So he went on, even inserting a third finger, stretching you as his fingers dipped into you knuckles deep, curling to tease just the right spot. He began to place sloppy kisses on your inner thigh, even gently biting you that made you arch your back from the pleasure.

He was good, the heat pooling in your core was almost unbearable, you could barely focus on him anymore. You were lost in the sensation, begging in yourself to be allowed to come finally to end this excruciating feeling.

His thumb finally began to circle on your clit, applying just enough pressure to drive you over the edge. You clenched around his fingers, but it didn't stop him, he kept pumping as your juices covered his hand, dripping out of you onto the mattress.

The man then stood up, grabbing you by the waist and repositioning you on the bed with ease so he could settle between your legs. "You're such a good girl for me," he praised you, his cum-covered hand moving to your lips.

Like the good girl he said you were, you opened your mouth and let him slip his fingers between your lips so you could taste yourself. A deep growl left his throat as your tongue swirled around his fingers, collecting every remaining drop.

Once he was done, he leaned down to kiss you, his hand firmly wrapped around your throat. "What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me," he whispered in your ear before gently biting your earlobe.

Placing your hand on his cheek to make him look at you, you somehow managed to gather enough brain cells to say, "Fuck me."

"You think you're ready for me?" You nodded eagerly, knowing full well since laying your eyes on his thick and heavy cock that filled your mouth so well that you wanted him inside you. "Let's see if you're right."

He reached down to put his member into position, the pre-cum covered head gently pushing against your entrance as he turned back to look at you. He wanted to look you in the eye as he pushed inside you, watching as your eyes rolled back into your head from the sweet mixture of pain and pleasure as your cunt stretched around him.

You could tell he was going feral from you being this tight, a series of guttural sounds leaving his throat as his thrusts went deeper and deeper. Whenever the head hit the right spot, you saw stars, and it didn't take long to lose track of time.

Being at the mercy of this mountain of a man, someone whose name you didn't even know, made you feel embarrassed. This is not how your parents raised you, this definitely wasn't what you usually did. One-night stands weren't your thing, but after your fiancé broke off your engagement you needed the reassurance that you were good enough.

And he praised you, called you a good girl every time you did something right, making you feel satisfied both mentally and physically. "You're doing great, hase," he whispered as he kissed your neck, his pace picking up when he felt you clench around him. "Just a little more and you'll come for me, yeah?"

Your lips parted, you truly wanted to answer him, tell him you were close, that you were so, so, so very grateful for all of this, but no words left your mouth. So you reached out to touch his face, guiding his lips up to yours for a hungry kiss, the only form of communication you could manage to engage in right now.

His moans and groans became louder as he got close to his own high, and you could feel the way his body reacted to it, getting excited and growing impatient. The kisses turned messy, his hand was grabbing your body tighter, fingertips melting into your flesh.

And then it happened. You were the first to climax, closely followed by him, and it had been a while since you felt this satisfied. This guy was a magician, making your bones turn into jelly, making you feel like you were the only girl in the world.

He went to get a towel from the bathroom, offering to clean you up gently, a gesture in stark contrast with the way he had just fucked you. But you didn't regret any of it, in fact a part of you hoped to see him again one day, to get another taste of him.

"I'm sure you already told me, but what's your name again?" you asked with an awkward smile when he lay on the bed next to you.

A short laugh came as the first wave of his answer, followed by his hand that came up to your cheek. "It's König," he replied, mirroring your smile.

[theodorequartz]

[ His Companion ] Hazbin Hotel Various x Male Reader

Chapter 4: A Matter Of Time

You walked in a path of shadows, darkness completely surrounding you. You've been walking for ages. Yet you didn't feel tired.

How long has it been?

Why are you here?

Where are you?

Where are you going?

Why is everything so dark and empty?

You can't see anything ...you can't hear anything. Not even the sounds of your footsteps or breathing. Where you even breathing?

You stopped.

A little ball of light appeared right in front of you.

It looked so delicate.

So pure.

You raised your hand to touch the little glowing ball of light. Caressing it, a sting was felt deep inside you.

No.. it's more of like .. a pull. A sharp pull in your chest telling you to do something. But what?

Your body didn't seem like yours anymore as it moved on its own as if to form the light. Forming it into something...

...

...

......

" M/n? Honey?"

" Ah.. Asmodeus.., Apologies , I was.. thinking. "

* Sigh* " Well, don't think too hard babe. It's not good to overthink. "

You sighed softly and smiled up at him.

" Yes Azz. I'll try not to. "

Asmodeus looked at you with a soft gaze, almost the same as he looked at Fizzarolli. He put a hand on your shoulder.

" Hun, whenever you need help, just remember that we're here for you. "

Your smile widened slightly and placed your hand on his, nodding.

Then, Fizzarolli suddenly came to the door, laughing and bouncing everywhere.

" I won! I won again! " Fizz said with a joyful exclamation. You smiled at the adorable sight. You came up to him and patted his head.

" Good job. You're always great at what you do Fizz. "

" Yes, great job as always love. " Asmodeus praised his secret lover with a fond look. He's happy that the two most important people in his life get along so well. The only thing missing is that...

Asmodeus looked at you and sighed quietly to himself.

Meanwhile, Fizz blushed at the praises and giggled, hugging you close to him with his long robotic arms. His long arms circling around your form.

The scene warmed Asmodeus heart with one of pure love. He was about to join the hug when a ringing suddenly went out from your pocket.

Immediately, you carefully let yourself free from Fizz's hug and took out your ringing phone. You put it close to your ear and walked a bit further away from the both of them.

Asmodeus and Fizz looked at each other with hidden messages only they understand. They looked black at you. They could only hear bits of pieces of what you were saying.

" ..... Yes........ I'll be there........ Of course...... I'm on my way. Yes, goodbye." * Beep*

They looked at you for an explanation, in which they don't need. It's probably your 'boss' calling you to get you back to work. They didn't know who this boss was as you never told them.

You smiled somberly at them.

" Sorry guys... I need to go." You said with an apologetic voice.

Asmodeus sighed and Fizz's arms hanged in his sides in disappointment at you leaving so early.

" It's alright. We understand." Asmo said with a reassuring tone.

" Yea! We hope you visit again soon!" Fizz added as he jumped at Asmodeus shoulders and waved enthusiastically at you with a wide grin.

You smiled softly and went up to them to pat Fizz's head and caress Asmo's fur.

" Of course, I'll visit again. That's a promise." You said as you let go and started to gat ready to leave.

You looked back at them and waved back as they waved at you from their position.

* Sigh* "... Ozz?"

" Don't worry Fizz. We'll have him soon."

________

You walked to a dark alleyway somewhere in the lust ring and disappeared in the shadows. You appeared at the other end of the alley, which is another supposed to be alleyway with a dead end in pride ring.

You fixed your attire and started to blend in the crowd. It proved to be quite hard as you attract a lot of demos from your gorgeous looks alone. You also have quite a figure.

Most of all, you were Vox's beloved assistant, which is already a big deal.

You were walking towards the V-tech establishment. You could feel eyes everywhere. The cameras. They all seem to be faced at you.

Yet you were unfazed as you kept walking with elegant strides. You kept your hands in your back and your chin up, and most importantly, keep a smile on your face. Just like your lord has thought you.

You entered the facility in a calm manner and walked to the elevator. It automatically went to your desired location without a button being pressed, as if it knows where you were supposed to go.

You could feel the lens of the camera in the elevator zoom at your figure.

The door of the elevator opened, revealing a very spacious room filled with many different shades of the color of blue. There's a path towards the middle in which numerous monitors could be seen, which are the only source of light in the dark room. Though your most favorite are the mechanical sharks swimming in the air just bellow them. Fortunately, the sharks like you as much.

You walked towards the tall chair in the middle of the room, the monitors glitched a bit as your footsteps neared.

The chair spun around, revealing one of the most fearsome overlord down in hell, and one of the Three Vee's.

Vox.

His grin widened as he saw you near him, his eyes squinting in delight.

" M/n! How are you this fine day?" Vox laughed as he stood up from his seat and walked towards you with his arms wide open.

" Sir Vox." You slightly sighed with a fond smile as he hugged you. You hugged back in return, patting his back lightly.

" I've been doing well. Thank you, sir. But is there any reason for your sudden call? Is there an emergency? " You asked with a worried voice as you pulled away from the hug and looked at his screen where his eyes are located.

" Are you hurt anywhere? " You asked holding back from shouting in panick. You held his shoulders and looked for any signs of injuries on his body.

Vox smiled at your actions and chuckled fondly.

" My, you worry too much. That's what I like about you." He said with genuine adoration in his voice.

" But I'm okay, I just wanted to see you, my cute little assistant~" He said, caressing the side of your face.

You huffed softly and smiled, nuzzling in his hand. You then halfheartedly shoved his arm away from your face and looked at him in mock annoyance. Furrowing your brows and squinting your eyes slightly, your arms crossed over your chest, and your lips in a small frown.

" Well, if that's the case.. you just ruined my visit of a friend. I missed them a lot too. Do you know how hard it is to go to one circle to another?"

Vox held back a fond chuckle and held your waist, guiding both of you out of the spacious room. You smiled as you let him guide you.

" I'll pay you back, don't worry. Now how about you get yourself ready. We're going to be meeting you the others."

" Anything you say, Sir Vox." You nodded obediently.

Going to your own room that Vox had made for you, you showered and cleaned yourself thoroughly. You scrubbed the side of your face which Vox had touched. Sigh. Alastor wouldn't like this.

But ...

You held out your hand. Blue sparks emitted from your palm and fingers.

You smiled. It's only a matter of time.

You then sighed as you recalled something. Once your lord show's himself in public again, he would absolutely humiliate Vox in front of every demon in hell.

You went out of the bathroom and put on your clothes. Walking out of the room, you were assisted opening n where you were supposed to meet. Halting in front of a large room, you nodded at the imp that had assisted you politely and raised your fist to knock softly on the door.

" Sir Vox? This is M/n."

A delighted voice that didn't come from Vox's voice enthusiastically accepted your presence from the inside.

The door opened and you were greeted with an exited Velvet and a smirking Valentino. Vox was behind them, smiling at your arrival.

Behind you, your hand emitted a small mint blue spark, a hot pink mist and a velvety swirl. They twirled and danced between your fingers.

It's only a matter of time.

______

Alastor's eyes turned to dials and he clenched his staff in irritation.

The way this fucking mediocre video podcast is holding his darling in such an intimate way is pissing him off. Oh if he could only-

He stopped his malicious thoughts as you signaled something to him.

He hummed. It's good to know that his darling is still focused and aware of his eyes. However....

He glared deadly at the TV demon and started chuckling maniacally. Radio statics and ringing filled the dark room.

It's only a matter of time...

[milimeters-morales]

me rambling about gender for some versions of miles (both canon and au) under the cut

movie miles1610B (non-binary transfem) is the most realistic and expected (imo) when it comes to a teen boy realizing she might be a teen something-else, and there are societal pressures + spider-man pressures + parental pressures + natural high anxiety levels that really add onto why she’s so hesitant and takes the longest to accept and be okay with being trans herself. she’s fine with other trans people, it’s specifically a her thing. She sees gender as just a part of life, something she’s always had, but as she learns more and more, she realizes it is a performance, and she can do whatever she wants, which ends up circling back to looking how she normally does most of the time. really simplified version but you’d have to go through my older posts for more in depth explanations for movie miles specifically. Sometimes i think of Miles being intersex too, but i don’t know enough about the types to be really confident in that hc so it’s more of an exploring starting point whenever i feel like deep diving.

comic miles (cis-genderless) would describe himself as a cis male, but only because that’s what he was assigned at birth, completely uncaring of literally anything else. He’s connected to it because that’s what he was labeled as when he was born, and how he’s connected to the people in his life, but he himself doesn’t see it as anything really important. He’s his parents’ son, he’s his uncle’s nephew, he’s someone’s boyfriend, he’s the “strange boy” to a stranger, he’s the “black dude”, and though he hates that his race has anything to do with his connection to being male, it unfortunately shapes him. To himself, he is just Miles! If someone referred to him with more feminine language, he would be shocked but not totally weirded out, it depended on intent. He’s not open about this either bc he doesn’t see it as something important to share, but Ganke and Kenneth would be the first to know if he cared to tell. if he had a spidey social media acc he would have he/they in the pronouns section

playstation miles (questioning non-binary) is diff between the two games he’s mainly in, mostly because he figured out he was non-binary ages ago and was ready to come out, but so many things have happened in a short amount of time, which basically shoved him back into the closet. He was going to come out to his parents, but then his father died, and miles had this subconscious worry about now being the “man” of the house that his mother could also rely on so she wouldn’t have to grieve alone, and to prove that he could handle his own grief as well. his grief made him forget his own gender struggles for a time, and Roxxon, Phin’s death, Aaron’s reveal, it all stacked up and he was just “fine i’m not non-binary anymore i can’t deal with another huge thing!!” Now, in SM2, he was vaguely considering it again, because it felt so right before his father died, and things seem to be going okay lately, but you know how that went. Kraven capturing him also hurt the masculine parts of himself that he liked, so throw that into the fire. He only really feels he has time after the events of SM2, but is hesitant to come out or talk to anyone about it, because he just isn’t sure and doesn’t want to seem like he’s faking, so he just stews for now. It does bother him a lot and he experiences dysphoria in the “wish i didn’t have a human body” way. poor non-binary essential worker :(

e-42 miles (agender) is right after this instead of with movie miles because of how similar he is to playstation miles and comic miles. However, he is completely ignoring it to the point where he almost forgets it entirely, because he cares so little. His remaining family and fighting to make the world even slightly better is all he really cares about, so something like gender, including being regarded as a “son” and “nephew”, mean nothing, it’s about the bond rather than the label people give to it. He doesn’t feel this pressure of not feeling like he can tell his mom or uncle, it’s more of a “i might be non-binary but i have a job rn so i don’t really care about that” thing for him. However, he doesn’t like being referred to in any feminine way, and likes neutral/masculine language.

acau miles (complicated) is definitely not cis but autism + trauma recovery makes him view himself as “not human not animal just miles and spider-man!” so unlabeled spiderthing is where he’s at. Their pronouns got lost in the wash. It missed its gender orientation. Actually, Miles doesn’t use pronouns past 9pm: Get Fucked, Well-Meaning Citizen! Also, she doesn’t understand why some people get so worked up and invested with gender and pronouns, but he does sometimes say very rude and offensive things to Peter even before learning he’s trans because of what he’s heard growing up and what it knows that generally pisses men off. Matt and Aaron are working on making him less of a personified CoD lobby dw… it’s just gonna take a bit lol. doesn’t help that Peter returns the insults in full and encourages it against others sometimes

[dazaikinning]

highschool!dazai x highschool!reader

but they are rivals lel

this was a request, i apologize for the huge delay and if it's not how you wanted it to be heh....(⁠个⁠_⁠个⁠) ♡

lmk if you want another part maybe i could think

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you were rushing through the hallways, trying to get to class and trying not to bump into people while wishing that your class was closer until you bump into someone anddd you both fell, you were about to apologize until you saw a familiar face and shrieked, yesh it is him, your opponent, your rival, your uhhhhm, it is dazai. "ow.., you could've watched where you're going!" dazai yelled, "well you could've noticed me with your 'great sense'!" you yelled back glaring at him as you got up, "well too bad you were suddenly charging into me like a raging bull to the point i didn't even get to move!" he talked back. you sulked and just walk pass him, resisting the urge to suddenly push him back on the floor as you walked into class.

fast forward to recess

you laid your head down and sighed, feeling guilty for bumping into dazai and not apologizing for it. "hey check out, i got two scores higher than yours!" dazai suddenly approached you just to show off his history test results. "well, good for you?" you raised your eyebrow pretending to not care as if your head isn't boiling inside. maybe you didn't regret bumping into him, he's so damn arrogant. dazai continuously babble about how he's so smart and all that, your respond is just rolled eyes but deep down, you know very well that you really envied him. class started and everyone made their way to their seats, greeted the teacher and started studying as usual.

time passes by . . .

class ended, you were handed an assignment and you planned to study in the library as always, why? who knows? maybe you could find a book to help yes? walking inside the library you sat down, lay your bags on the floor and started to revise and work on your schoolwork til you came across a difficult part and you decided to go look for that study book that had always helped you.

15 minutes had passed and you still couldn't find it and started to walk in circles in frustration, "god, where is that book? i swear, it was in this aisle!". giving up, you sighed in defeat and went back to your seat and guess what? the book that you've been looking for had coincidentally appeared on your table! you silently gasped, "finally!! the book i've been looking for!!" you grabbed the study book and held it in front of you. though, something stopped you for a moment, "how did it get here anyways?". thinking for a moment, you did see dazai taking his leave earlier but it can't be him, can it...? you shook your head while sitting down to get back to your work to see all the problems are already solved with explanations labelled just in case if you didn't understand. your eyes widened in confusion, "huh?!". upon further inspection, the handwriting seems way similar to dazai's but, why did he have to all this?

you then saw a notepad with a message that said,

"thank me later heh~"

you blushed and lightly slammed your head against the table while sighing in relief

why is he suddenly helping me ??

[cloudlessly-light]

could u write something with aaron teaching emily to play golf ending with smut?

A/N: Okay so I know NOTHING about golf so the terminology is probably way off but we’re all ignoring that for the sake of my sanity. This is the second time this was requested, first time being from @wilding-flowers, I hope you like this my darling!

Title: Backswing and follow-through Summary: Aaron teaches Emily how to golf. Wait no he doesn’t. Word Count: 3k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, in public, feelings, dirty talk

When Emily came back from Paris it didn’t take long until she found a new type of connection with Aaron. They had been friends before Doyle, bordering on something more but never once crossing that line, then she has to leave and everything is different. Not all of it bad, the bond between them only growing stronger as she settles back into her life in DC. But still, things are different, a new kind of understanding between them.

They didn’t need an explanation as one of them walked in with darker circles under their eyes, another night of not sleeping caused by nightmares no one else really understood. They didn’t need to talk about it, would only offer a smile as one of them inevitably left a cup of coffee on the other’s desk.

Things got easier the longer time went by and their friendship only grows, evenings spent together, sometimes with Jack as they talked about nothing and everything. It’s fun and easy in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. It’s scary when she realizes that the line they never crossed before, is even more blurred now. She tries to hide her reaction to him as he innocently touches her shoulder or stands a little too close but there’s no denying the way her heart would race or the goosebumps that covered her arms.

Sometimes she thought he felt it too, the maddening want that simmered deep in her belly as his eyes would drift from her eyes to her lips or how he seemed to always find a place beside her. But then nothing would happen and Emily was sure it was all in her head.

“Are you excited for a few days off?” She asked as they packed up for the night. They would be off rotation and unless something massive happened, they would have four days off to recharge.

“Yes, but I’m sure I’ll end up doing paperwork anyways.” He shrugs as he waits for her to pack up the last of her things.

She rolled her eyes at him with a smile, not surprised at his response. He never seemed to be able to relax enough to completely let go of work.

“You have anything fun planned with Jack?” They fell into step with each other as they headed towards the elevator, the rest of the team having left a few minutes earlier.

“Yes he’s been wanting to practice his footwork so we’re playing soccer, but on Sunday Jessica asked to take him for the day and then he’ll stay there so she can take him to school on Monday.”

“So you’re getting a day to yourself? How will you ever survive?” She teased with a smile as she pushed the elevator button.

“I’m actually going to go golfing, haven’t done that in a while.” He saw her eyebrow arch in surprise. “Have you ever been?”

“Golfing?” She asked and he nods. “A couple of times. But I’m horrible.” She laughed and he chuckled.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” The doors open and as they reach her car he turns to her. “If you want and if you don’t have plans, I could teach you?”

“You sure you’d want that?” She asks as he opens the car door for her and she gets in as he looks at her with a gentle smile.

“You know I always enjoy your company.”

So that’s how she finds herself standing in the middle of a golf course watching Aaron swing a club and hitting the ball perfectly. She tries to keep from staring at him, tries to keep her eyes off his strong arms and wide shoulders as his body turns with the swing. She wants to ignore the way she notices the black material of his shirt tighten around his upper arms, how the shirt rides up a tiny bit and shows off a patch of skin above his pants, but she can’t. She feels hot, and she knows that it has nothing to do with the July heat and everything to do with the way the club looks tiny in his hands. Golf was not a sexy sport, but somehow watching Aaron swing a club made her clench her thighs to relieve some of the pressure between her legs.

“So you follow through on the swing, let the club do the work as you turn.” He tells her and Emily barely hears him over the way the blood rushes through her ears. “You try.”

She clears her throat as she stands with her feet apart and holds the club the way he told her earlier. She looks ahead and sees the flag in the distance, down to the white ball and swings the club. She hits the ball, but it’s nowhere near the direction it’s supposed to go and she hears Aaron try to suppress a laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me Hotchner, I told you I was terrible at this.” She huffs and grabs another ball, determined to do better. She swings and in her resolve she uses too much power and almost sends the club flying. This time he does laugh and she turns to him with narrowed eyes.

“When you said you were bad, I didn’t think you meant this bad.” He walks closer to her, a grin still on his face as he turns her back around. His hands fall to her shoulders as he speaks behind her. “You need to release the tension here.” He presses against her shoulders and suddenly any irritation she felt towards him is replaced with something else entirely, the heat inside of her back in an instant.

Aaron moves his hands to her hips, turns her slightly into him and she fights every urge not to press back against his body. When his hands cover hers over the handle of the club she turns her face towards his, her shallow breaths hitting his cheek as he keeps his eyes on the hole ahead of them.

“Follow my lead, okay?” He asks and she nods as she swallows hard. His body turns and she turns with him, his chest pressed against her back and his hands tighten over hers and then he swings and she can’t think of anything but his proximity.

“Look at that.” He smiles at her and let’s go, leaving her dazed and confused as to what he’s talking about until she sees him look at the golf ball rolling on the grass, much closer to the hole than she had been. When he looks back at her he sees the way her cheeks are flushing, how she stares at him and he knows that he isn’t the only one feeling the attraction that he’s been forcing himself to hold back for years.

“Look at that.” She repeats and shakes her head slightly as she tries to clear the fog in her mind but she doesn’t miss the small smirk on his lips letting her know that she’s been caught staring at him. It’s a second of deliberation, of hesitation but then she sees the way he’s licking his bottom lip and she instantly knows that this isn’t one-sided, that he’s as affected as she is. “Can you show me again?” She grins knowingly at him and he nods.

Aaron grabs another ball and places it on the tea pin before moving behind her again, this time pressing closer to her. His hands move to her hips and pulls her hips flush against him and he hears her gasp.

Emily lets her body mold to his so tight that she feels his heartbeat against her back as he leans over her. She grinds her ass subtly against his hips and his grip on her tightens. If they weren’t in public she would have grabbed at him but for now she lets him control her movements as he covers her hands over the club again.

“Hold it.” He breathes against her neck and she sucks in a breath. “Focus.” He smiles against her skin when she shivers and then he pulls her body with his as they swing the club, neither of them really paying attention to the ball flying towards the hole.

She turns to face him again and his lips are dangerously close to hers, almost daring her to make the last move.

“Show me again.” She whispers against his jaw instead and she feels more than hears the rumble deep in his chest as her lips ghost along his skin. When she turns away from him again, she makes sure to push her hips even harder into him and she feels him, hard and straining in his pants. She’s not sure how she even hits the ball this time, her focus solely on the way his wide chest feels against her back. She knows that he does 95% of the job when he swings the club, her mind filled with nothing but how much she needs him.

“You’re not focusing.” He chastised gently as he moves to nip at her jaw and she lets her head fall back against him, a low moan leaving her parted lips as he finally put his lips against her heated skin. “Should we leave?”

“Yes.” She says breathlessly and he smiles at the way she’s so obviously affected by him. He was just as affected by her, but he clearly hid it better. They pack up and get in the golf cart and Emily is sure her mind goes blank when his hand fall to her thigh and gently squeezes as he drives them further away.

He stops the cart when they’re as far away from people as possible, hidden away behind trees. He carefully turns her face towards his, they had already crossed the line from friends, but even in the midst of arousal he wanted their first kiss not to be rushed. He had waited for this, waited for her to show even a fraction of what he already felt for her.

 He leans in with his hand still on her jaw and Emily falls against him as they kiss. It’s soft, almost careful at first, his lips pressing against hers until she deepens it. The moment she does, soft seems to disappear and she fists his polo shirt as his hands move from her jaw to pull her even closer.

“Are we really about to have sex on a golf course?” She laughs breathlessly against his lips.

“I mean, in the cart.” He kisses down her jaw and throat, licks over her pulse as she moans. “Unless you want to wait?”

Waiting seemed like an impossibility, her body craving him to the point of madness already and she shook her head. Her hand fell to the button of his pants and made quick work to get them undone and sneaked her hand inside his boxers.

“I don’t want to wait.” She whispered as he groaned against her neck. The angle was a little awkward but she made it work as she worked him over. She felt his teeth against her neck, heard his low growl and her body immediately reacted to the sound.

He pulled her hand away from him after a few moments, only to get her pants undone and dragged them, along with her underwear down her hips. He looked around quickly, but they were hidden away and it made him relax as he pushed his own pants down.

Emily straddled his hips with a smile, her lips finding his again as his fingers moved through her wet folds.

“You’re so wet.” He groaned as he pushed first one, then two fingers inside of her.

“You really think now is a good time to tease?” She pants as he curls his fingers, her lips hover over his. “This is a crime you know.”

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes but he knows that she’s right and they have to be fast. He pulls his fingers away from her and sucks them between his lips, another groan leaving him at the taste of her. He winks at her when she stares down at him with flushed cheeks and jaw slack before kissing her again, pushing the taste of herself onto her tongue.

Emily suppressed the loud moan she wants to let out as she sinks down on him slowly, lets his lips against hers muffle her sounds as he stretches her. It takes her a moment, the feeling of him inside of her almost too much before she gets used to it.

“Fuck…” Her head falls back as she starts to slowly roll her hips against his, sinking up and down on him as his hands fall to her hips to help guide her.

“You’re so tight.” He says through clenched teeth as he watches the pleasure on her face. He pushes her shirt up with one hand, exposing her black bra and then pulls it down enough to expose her breast. He sucks a nipple between her lips and is rewarded by Emily moaning as her fingers find their way to his hair. He groans at the feeling of her nails scratching against his scalp, his hips rutting up against her in response.

“Fuck you feel so good.” She gets out through clenched teeth, wants nothing more than to let every moan and sigh out but knowing that she can’t is only making her more aroused. The slight danger of what they’re doing making her crave him even more. She moves harder above him, her muscles burning with the effort as the cart starts rocking with them.

“Shit, Em.” He lets go of her breast only to kiss up her neck and pull her into a bruising kiss. Her hot center feels too good around him, and he knows that he wont last long, especially not when she starts to clench around him. “You close?”

“God, yes.” She pulls his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs with a smirk as his hands tighten around her hips.

“Do it, come on me right here.” He pulls away only to breathe against her ear. “Think you can do it? Come right here out in the open, no one can hear us you know so you have to be quiet.” He feels her fingers dig into his shoulder and her hips jerk desperately against his. “I can feel you baby, can feel how you’re gripping my cock. Come for me, show me how much you love it.”

“Jesus…” Emily clenches her eyes shut as he continues to mutter dirty words in her ear, only encouraging her until the heat inside of her becomes too much. She feels her thighs quivering as the pleasure shoots through her. She lets out a strangled moan that he’s quick to muffle by kissing her as her body gives in to her orgasm, the pleasure blinding until she collapses, breathless and sated against him.

“I could watch that forever.” He comments softly against her ear and she hums in response. He gives her time to come down, kisses gently along her  skin until her hips starts to grind against his again. “Stand up and bend over the seat.” He whispers and she smiles at him before climbing off his lap.

Emily bends over the seat and he’s quick to move behind her, his warm fingers trailing along her back as he does. He’s back inside of her before she has time to think, his cock hitting deep and hard as he pulls her against him with each thrust. She bites her arm to keep from screaming out and her hands clutch at the leather of the seat to keep from falling forward.

“Feel so good, so tight.” He mumbles as he watches the way her body takes him, his eyes fastened on his thick shaft disappearing inside of her. Emily’s muffled moans fills his ears as he fucks into her, the sound already addicting. He moves one hand around her body, his fingers finding her clit and Emily tenses.

“Aaron, please.” She whimpers as he starts building her pleasure up again, his finger gentle but fast on her clit. It doesn’t take long, only minutes before she starts spasming and she’s happy that her upper body is rested on the seat when her legs give out from the immense pleasure he’s causing.

The tight clenching around him is enough to get him to the edge as well. He cums with a groan that’s too loud but he’s too delirious to care as he spurts inside of her, his hips jerking against her still trembling body as they both give in to their pleasure.

If he could he would have taken more time to savor it, but in the distance he hears the distinctive sound of another golf cart, combined with voices and he quickly pulls up his boxers and pants and Emily does the same. She fixes her bra and shirt, eyes still dazed and long hair a mess, she had never looked more beautiful to him.

“Ready to get out of here?” He asks as they settle into the cart, his hand automatically finding hers.

“Yes, absolutely.” She angles his face and stamps a kiss on his lips, lingers against him a little longer than she has to but finding it hard to pull away. “How about we go back to your apartment and we’ll to that again?”

Emily doesn’t leave his apartment until the following morning, only leaving because she needed a change of clothes. When she gets to work she runs into Penelope and JJ by the elevator.

“How was your four days off?” She asks and listens to JJ tell her about Henry and Michael and Penelope tells them about another movie night with Derek.

“Oh, hey!” Penelope asks just as the elevator doors open and they make their way into the bullpen. “How was golfing? Did you kick boss-man’s ass?”

Emily’s eyes locks with Aaron’s as he’s standing with Dave on the catwalk outside of his office.

“It was… enlightening.” She smiles, her grin wide as he smiles back while JJ and Penelope look between them, both blondes wondering what the hell they had missed.

[naoko-world]

While I had to go to bed I thought again about Jared Bush's tweet on Julieta's powers. Then, an idea came to my mind: what if Julieta was really angry at someone? She probably couldn't heal him. What happened then the first time she couldn't heal someone?

And here I am with a new drabble I can give you, this time about Julieta. Of course I also had to wait for my proofreader to correct my mistakes because I really want it to be readable. I'm lucky he corrected it quickly this time!

Warning: Referenced bullying, a bit of sexism, pressure. Fluff with angst.

The triplets are teen!

607 words

Julieta can't heal

Synopsis: Julieta Madrigal is the healer of the town, the one we can count on when we're hurt or sick. But this time she can't heal a teen's broken arm.

Julieta was staring at the teen in front of her, holding a third arepa to him. Yet, like when she gave her the previous ones, the teen’s arm was still broken. She could feel her mother behind her, attracted by the gasps of the town, and her disapproving stare. She could feel her twin Pepa and her other twin Bruno, standing at their mother’s side, and their shock at what was happening. Julieta herself felt embarrassed by the situation. Her power was to heal anything with her food! Why couldn’t she do so today for that man?

Yet deep down she didn’t want him to heal. She wanted him to still have his arm broken. He deserved it anyway for bullying her brother! Earlier, she saw him cornering Bruno to laugh at him about his prophecies. Apparently his father went to ask him to see into their family’s future and Bruno told him their son would sell flowers. The son didn’t appreciate it because ‘Flowers are for the losers and the girls’ and he wasn’t seeing himself working in a flower shop. Yet, instead of thinking about it, he decided to target Bruno for seeing that. 

Julieta had to give him three more arepas before turning to her mother with embarrassment and confessing with her head down.

“I’m sorry Mamá, I don't want him to heal. Maybe... Maybe it’s related...”

She could feel the stare of her mother on her while she was watching the ground. Around her, the people were talking to each other, wondering what it could mean and if they still could count on her. She wanted to cry, but held it in. It wasn’t her fault after all! He was the one who hurt her brother.

While she was still trying to justify it, she heard approaching steps. Then, she got circled by four arms she knew were her siblings’. As always, she hugged them back, appreciating their love and support. She loved them! 

After a bit while, she raised her head toward her mother to see her looking like she was thinking. Her eyes got to Julieta, to the teen, then back to Julieta. After what felt like hours, she asked:

“Why don’t you want to?” 

An opportunity to explain herself! She told her mother everything. She told her when she saw the teen running after Bruno, when she called for Pepa, when they came back to discover their brother in a corner with the teen and his friends laughing at him, and when Pepa beat them up to protect their baby brother. Then, she ended her explanation on stating the fact that she was still angry with him and don’t want him to heal so he could pay for what he did to Bruno. With a nod, her mother got closer to the teen. From her height, she watched him before asking:

“Could you please apologize to my son?”

“What? Why should I?” tried to justify the teen. “He said I would sell flowers as an adult, it’s ridiculous! I...”

“Could you please apologize to my son?” she insisted with a more threatening voice. 

Shivering, clearly feeling he should obey, the teen turned to Bruno before muttering:

“S... Sorry... Bruno...”

Satisfied, seeing her brother smile, Julieta held an arepa to the teen again. This time, as always, he instantly healed. As he no longer needed her power, he scurried away, letting the Madrigal family to their thoughts about what happened.

Since they really need Julieta to be reliable in healing others, they decided she may regularly talk to the townsfolk before healing them, so that kind of incident wouldn’t happen again. 

[izupie]

Okay, here's some really freaking LONG spoiler-filled thoughts on Mamoru Hosoda's Belle that nobody wanted or asked for but I have too many feelings about it and I have to get them off my chest or my head might explode

here we go

So I went into this movie completely blind - I'd never read a summary of the plot and I'd only seen the trailer exactly one(1) time a while back, but I thought it looked pretty. I also knew there was music, because one of the songs popped up as a recommended video on youtube to me once and I really enjoyed it. And that's literally the grand total of what I knew.

So I deduced by the title, by the imagery from the trailer, from the liTERAL BOX it came in (I'm a sucker for anything that has alternate art or exclusive on the box asdfghjkl)

that it was going to be basically Anime Beauty And The Beast and you know what, I was down for that. I was like, yeah, okay, I love the BatB story, I love a good romance, I already know it's got good visuals and songs - I'm here for it.

What I didn't expect, and what I got, was a movie that was trying to be two movies. I felt like it was trying desperately to be a deep, grounded piece about grief and healing from trauma and helping others because it's the right thing to do AND a fantastical movie about internet fame, online identities and idolising or cancelling strangers online.

(It did all of its themes dirty btw)

But the thing that gets me is that I didn't sign up for any of this! I was basically promised Anime Beauty And The Beast. And that isn't even remotely what I got. I suspect the "twist" of it being about platonic love all along was to try and pull the rug out from under the audience and be like AHA you were expecting this thing, but look, I have given you this other thing, aren't I clever by subverting your expectations like that. And honestly, I just wanted a good romance, some pining, some 'I'm a monster.' 'Not to me.' angst - I didn't need it to try and flip the concept on its head as a twist, because that's not why I was here in the first place.

When they revealed the Dragon was a little kid I nearly spit my coffee out. It was certainly a choice. Congratulations you made a tWiSt - good for you. But it came out of left field because up until that point they'd been really pushing the BatB imagery and themes and had even had a ROMANTIC BALLROOM DANCE SCENE. Like, why in the seven circles of shipping hell would you give them the romantic undertones associated with a movie that had these same characters end up in a romantic relationship and then go GOTCHA when they reveal the twist is that he's actually a little kid and it was PLATONIC ALL ALONG. Just cut out the romantic ballroom dance scene altogether, my god. Nobody said you even had to put any BatB references in this movie at all in the first place??? Just cut ties with it and make something entirely new. Then you can get rid of the messy associations that already pre-exist in our brains when you make your movie parallel something else.

And then this story's Gaston was a dude about as interesting as grated cheese. I can't even remember his name, but I do remember that he was so similar looking to All Might from BNHA that it kept distracting me and pulling me out the movie. He had 0 motivation beyond being a cop and it confused me - I can't even remember why they were hunting the Dragon down in the first place? Did they say? I think they said he'd been destroying opponents in the fighting arena? - but is that really a criminal offence? Could they not just ban him from the arena?? I probably got that bit entirely wrong, but that's on them for not making his motivations clear enough.

The Gaston-guy also had an app-breaking lion cannon on his arm that he could just use whenever he wanted to break people's avatars or whatever, and I don't think he ever explained how or why he'd got it?? (beyond the flimsy explanation of JUSTICE) His team of power rangers made me so angry too. So pointless!

If they wanted a Gaston parallel character why not make him a guy that's a Super Fan of Belle? Like, we've all been on the internet long enough to see celebrities get those kinds of fans that think they're friends with them or something, and are just Way Too Obsessed. If he's a superfan he could get mad in an exaggeratedly over the top way when the Dragon crashes Belle's concert. Maybe he starts a witch-hunt for that reason, rallying the masses against this dude that ruined 'his' Belle's performance and because he's a beast he doesn't think he deserves her attention. Mirroring Gaston from the original being delusional about her marrying him. It would make it more personal and keep up the themes of the dangers of internet fame and online identities - because the Gaston-guy knows nothing of the real Suzu.

Then you could have her connect with the Dragon more and the idea that the Gaston-guy is her biggest fan yet knows nothing real about her vs the Dragon seeing her grief that she has as 'Suzu' even as 'Belle' would be more poignant.

Talking of Suzu, it was hard to watch her make so many bad choices and bad decisions because she was grieving in such a self destructive way. But then she had so little personality outside of that one character trait that I'm struggling to think of anything else to say about her. And I KNOW that's the point, because her grief consumed her, but she's our main character - she's a window into this world, we're supposed to understand at least a little bit about her. And then when she was Belle she was even worse because she had 0 personality. I can't even remember if she had more than a couple of lines of spoken dialogue while she was Belle? She felt so disconnected from Suzu that she was basically a different character. And again, someone might say BUT THAT'S THE POiNt but I would disagree with that - I know that she's supposed to feel like her 'more authentic self' in U, but she was just so different. She spent most of her time on screen as Belle either singing or hovering in the air with a scared expression.

How did she feel about being an online celebrity? Aside from one tiny scene where she's flustered about people hating her and her friend explaining that any money they get goes straight to charity, it just never really comes up again. But how did she get the concerts in the first place? Did the owners of the app reach out to her? Do the outfits she wears come from them? Are they the ones that provide her with the whales???

I need to know these things - U is just such an underdeveloped world that absolutely none of it makes any sense. As far as we see people just float around it and gossip ? OZ in Summer Wars was set up so much more convincingly as an 'online world' that it surprises me that this is by the same guy honestly

That entire sequence where she's sneaking back from the Dragon's castle and she's flying through a completely empty bit of U - totally deserted - and then the cops catch her because she's literally the only person for miles inconspicuously flying around and I'm like, I'm sorry, but in what universe is there a VR online reality thing and there is that much empty space?? No way is anywhere on this app that deserted. It just didn't feel LIVED IN. It didn't ever feel like a convincing place millions of people spent most of their time on.

The topic of online identities vs real identities comes up multiple times, but they shy away from it at the last second and it never feels like it's actually addressed, so it comes across as kind of shallow. But I'd rather they didn't even tackle it at all if they weren't wanting to go anywhere with it - drop some themes from this movie please I'm begging it doesn't have to try and do a million things, just a few solid themes are fine I promise

It also feels like Belle never once acts like Suzu - even when she's with the Dragon. Here I expected her Performer persona would melt away and we'd see a blending of Suzu and Belle to be what she's REALLY like beneath the shy girl drowning in her grief and the confident singer.

But no not really

She meets the Dragon when he crashes her concert and she just Loves Him I Guess. It takes her a weirdly short amount of time to find his super secret hidden castle, and then the little AI's try to trick her back out and I was like, oh okay the AI's are like the furniture from the original BatB. But then I finished the movie and I couldn't think if they'd ever explained their presence. Why does the Dragon have these AI's??? How did he get a super secret hidden castle in the first place??? I expected him to be a hacker of some kind in the real world, but no. I thought his little brother was going to be an AI or something special or maybe it would turn out their dad worked for the U company or something, but again, no. His little brother just has a cute little angel avatar to show how innocent he is, and that's fine, but they kind of set him up to be a different to the other avatars in some way and never came back to that.

The Dragon and Belle have so few interactions that their bond never came across as particularly strong. As it turns out they're both dealing with trauma and both shouldering their burdens as best they can and it feels like something they could have bonded over more prior to the last few minutes of the film. They could have really set up the whole platonic support thing here, but they just kept on pushing the romantic imagery to make their twist more twisty and shocking.

Why even have her sing a love song to him either - I know it doesn't have to necessarily be a love song in the end, it's not like she said I love you in it or anything, but the mom's choir group set her up for it to BE a love song. So the context then becomes that she's singing it AS a love song.

BUT saying that, they somehow had more chemistry than Suzu and her childhood friend Shinobu.

Their 'romance' subplot hurt my soul - and it also comes out of left field, because I expected it to be a case of Suzu projecting romantic feelings onto him when there really were none from how cold he acted towards her. I figured it was going to be one-sided and that they were going to end up with different people at the end, or he was going to be the Dragon all along and they'd get closer online than they ever have in real life. And then it could be about how being real with the real people in your life is better for you and healing and whatnot

But he was about as distant as someone who barely knew her for the whole film and then at the very very end kind of ended up with her? His dialogue to her mostly just consisted of him saying her name in a very flat tone with 0 expression. OH THE ROMANCE.

I get that she wasn't in a place to be thinking about love beyond her grief, and that he wanted to give her space to work through her trauma, but that doesn't mean he can't be her FRIEND and offer her PLATONIC LOVE. That could have made it a tighter theme - platonic love being just as strong as romantic love. But he's distant to the point of being neglectful and mean and then BAM you're supposed to root for them as a couple at the end.

And then the one friend she does have in the movie always felt a bit off to me?? (I can't remember her name, but she had a great avatar design in U) Like, one second I'd think they have a nice friendship and then the next I'd be questioning whether she's actually friends with her or whether she's just enjoying the fame of Belle?? I don't think that was intentional, but that's how it came across in some scenes.

The popular girl suddenly becoming her friend out of nowhere was bizarre too. I think it would have been better if they'd been hinted at being friends before or something? Or maybe they'd been childhood friends too? Or maybe her mother also died when she was young? And then they'd have something in common linking them together? So that's why she's so sympathetic towards Suzu. If they'd have bonded over their shared loss of their mother's rather than Suzu helping to set her up over a boy we've heard like 2 lines of dialogue from, that would have been much more genuine. And removed the dead time spent on these two characters nobody cares about getting together.

I'm all about exploring different kinds of love, but it just never felt like they got it quite right to me

There's so much of this movie I feel like we have to infer from gap filling, but it's not using anything they've given us.

(Also why did their dog only have three paws?? Was there a significance to it ?????)

ANYWAY - yeah, I didn't like this movie. It felt rushed, it felt shallow, I didn't enjoy the twist because it set me up for one thing and then pointed and laughed at me by 180 reversing it

Nobody just had any kind of LIFE to them in this movie. Everything is so FLAT - the world, the characters, the relationships, the themes...

I don't HATE this film, I just don't like it and I'm sad that it could have been so much better

also this is all just my opinion and way of venting, please don't take it personally or yell at me for voicing my thoughts pls

[yandere-sins]

Hiii, it's my first time here !! I wonder if you could ask my question, if possible of course of Yandere Geralt of Rivia...

Imagine a scenario where the reader is from our world and went to Geralt's world, then the reader find him at him and tells his story and asks for help to return to his home... Of course, as time goes by, Geralt becomes "sick with love " for the reader to the point of becoming Yandere.

Note: the reader sees Geralt as best friend or older brother.

Thanks for your request ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««     

You were simply relieved you weren’t alone. 

There were a lot of terrible things that could happen to you, reaching from being mauled by a monster to cut down by a sword, and so, so many gruesome things more. Whatever Geralt saw in you, you were glad it didn’t make him leave you alone to your misery, no matter how strange you were.

Truthfully, you weren’t even a good choice as a squire, but aside from grumbling about your unhelpfulness when it came to battle, Geralt hadn’t driven you away. Despite being rough around the edges, he truly was the hero you needed in your predicament, and for that, you were thankful. 

Whatever you could do, you did, may it be fetching water or helping set up a tent. While the life of a traveling witcher was nothing you wished to pursue forever, you put up with everything you could so that you wouldn’t end up on your own again. The first week spent stumbling through the wild and running from monsters had been enough bad experience in this world for you. Now, your mind was only on one thing: Getting home.

It probably was a luxury to have Geralt’s help in not dying and achieving your goal, but all the more, you were relieved that whatever power made you fall into this strange world had enough mercy to send you this angel of a man. No matter how many dirty, uncomfortable looks you got for being with him whenever you two came into a town, you would endure them, knowing Geralt was the key to make this situation just a memory and send you back home to your family.

Home. It sounded heavenly. 

You sighed deeply, slowly awaking from your slumber. It couldn’t have been long that you fell asleep, the campfire still burning lively next to you. You still felt tired, but something was different than usual. Heavy even.

Pulling down the blanket you had wrapped yourself with, you saw the big arm laying around you, making you realized the heat of a second body in your back. Geralt never slept closer than necessary to you, but without the need to guess, he was definitely sleeping right beside you, spooning you from behind. 

With a flushing heat rising to your face, you were too embarrassed to say anything, even though his arm alone was too heavy to fall asleep with again. He might have accidentally fallen asleep next to you after having some drinks before bed and mistaken you for someone to cuddle up to. But waking him wasn’t an option. Geralt struggled with his sleep enough as it is; you wouldn’t dare to interrupt him and cause a scene. But the reality was very different from what you assumed. 

You heard him take a deep breath as he buried his face into the nape of your neck, not shy to pull away the fabric covering you and pushing his face into your skin. As you listened to him mutter your name, you felt a cold shudder run down your spine, but you tried not to make him notice you were awake. “[Name], [Name], [Name]...” he mumbled, and you bit your lip. The way he said your name always made it sound reproachful, despite you not remembering what you did wrong that day. 

“Look at you, letting your guard down. Don’t you know that I...”

His voice trailed off as you felt him shift suddenly. You reacted quickly, pretending to be fast asleep with your eyes closed and lips slightly parted innocently. Geralt let out a small chuckle before you felt him reach over you, dragging his thumb over your lip. “What are you dreaming about? Your heart is racing.”

Realizing you forgot the first thing about Witcher - their heightened senses - you didn’t know how to help yourself other than stirring a little in your sleep, putting on a frown. Sure enough, that made him halt in his tracks and back away a little, as if he feared you waking up. Only when you settled down again did Geralt relax as well, returning to his spooning position. 

“Seriously...” he kept muttering. “How am I supposed to go on like this? Every time we meet a Sorceress, I am afraid she will have a way to send you home.”

Something about his words gave you a sad impression. Almost as if parting would hurt him, but you weren’t sure if this was just your impression or if the tiny bit of his past that he told you about actually gave him this fear. In your eyes, Geralt was fearless and kept his composure no matter what, but what if you had misjudged him?

“I’d like to keep you all to myself. Lock you up and never let you go. Maybe when we get to Kaer Morhen, I could--”

This time, his voice halted suddenly, and he rose again from behind you. “Are you awake?” he asked, quiet still as if he was hoping you were asleep after all. You simply remained in your pretend sleep, taking an audible breather and hoping it would fool him. He remained in this careful stiffness for a while before he finally drew back. Immediately, you were surrounded by the chilly air of the night as his body disappeared, but before you dared to attempt to move around, you heard more of his mumbles.

“No, I can’t. I shouldn’t... It’s not right...”

What couldn’t he do?

You were ready to blame all the gibberish you had just heard on the mead you two had before bed, but the questions didn’t seem to stop circling your mind. Geralt seemed to fall asleep somewhere a bit further away, while you felt wide awake now. You couldn’t believe that Geralt - of all people! - could have developed any kind of feelings for you. But why else would he be worried about your return? Why would he say those things about locking you up?

Way too freaked out, you tried to make sense of what you had witnessed. Certainly, he didn’t want you to be awake as it went down, but now that you knew, you were left conflicted. Part of you kept getting goosebumps as you remembered the feeling of his face pressed into your shoulder and his words echoing in your ear. The other part tried to justify it with any and all reasons like the alcohol, loneliness maybe. There was no sleep for you after all, and Geralt kept stealing irritated glances at you the following day until he finally asked, “Are you okay?” 

You flinched after being suddenly addressed, not even your exhaustion able to tear you out of your thoughts that still pondered about the last night. “Oh, yeah! I’m fine,” you tried to assure him, and he contemplated your response for a bit before replying, “There’s this place we should go to next. Maybe we can find some books on portals there.”

“Sounds good,” you chuckled. Nervosity spread inside of you as you hoped he didn’t mean the place that he was talking about last night. 

“I grew up there. You might even be able to sleep in a bed for a change. Kaer Morhen is also safe and...”

After that part, your mind simply shut off as the word kept repeating over and over in your head. Kaer Morhen. Kaer Morhen. Kaer Morhen. Kaer Morhen.

Kaer Morhen, lock up, never let go.

“...and it isn’t far from here,” he finished his explanation, looking at you as he waited for an answer while you could feel the horror showing in your expression. The red flags were so abundantly clear by now, but you absolutely refused to think this way about him. He wasn’t a bad man, he would never... or?

There were a lot of terrible things that could have happened to you on this journey, but you had put all your trust into Geralt to keep you safe. To help you. To be a companion so you wouldn’t be lonely. And until the end, you hoped Geralt wouldn’t turn out to be the monster or the sword you feared so much.

But who could tell what he’d do when he finally had a taste of living out the things he desired?

[inriospocket]

Your Rio stories are so good and make my day!! Would you be up to write another one please? I was thinking he and reader used to date, but she left him because he never shared anything about himself. He was it for her and vice versa. They run into each other some time later and Rio thinks he can get her back with being his cocky self, but it doesn’t work. One night he invites himself to her home while she’s taking a bath. He joins her and starts telling her about himself and just lots of fluffy loving (and smut afterward if you feel like it?). I could use some fluffy loving please 🥺. Thank you!! ❤️

Always up to it! I hope you're doing okay ❤

word count ♡ 1,253

summary ♡ Rio tries to win reader back with his cockiness after running into each other but realizes later that he has to win her back with honesty.

situation ♡ fluffy/smutty

-

“Oh, damnit!” You cursed, picking up the folded ticket from your windshield. You were parked there barely for 10 minutes trying to pick some coffee up from the nearby shop.

You heard a light snicker from behind you. “You still haven’t learned.”

You turned around recognizing the voice. It had been 3 months and 16 days since you last saw your ex but you weren’t counting was what you always told yourself.

You knew you could never escape him but you also didn’t think you would just see him on a whim.

“Folding a piece of paper and sticking it on my own windshield is not going to work.” You folded your arms.

“Always worked for me.” He smirked. You gave him a slight smile, unsure of what to say next.

“How you been?” He asked. You stuck the ticket in your purse before answering him.

“Just fine. I should be going.” You said, reaching for the handle to your door.

“Hey, maybe we can catch up some time.” He said which stopped you.

You narrowed your eyebrows at him. “So you can always give me a vague explanation of what goes on in your life? Sorry, I’m a bit bored of that.” You said and opened your car door.

“Oh come on, mama. You never could say no.” He pushed.

You shook your head and sighed. “Well now I am.” You said and closed your door. He always made you weak from the moment you met him but you didn’t want to keep wasting your time here.

You barely knew him when you were dating and as much as you loved him from what you did know, it just wasn’t enough. You were always so open and honest and he gave you nothing in return.

And as much as you wanted to say you no longer loved him, you couldn’t. Even when you broke up, you knew in a way that it wasn’t over because your heart still belonged to him and vice versa.

After a long day, you just wanted to disappear but instead you settled for the bath tub. You played with the bubbles on your hands, your thoughts never straying from Rio.

You almost felt like you manifested him when you looked over at your ringing cellphone. You deleted his contact months ago but you always knew his number by heart.

You hesitated for a moment but you quickly dried your hands off and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Can I come over?” He asked. You hesitated again, wondering if this could possibly go any further but you already made up your mind.

“...sure” you said.

Once Rio got there you had already left the front door unlocked for him. He walked in, following the light coming from your room and then to the bathroom.

He was hesitant in opening the door, knowing how vulnerable he was going to have to be but the thought of you with him again pushed the door open.

You had your knees to your chest, the bubbles covering your intimate areas. You watched him sit at the edge of the tub and you could see how hard it was for him to start to tell you more about him.

A part of you wondered if he ever had the chance. Or if anyone ever tried to listen.

“It’s okay.” You reassured him.

He took a deep breath, realizing it was a safe space and he could finally talk about all of his underlying feelings.

“It’s easier,” He started to say, playing with the rings on his fingers.

“What?” You asked.

“To be the bad guy. You never expect anything from them.” He said, thinking about how his “cousin” Nick who had it all and no one realized he was the bad guy all along.

You were going to say something but you wanted him to keep talking and he did. He told you about Nick, his love for his grandma, where his parents were, everything.

“I went to prison. He went to college.” He shook his head.

“You’re still a better man.” You told him truthfully.

“Nah, I ain’t trying to be better.” He said, pursing his lips. You knew what he meant. Rio was a reoccurring factor in Nick’s life. Someone to blame. He wasn’t trying to be better like he said, but he did want to be seen.

He turned to you and you could see the seriousness in his stare. “There are still things I can’t tell you about and I don’t want you to ask. If anything were to happen...” He said.

“It’s okay. I know.” You reassured him once more.

His eyes became softer and he reached to run his thumb across your cheek lovingly.

You smiled, happy that you finally got to feel his touch again.

“Can you pass me my towel?” You asked as it sat next to him. He grabbed it and handed it to you but instead of taking it you, you pulled his arm until he fell into the tub with you.

“Y/N!” He couldn’t help but laugh at how soaking wet his clothes were.

You watched the water rush over the tub onto the floor but you didn’t care. “I missed your laugh.” You said, watching him maneuver to sit across from you.

“Shut up.” He said jokingly as he splashed you. He looked down at your chest, noticing there was no longer any bubbles covering you.

“Come here.” He said and you could see the familiar look in his eyes. You moved closer to his end of the tub until you were close enough.

He let his hand rest on your neck as he guided your head to his.

He glanced at your lips first, remembering how much he missed their softness on his skin. He knew he didn’t want this to be just another memory. He wanted to be able to feel you every day.

He finally kissed you. His demeanor was so cold on the outside but you loved that just for you, he could show you how much he was capable of loving. Capable of feeling.

He shifted your legs so you could be straddling him and pulled away from your lips so he could see your entirety.

You felt yourself getting wetter, the way his hands slowly felt your body.

Your collarbones, your breasts, your waist, until they reached your inner thighs.

You let out a soft moan once you finally felt his finger on your clit. He took his time, rubbing small circles before he finally entered a finger in you.

You squirmed a bit when he curled it upwards to enhance the pleasure. You grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“I want you in me.” You whispered close to his ear. Bathtub sex would be a first for you but you wouldn’t want to experience it with anyone different.

He didn’t waste any time unbuttoning his soaked pants and pulling himself out.

Your entrance lined up perfectly with him and he helped you rest comfortably on top with both of you sharing a moan.

He took his time moving in and out of you. You both had your fair share of fucking but this time he made love to you. Wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you close.

You never felt so loved. He peppered kisses from your neck to your chest, guiding your hips into him and loving the sounds it made you make.

“I’m never letting you go, mama.”

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments] ♡ Belphegor

7 - That moment when Belphegor showed you magic.

✿ part of a series! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

Warnings: Mentions of death and also lesson 16 spoilers

Nights in the Devildom were no different from nights in the human world, except for the abundance of visible stars twinkling in the night sky. Too much light pollution covered the stars in the human world, and you had almost forgotten what they looked like if not for arriving at the Devildom.

“Can’t sleep?” A voice, soft and heavy with sleep, entered the planetarium. It echoed gently in the dimness around you and almost faded under the trickling of the water fountain, the airy words murmuring against your ears.

Belphegor draped a warm, fluffy blanket around you as he settled next to you, wrapping himself with the other end of the blanket. He sat to your right, one of his long legs bent at the knees, and the other stretched out against the marble floor. When he leaned into you, the soft strands of his hair tickled your neck, and the faint smell of chamomile floated around you.

“Seems like I’m not the only one,” you teased, brushing your thumb against his cheek as you tucked his bangs behind his ear. They didn’t stay there long, falling back down to cover his eyes again.

Belphie sighed. He turned his head slightly, his purple eyes half-lidded as they met yours.

“Missed you,” he muttered. “I woke up with this gaping feeling in my chest, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I could feel you next to me.” Then he hesitated, his breath hitching as you felt his hand twitch against yours. “Can I… Can I hold your hand?”

You took his hand in yours, weaving your fingers with his. His fingers were freezing, so you rubbed them with your other hand, hoping to warm them up somewhat.

“Of course,” you said, smiling. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Of course,” Belphie repeated. He brought your intertwined hands to his mouth and pressed a light kiss to the back of your hand. “You’re here with me.”

Your cheeks warmed along with your heart, your mind fumbling around the affection consuming you from the inside out. This was the best feeling of love you could ever have the privilege of experiencing—it was something like a stuffy feeling, like layers of cotton had been padded in your chest, and it wasn’t strong to the point where you felt like you could burst into pieces, but something more subtle, something more encompassing, suffusing through every fiber of your being and every molecule of your soul.

You were absolutely immersed in it.

“I have a little trick for you,” Belphie said almost immediately after, pulling away from you so that he was sitting upright. “Since you can’t sleep. Have you heard of tracing?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t think so.”

He hummed. “That’s not too surprising. Tracing is something children are taught when they are very young, so the RAD professors wouldn’t teach you what it is.” Then, he held out his hand, the one that wasn’t holding yours. “Here, hold your hand out. With your palm up. It’ll make it easier. Tracing is basically what it sounds like. You trace the air with your magic.”

You felt like you understood it but also didn’t at the same time. You could hold your hand out no problem, but everything after that was… hm. Not good.

“Belphie, you’re a bad teacher,” you said, smiling teasingly at him.

He glared half-heartedly at you, eyebrows just barely furrowing, but then he chuckled.

“Sorry, my little sun,” Belphie said, lips curling at the edges into an amused smile. His bangs brushed past his nose as he tilted his head. “I’ll explain properly this time.”

True to his words, he took his time teaching you, explaining each part thoroughly and making sure you understood. You were surprised that he had that much patience, especially since he yawned multiple times throughout his explanation. Although, you couldn’t say that tracing was hard to explain.

“Very good,” Belphie said, his voice drifting into your ears. “Visualize your magic, make it visible, solidify it, and then move it according to your will. When you get used to it, put down your hand. Try tracing by using only your mind.”

It took you a few tries, but it really wasn’t too difficult. Once you managed to trace without having to use your hand as an anchor, the first thing you traced in the air was “Belphegor” surrounded by hearts. If you maintained your focus, your tracing could stay for a few minutes, so you kept adding hearts around his name, the color of your magic lighting up the planetarium.

“Why are you like this?” Belphie sighed, exasperated. He started tracing as well, purple letters appearing next to yours. His magic was lazy but light, appearing in delicate, efficient strokes.

“Like what?”

“So precious.”

You turned to him, blinking in surprise, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, he focused on the letters in front of him, his eyes reflecting the light from his magic. When he still didn’t face you, you returned to adding more hearts around his name—only to see what he was tracing.

It was your name in beautiful calligraphy, and underneath, it was Belphie’s endearment for you—my little sun—in smaller but just as lovely letters. He also incorporated a sun into your name, little lines indicating the sunbeams. Even though he didn’t draw any hearts at all, his adoration for you was still clear as day.

“You’re the precious one here,” you said, pretending that the lump in your throat didn’t exist. You spoke past it, even when your voice came out scratchy in doing so. “Now, it doesn’t matter how many hearts I draw. It won’t beat yours.”

Belphegor laughed, his voice coming out in airy puffs. “Since when did this become a competition? You’ve already beaten me. The moment I fell for you, you’ve already become my everything.” He looked at you softly, the lines around his eyes gentle with love. But you also noticed the dark circles lining underneath them, hidden behind his bangs. “My little sun. You are the light in my world.”

“Then, you’re my moon,” you said, squeezing his hand. “My other half. In the darkness, you are my light.”

“I am your moon,” he agreed. He squeezed your hand back, turning away from you, and rested his forehead against his propped up knee. “Because even the moon gets its light from the sun.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you went back to the letters hovering in the air. You let most of the hearts fade from around Belphegor’s name, but you kept the rest. You wanted to keep some form of your love visible for at least a little longer.

“You know what’s funny?” he suddenly asked.

You drew a little cow in the air, adding Belphie’s horns to it. “What?”

“I used to love human beings,” he started. “They were just so fascinating, and I loved them. But not in the way Lilith loved them. The love I felt for humans was like how humans love flowers. But Lilith didn’t love them like flowers. Lilith picked one human and gave them all of her love, to the point that she went against Celestial laws for them.”

Belphie paused. The water fountain gurgled faintly in the silence. You finished your cow and decided to stop tracing, tilting your head up to look at the planetarium sky instead.

He continued, “I didn’t understand that kind of love. I didn’t understand what kind of feelings could drive her to such lengths for a human. A human that would never live as long as us. When Lucifer told us that she died, all I could think about was that, in some way—I killed her. I led her to her death. It was because I loved humans that she fell in love with one. But because my love was not the same as her love, I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand her love, I didn’t understand her reasons, I didn’t understand her.”

He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Because I didn’t understand, I blamed the humans for it. I started hating them, and it was a kind of loathing that ate away at me from the inside. I hated that they took my sister away. I hated that she had to fall in love with one. I hated that I didn’t understand. So, you know what’s funny? It’s funny that it is only now that I understand.”

“Belphie,” you whispered. You couldn’t see his face, but from the shakiness of his voice, you knew that he was in a lot of pain—pain so embedded into him that you didn’t know how to soothe. You adjusted your position so that you could wrap your arm around him, bringing him into a half hug.

“Isn’t it funny?” Belphegor rasped, his body trembling. “Isn’t it funny how I hated humans so much for causing my sister to die, yet now, I am completely, utterly in love with one? And now—and now, I understand exactly how Lilith felt back then. Now, I know why she did what she did. The irony of it all—I hated that I loved humans, but that hate has also led me to you. Lilith, as an angel, fell in love with a human, and I, as a demon, have also fallen in love with one.”

You took in his shaking form, the light heaving of his chest, the balled up fist at his side. You took it all in, and asked, lightly, “Do you regret it?”

Belphie shot up, misty eyes frantically meeting yours as he squeezed your intertwined hands tightly. “Never. I never regretted it. I wouldn’t, and I will never. Loving you is nothing but joy. I love loving you, I love seeing you smile, I love knowing that you are happy. I love that you love me. I love you. I am so happy, knowing that I love you. And I will break every rule in all three realms in a heartbeat, if it means that I can see you smile again.”

“You don’t have to go that far,” you said softly, brushing his bangs to the side so you could see all of him. “Just knowing that you love me is enough. I love you too. For me, loving you is a state of truth. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

A sort of desperation haunted him, lingering in the deep purple of his eyes. He took your free hand, clasping it together with your interwoven hands. When he rested his forehead against them, it almost resembled a prayer of sorts.

“You can’t die,” Belphie pleaded, begging, praying—choking on his words. “You can’t die. Please, I can’t lose you. Please, please—you can’t die. Please, don’t leave me alone. My sun can’t set. I can’t live in a world without your light. Please, you can’t die—”

But you knew, and you knew that he knew too.

That all suns must set.

-------

Masterlist!

[matwith1t]

A/N: Hiiii!! More writing! Yay! This was a fun one!! It’s 98% fluff with 2% angst, but I promise it has a happy ending 🙂 Thank you all so much for your encouraging words!! I cherish them all & hold them close to my heart 🥺 Any and all feedback is appreciated! I hope you enjoy !

Summary: From your first date, first kiss, first hockey game of Mat’s, first I love you, to your first fight…You always learned something new about him.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: One swear word & brief allusion to smut // WC: 11.6K // Fluff & Slight Angst

It was your first date.

A blind date.

The nerves got the best of you, so you arrived at the coffee shop early. What if the subway line you had to take was late? What if you missed a stop? What if you took a wrong turn down a street? Twenty minutes might be a bit too early, but it was the only way to ease your anxiety.

You don’t even know the last time you were on a blind date. Your friend, Hayden, had set it up. After a drunken confession over a shared bottle of wine, you admitted you were scared that you were running out of time to find your person. And that’s when an idea clicked in her mind.

She said she had a friend––Mat––who was tired of flings and wanted to really date someone. You waved her off, the idea of being set up seemed too middle school for you. But after she showed you a picture of him…you gave her the go ahead to send him your number.

She contacted Mat, and he said that he was all in for a blind date with you.

You tapped your foot on the pavement as you stood outside of the coffee shop entrance you agreed to meet at. After scrolling through your social media a few times, you clicked on your messages. Were you at the right coffee shop? You clicked on his name, and triple checked that you had the correct place and time.

“Uh, Y/N?”

At the sound of your name, you peered up from your phone and saw a nervous looking boy––a boy you recognized from the picture your friend showed you on a drunken Friday night. With a nervous breath, you offered him a tight lipped smile, “Mat?”

He visibly relaxed at your confirmation that he didn’t walk up a stranger. He ran a hand through his messy styled hair and easily smiled, “Yeah, I––Hi.”

“Hi,” you let out a small laugh.

Oh my God, this is so awkward, you thought to yourself. This was why blind dates were only met for middle school. A blind date was not meant for anytime after that.

While you hadn’t even spent five minutes in his presence, your mind already jumped to the worst conclusion of this not working out as either of you planned. While dating might not work out, maybe you could get a friend out of this.

Mat took a step around you and opened the door, “Should we head in?”

With a nod, you thanked him for holding the door open. Walking in, you were instantly engulfed with the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and the sound of hardworking espresso machines. The shop was bustling with city goers, but there were enough empty tables that you didn’t feel the need to rush to save one. You let out another deep breath as you felt Mat’s shoulder slightly brush yours as he stood next to you in line.

“What are you getting?” He looked down at you.

You tilted your head as you read the menu board that hung behind the counter, “Maybe one of their house lattes?” You then moved your gaze to look up at him, “What about you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, eyes not nearly looking at the menu for as long as you did to decide on a drink, before his eyes landed back on you with a smile, “An iced coffee.”

His smile was infectious. His smile was pretty. And you felt your stomach twist in knots the more you paid attention to the way his smile affected you.

“Also, you can––uh––get whatever you want,” his checks turned a bright shade of red as he stumbled over his words, “I’ll buy.”

You shook your head, but before you could say anything, the two of you were at the front of the line.

Mat was first with his order––an iced coffee––and then he turned his body to look at you, “And whatever she’s having.” You smiled in appreciation and gave the barista your order. You were about to move out of the way, and wait for Mat to be done paying, but he asked you another question, “Do you want anything to eat?”

You felt bad having him pay for coffee and something to eat. It was a coffee shop in New York after all, but the sound of your stomach making a high-pitched grumble sold you out. You felt yourself grow hot with embarrassment, and asked for a croissant. Mat tacked on two croissants to the order and swiped his credit card as if the steep price for two coffees and two pastries in a New York coffee shop wasn’t a concern.

From the two details Hayden had told you––which were his name and age––you knew he was young like you. If you wanted to splurge on a day like this, you needed to budget ahead of time correctly. While you were appreciative of Mat paying for you…it was a blind date. And you didn’t expect him to put so much effort into it

Maybe he budgeted his money better than you.

With your croissants on a plate, the two of you found a place to sit by a window. You tapped your fingers on the wooden table top. It was still awkward, you thought to yourself, as you counted down the seconds until your drinks came. Mat seemed to feel the awkwardness in the air too, but he braved his way through the weird atmosphere.

“So…” he nodded his head for ten seconds straight, eyes darting around the coffee shop, as he cut through the silence, “Where are you from?”

You answered his question, rambling a bit to fill the void, and then asked him the same question. It went back and forth like that for maybe thirteen minutes until your drinks were brought out to your table. Thankful that you had something to sip on if there was a lull in conversation, you circled your hands around the hot mug.

But the conversation never hit a lull; it was fun not knowing anything about Mat before you met him. And he seemed to enjoy it as much as you. You struggled to drink your coffee in a reasonable amount of time to save it from growing cold because of how much the two of you consecutively talked.

“So what do you do?” You took a sip of your lukewarm coffee.

He raised an eyebrow, “What do I do?”

You hummed a simple mhm at him as you swallowed down your drink, “Like, for work,” you set your mug down on the table and leaned forward, “What’s your job?”

“My job…” Mat muttered under his breath as he leaned back on the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes flickered down to see the slight flex of his muscles, and when you reconnected eyes with him, he smirked, “I play hockey.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together, “Hockey?”

Mat nodded his head, the smirk on his face growing, as he kept silent. The two of you had been doing so well in avoiding silences, but you caught yourself in one. So, you took a sip of your drink, in hopes he would say something more about his job. But he continued to confidently sit back in his seat.

Not enjoying the sudden awkwardness, you added a futile point to your conversation, “I––I have some friends who play hockey. Only on the weekends though. Kind of like a rec league? Or just a pick up game––”

If you thought his smile was infectious, all you had to do was hear his laugh.

It was soft, a little more high-pitched than you imagined, as he slightly shook his head back and forth. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as his eyes shut for a few seconds. As his soft laughter settled down, he scratched the bridge of his nose, eyes glimmering under the natural light that shined through the window next to him.

It was a glimpse into how he sounded when he felt happy. And you wanted nothing more than to hear a real––eyes screwed shut tight, nose wrinkling, head tilted back––laugh from him.

Mat mirrored you; he leaned slightly forward, forearms resting against the table as his smile slowly transformed back into a smirk, “I play professional hockey.”

Professional hockey…But he looked so young. The only rational explanation you could think of in your head was that he played hockey for a minor league team in New York.

With a nod of your head, you took another sip of your drink. The hour you had spent with Mat flowed easily, but for some reason, finding out that he was some sort of professional athlete produced a feeling of insecurity inside of you.

You took another long sip of your coffee.

“You’ll have to come to a game,” Mat’s confident voice dropped to a hesitant whisper, “If you want to.”

Setting the empty mug down on the table, you bit the inside of your cheek to conceal your growing smile. You let out a silent deep breath, collecting your thoughts, because if he wanted you to come watch him play, that meant he had to see some sort of future with you.

Whether the future be two and a half weeks, five months, or four years…He saw you in his life somehow.

“I’d like to see you play,” you assured him.

His eyebrows animatedly rose up, almost getting lost under the loose strands of hair that fell a little too perfectly against his forehead, and smiled wide, “Awesome, that’s––Okay, yeah, I’ll text you about it.”

Neither of you could hide the smiles on your face.

After sitting at the table with empty coffee mugs for quite some time, the only reason why the date ended was because Mat said he had to go dog sit for one of his teammates. Regretfully, both of you brought your empty coffee mugs to the counter, and walked out the door with smiles, laughter, and a promise from Mat to text you about attending one of his games.

As you made the journey back to your place, you didn’t know the last time you felt this giddy after a first date. While you learned surface level information about him; you also learned the sound of his laugh, and that he wasn’t too fond of dogs.

And you couldn’t wait to learn more about him.

–––

It was your first kiss with Mat.

A nervous first kiss.

It came close to a month after your first date, and admittedly, it was probably the longest you had waited for a first kiss, but Mat had a streak of away games that kept him from New York and the two of you had only hung out in public. While a first kiss walking through a park had been romanticized one too many times, it would have left you in a daydream––but whenever it felt right––someone always came up to Mat to talk about hockey. While he wasn’t approached in public often, it seemed like whenever he was, it ruined the moment.

Maybe it was a sign he would be better off as just a friend.

But that thought always disappeared whenever he gently slid his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers and giving your hand a squeeze. And just like the first time you held his hand, there was an explosion of ecstasy in your chest.  A good tightness in your chest you felt whenever he held your hand.

You were at a bar with Mat and some friends, your fingers interlocked and resting on his thigh, pressed close up to his side. A smile lit up your face whenever you felt his chest lightly shake with laughter or his thumb softly graze the top of your hand. The only part of the night where your smile tugged downward was when everyone decided to call it an early night.

As if Mat felt the same disappointment, he whispered in your ear, “I’ll take you back to your place.”

You wished he would ask if you wanted to get ice-cream at the parlor a few blocks over, or ask if you wanted to stay at the bar, but you knew he had an early morning tomorrow. All you wanted was to spend more time with him, and if him making sure you got home alright was how you spent more time with him, you would take it.

After tabs were paid off and goodbyes were said, everyone was off in their separate directions. Except for you and Mat.

Surprisingly, the streets weren’t that crowded for it being the early evening in New York, but Mat tugged you close to his side; fingers still intertwined. The walk to the subway was full of quiet conversation of observations the two of you made down the street with a few small laughs. And when you were on the platform for your train, your laughs turned to whispers.

“If Beau was a little too much, let me know,” Mat leaned down to whisper softly in your ear, “and I’ll beat him up.”

A soft chuckle left your lips as you leaned your head against his bicep, shaking your head, you looked up at him, “You said that last time. He’s nice, I like him.”

Mat hummed, “Sometimes his teasing goes a little too far.”

His voice was light-hearted, just like how Tito sounded when he teased Mat whenever he whispered in your ear throughout the evening, but there was an underlying uncertainty in his voice. Almost like he was concerned that if Tito teased you too much you wouldn’t want to spend anymore time with Mat. But that was quite the opposite. Whenever a best friend poked fun at the other, it was almost always meant in good nature, and it also showed that Mat confided his feelings about you with Tito.

You mirrored his soft hum, and squeezed his hand, as you shrugged your shoulders, “I wouldn’t mind more of his teasing,” you smiled up at him, hoping that he caught the hidden meaning behind your sentence; you seeing a future together with more interactions with his best friend. “My friends are the same way.”

Mat raised his eyebrows, and you ducked your chin into your chest out of nervousness at his next words, “So is that our next date? I meet your friends?”

Next date.

The thought of going on countless more dates with Mat caused an electric jolt to shoot down your spine. And when you flicked your eyes up to stare into his, you felt as if you were caught in one of your dreams. His eyes were already gazing on you in awe, with the corners of his lips lightly tuned upward into a soft closed lipped smile.

He moved his head closer to yours, it was just a centimeter of movement, but you noticed it. And you held your breath as you looked down at his lips, hoping that you would finally have your first kiss with Mat.

But like all of the people who interrupted the two of you whenever you were on a walk in the park, the harsh breaking sounds of the subway coming to a halt caused Mat to move away and stand up straight.

Mat cleared his throat and you let out a sigh at the ruined moment.

The train stopped, you waited until people were off the train car, and Mat swiftly tugged on your hand to make sure that the train didn’t escape before you had the chance to get on. The train car was empty, also a very rare sight on a still relatively early evening in New York. You made your way to sit on one of the empty seats, but your stretched out arm snapped back into Mat’s chest as he held tight onto your hand.

“Do you not want to sit?” You looked up at him as he gripped onto the pole in the center of the subway car.

Mat shook his head as he dropped your hand. But you didn’t have time to be sad at the loss of contact for long because Mat curled his arm around your waist, “Too dirty,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled you close to his chest, “And we’ve been sitting all night, kinda wanna stand.”

You rolled your eyes at him and pressed your palms flat against his chest as the train jolted to a start.

Standing in silence with Mat on the empty subway was more relaxing than it should have been. Because while the unpleasant sound of the subway on the tracks echoed through the tunnel, with your head resting on Mat’s chest, all you heard was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You could feel yourself dozing off as his thumb rubbed soothing circles on your hip, but your senses heightened when he trailed his hand slowly up your back. The feeling of his fingertips making contact with your spine caused goosebumps along your skin. And you swore your breathing stopped when you felt his hand trail up your neck, his fingers cradling the back of your head with his thumb on your cheek.

Hesitantly––hoping that you knew what was to come in the next few moments––you looked up at Mat through your eyelashes.

His bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he stared down at you with a crease in between his eyebrows. With your hands still firmly placed on his chest, you could feel the deep breath he let out through his nose.

“I like you,” Mat blurted out.

You let out a breathy chuckle at his admission. You knew that he liked you by the way he always held your hand and how he liked to call you more than text, but to hear him verbalize his feelings felt nice.

You bit the inside of your cheek to contain your smile as you saw his head move a centimeter closer to yours, “I like you, too.”

Mat glanced at your lips, and then at your eyes, and even with a slight nod of your head, Mat still hesitated as if he was waiting for you to pull away. But you weren’t going to pull away––you didn’t want to pull away––because you had been waiting for this moment where your heart hammered in your chest, and your breath got caught in your throat.

And as you felt him let out another shaky breath, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his lips. His lips touched yours gently at first, a tender brush, as if he anticipated being electrocuted by a spark. But when nothing happened, Mat tucked his lower lip between yours in another gentle, but lingering kiss.

You had plenty of first kisses before in your life; there had been first kisses that had been harder, more rushed, more chaste…but never had you felt a first kiss that was so simple and right than you did with Mat. Your lips were merely pressed together, but you could still feel him everywhere.

There was something so innocent about the kiss, as if both of you were afraid to mess up.

The two of you separated just as softly as you’d come together, just enough room to where you could peer up at him and still feel his breath across your face. Then the two of you laughed. Shy, whispery giggles that had more to do with nerves rather than humor. And as the two of you continued to stare into each other’s eyes, it was as if instinct kicked in and Mat’s lips were back on yours.

This time, your lips met with more certainty, eager to feel. A soft sigh escaped your lips when Mat parted his lips further and you felt the tip of his tongue. The hand that had previously cupped your cheek, was now on around your lower back as he pressed you close to him. And to keep yourself steady as the subway car went around a bend, one of your hands gripped his shirt as the other clutched onto his bicep.

As the two of you shared your first kiss on an empty New York subway, you learned a few more things about Mat. You finally learned what his lips felt like pressed against yours, and that he was absolutely terrible at navigating the subway after the two of you missed your stop.

With the way he made you feel during your first kiss, you couldn’t wait to feel that spark of joy again.

–––

It was your first hockey game.

Your first New York Islanders hockey game where you knew a player on the ice…and more importantly, where a player was your boyfriend.

“Oh he will love it,” Hayden smirked at the #13 jersey you wore as the two of you walked with the crowd toward the arena, “I still can’t believe you thought he was a minor league hockey player.”

You lightly knocked your shoulder against hers as you let out a small laugh, “How was I supposed to know he played for the National Hockey League?” You raised your eyebrows at her, “You literally only told me his name and that we were around the same age when you set us up.”

She tipped her head back in laughter, “I thought you paid attention to sports!”

“I do!” You mirrored her smile as the two of you took out your tickets to be scanned, “But you can’t see what they look like under their helmets clearly.”

After the two of you passed security, you found yourself amongst a sea of white, navy blue, and orange as you walked to your seats, “I still can’t believe he didn’t tell you he played for the Isles.” She snickered, “He has way too big of an ego to let that slide.”

You felt your stomach churn with embarrassment as your whole body heated up.

While Mat said that he played professional hockey on your first date, he conveniently left out that he played for the New York Islanders. It was a week and a half after your first date when you found out that detail. Mat was away for a few road games, and as the two of you were texting, he casually slipped in that you should watch the game on T.V.

You thought he was joking because you didn’t think that they broadcasted minor league hockey games on television. But he called you to give you his NHL TV login and informed you to tune in at 7 PM for the New York Islanders game. Again, you thought he was joking, but you tuned in anyway.

The shock you felt through your body was unlike anything else you felt when you heard the announcers talk about how amazing Mat Barzal has played for years as an Islander. And when the camera focused in on him for a few seconds, you scrambled to text Hayden for confirmation.

But now, nearly three months into your relationship, you had found a time where your schedule worked with Mat’s to go to one of his games. He asked if you wanted to sit with his teammate’s significant others, but you said you would be more comfortable with Hayden for your first hockey game of his.

As the two of you sat down a few rows behind the Islanders bench, you tugged the sleeves of your #13 Barzal jersey over your hands. He’s your boyfriend, you thought to yourself as you felt self-conscious wearing his jersey, no need to be nervous…other people are wearing his jersey too.

But those other people didn’t share intimate moments with him. Other people didn’t know how his calloused hands felt as they delicately touched your skin. Other people didn’t know he slightly snored when he napped.

Sure, other people idolized him as a hockey player, but you were always in awe of him when you learned a specific trait about him that he didn’t share with the rest of the world.

“Do you see him?” Hayden leaned over to speak in your ear as she pointed to Mat skating on the ice, “Right there.”

With a hockey stick in his hands, Mat skated in circles to practice his puck movement. The face you admired so much was hidden under his helmet, but you could clearly see his number and last name on his jersey.

You smiled wide and nodded your head, “This is exciting.”

Hayden laughed at your eagerness to have the game start as you practically bounced in your seat. Soon enough, the players finished their warm ups and skated toward the bench. One by one, they hopped off the ice.

“I’m gonna call out his name,” Hayden smirked as she cupped her hands around her mouth.

But with wide eyes and embarrassment already in the pit of your stomach, you pulled her hands away from her mouth, “Don’t you dare––”

“Looks like he’s already found you,” Hayden’s smirk widened as she waved her hand at who you presumed was Mat.

You whipped your head around to the bench and saw Mat, with his helmet off, awkwardly half-turned around on the bench as he sat next to a number #18 and #27. And like every time you saw him, a smile that you couldn’t contain instantly made its way onto your face. You picked up your hand and animatedly waved at him with a beaming smile.

Mat lowered his head for a moment, hair slightly falling onto his forehead, and when he picked his head up to wave at you, you saw his cheeks twinged with pink coloring.

Feeling too excited watching your boyfriend play live for the first time tonight, you couldn’t help but turn your shoulder toward him as you showed off the #13 on your sleeve. When you dropped the hand that stretched out the sleeve to show him his number, you expected to see a smile as wide as yours on his face. But instead, you saw his eyes wide open and mouth formed in a straight line, jaw slightly clenched, as his chest expanded; taking in a deep breath.

Confused, you tilted your head and looked at Hayden, “Is he not happy that I’m wearing––”

Letting out her loudest laugh of the night, Hayden bent forward and clutched her stomach, “Oh, you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Hayden had known Mat longer than you, so you knew that she knew things about him that you weren’t privy to yet. But her comment intrigued you.

“What do you mean?”

She just shook her head as her shoulders still slightly shook.

You turned back around in hopes to see Mat, but when your eyes landed on the bench, you saw Mat being jostled between the two players he sat next to. And upon further inspection, you read the last names on the jersey’s; Beauvillier and Lee.

Lee was still elbowing Mat when Tito turned around with a wicked smile. He cupped a hand around his mouth, “Nice jersey! He loves it!”

Tito’s voice fell a little flat among the crowd that started to fill their way to their seats, but you still heard him. And his comment only spurred on more laughter from Hayden.

At this point in your relationship with Mat, you were used to Tito’s teasing. And in the time you had been in the arena, you had grown accustomed to Hayden’s laughs. You didn’t think too much of their actions, your mind still wrapped around how all you wanted was for the game to begin.

And soon enough, the game started.

You were on the edge of your seat for the entire first period, clutching Hayden’s hand anytime Mat was shoved from behind or slammed into the boards. The second period was just as thrilling, and even though a penalty was called on Mat, he caught your eye briefly before he sat down in the penalty box. And the third period…While you stood up and cheered with the rest of the arena whenever the Islanders scored, no amount of excitement in the first two periods felt as exhilarating as when you watched Mat score.

With Hayden, you leaped up and hugged her tight as you cheered with a blinding smile.

“He scored!” You held her at arm's length away before turning your attention back on the ice.

His line-mates gathered him up in a hug, patting his helmet, and then he skated out with a wide smile. Mat was on his way to high-five his teammates on the bench, but before he held his glove out for them, he quickly pointed in the general direction of where you were sitting.

To anyone, it looked like he was pointing toward the Islanders bench, or even at the fans. And while there was an increase of cheers from your section at Mat’s little call out, you knew he was pointing out one specific fan in the crowd.

After the third period ended––with the Islanders winning by three––fans could either be heard still celebrating, or seen walking up the aisles to beat the traffic. But you and Hayden stayed in your seats, and especially paid attention to Mat who was out on the ice giving a post-game interview. His voice boomed through the arena, but all you could focus on was his heavy breathing and how his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead.

With most of your section cleared out, you and Hayden walked down to the row right behind the glass that was closest to the ice. Not one to shy away from being heard, Hayden pounded her fist against the glass and shouted your boyfriend’s name, “Mat!”

She continued to pound on the glass and call out his name until his post-game interview ended. And when the camera cut, Mat’s eyebrows automatically rose as he skated toward the two of you with a smile.

Through the glass, you waved at him, “You played so well! So amazing––And that goal?! You were so incredible.” His wide smile slowly transformed into a smirk as his eyes darkened just a bit, “That was so much fun.”

Mat chuckled and shook out his hair, “‘I’m glad you had a good time.”

“You two!” Hayden called out. You and Mat both broke eye contact with each other to see your mutual friend standing a few rows up with her phone pointed at the two of you, “Smile! It’s your first hockey game together.”

You let out a soft laugh as you turned around and leaned your back against the glass, standing up on your tiptoes so you didn’t look shorter next to Mat who wore skates. And as if he was physically next to you, and not separated by plexiglass, you leaned your head towards him and smiled wider than you had ever in your life.

After Hayden finished taking more than enough photos to commemorate your first hockey game of Mat’s, you spun around to face him again. From behind, you heard an usher say that it was time for fans to leave the arena, but you clearly heard Hayden say, I’m with her and that’s her boyfriend.

You rolled your eyes at Hayden and scratched the bridge of your nose as you stared at Mat through the glass.

“I need to change,” He chuckled, “But I’ll meet you outside? Hayden knows where the exit is.”

You nodded your head vigorously, “That sounds good, yeah,” the smile you had when you took your picture together never left your face, “I still can’t believe how well you played, it was––Oh my God. I can’t wait to come to more games.”

The smirk Mat had on his face as you praised his performance morphed into a faint smile as he poked the glass with his glove where your face was, “Keep the compliments coming when I’m off the ice.” You rolled your eyes at him as he waved at you, “I’ll see you soon.”

You raised your hand to touch the cold glass, “Bye,” you whispered as your fingertips slowly trailed down the glass as you watched Mat skate away backwards.

Feeling like you were on top of the world, you spun around with a lovesick smile on your face, ready to meet your boyfriend at the exit. Walking up the aisle and out of the arena, Hayden sent you the pictures she took of you and Mat. And as you waited by the exit Mat said Hayden knew, you set your lock screen and home screen to one of the pictures taken just twenty minutes ago.

When you heard the familiar laugh of your boyfriend, your ears perked up and you put your phone in your bag. And when you saw him walking out in his game day suit with Tito––who shoved Mat’s shoulder––for the hundredth time that day, you smiled.

Standing up from the stone ledge you sat on with Hayden, you rocked on your heels as you waited for Mat to come closer. And once he wasn’t too far away, you sped walked over to Mat as Hayden walked more slowly behind you as she snorted at your eagerness.

While you found it fun to watch Mat skate around the ice having the time of his life, there was nothing you enjoyed more than hugging him. You almost didn’t see his glowing smile––one that showcased all of his teeth––before you barreled into him.

Arms wrapped tightly around his waist, you hugged him impossibly close to you, “That was––Ah!––I’m still not over how fun that was,” you pressed a kiss to his neck before tilting your head up to look at him, “I know I already said how good your goal was so good––And I’ll stop after this––But really, that was so cool how you skated around those defenders and––”

Both Tito and Hayden’s laugh caused you to stop complimenting Mat on his goal. You caught a glimpse of Mat’s glare on his two friends, and then turned your head over your shoulder to see them hanging off each other as they laughed. You felt Mat’s hands tighten around your waist, the tips of his fingers felt like they burned a hole through your clothes and scorched your skin.

“Oh don’t––Don’t mind us,” Hayden wiped a few tears away from the corners of her eyes, “Please, carry on––”

You scrunched your eyebrows together in confusion.

“Barz, will––He’ll––” Tito’s face went red as he found it harder to breathe through his laughter. But once he calmed down, he chuckled, “Don’t stop praising him, he loves it.”

Mat flipped off his friends as he raised his hand to where the 13 patch was on your shoulder. With a small smile, he tugged on your sleeve a few times, “Hayden, send me the pictures you took,” he yelled over to his still laughing friends before he pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

As the night continued on, the four of you celebrated the win and Mat’s goal with drinks at a bar. As you leaned your head on Mat’s shoulder, you learned how fun it was to attend one of his games. And you learned that the rush of joy you felt course through your veins when you saw Mat succeed was unparalleled to any feeling of happiness you had ever felt with a partner.

And late that night in Mat’s apartment, as your hands wandered through his hair, over his biceps, and across his chest…He trailed his lips across your cheek, down your neck, and down past the valley of your breasts…You also learned that Mat liked to be praised in more ways than one.

–––

It was your first I love you.

The first I love you that you said to a person where you felt the sensation of those words taking over every crevice of your body…but like your first date, those words made you anxious and light-headed at the thought of admitting it.

Love.

Love was a commitment; a feeling that shouldn’t be taken lightly when in relation to two people who mutually cared and respected each other. It was a word you cherished, a feeling you craved nothing more in the world; and it was exactly how you felt about Mat.

Eleven months into your relationship with Mat––that you didn’t even think would get this far––you knew you were in love with him. There were times the sentence almost slipped past your lips, and there were moments where you thought he would say it too…but like your first kiss, both of you were hesitant.

Since the day you met him, you learned something new about him each day, and you didn’t want to stop getting to know him.

“So, what are you doing with your break?” You spoke through your phone as you waited at a street corner for the light to change with a group of people.

Mat scoffed, “This is hardly a break,” he bitterly whispered into his phone, “Literally not even a five minute water break.”

You gripped the brown paper bag of small groceries in your hand as your heart ached at his exhausted voice. Mat explained to you that the Islanders were going through some sort of bootcamp to get them out of their losing slump. But the bootcamp was on top of their already packed schedule of games and practices.

“And they can do this?” The light changed and you moved with the crowd, “It doesn’t seem fair.”

Mat let out an exasperated breath, and you could picture him running a hand over his face, “I miss you.”

Him changing the subject wasn’t lost on you, but with the limited time Mat had and how drained he sounded, you knew better than to press the subject further.

“I miss you too,” you smiled softly as you dodged a few people walking down the opposite direction of you on the sidewalk, “I just bought stuff for dinner tonight though, so that’s––”

But your sentence was cut off as someone rudely knocked into your shoulder hard––Watch it, they sneered at you––and caused you to stumble into a few people walking next to you.

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologized to the people you crashed into. They smiled in appreciation, knowing full well that if it wasn’t for the person who bumped your shoulder, the accident would’ve been averted.

“What was that?”

Mat’s worn out voice from before disappeared as he now sounded on high alert.

“Nothing,” you let out a sigh, because while you knew it wasn’t your fault you stumbled into people, it still felt embarrassing, “But as I was saying, for dinner––”

“No, that––I heard someone yell at you,” Mat’s voice was low, insistent on what he heard on your end, “What happened? Are you okay?”

You sucked in a deep breath, “Yeah, someone just bumped into my shoulder.” Because while it was New York, and you had been bumped into plenty of times before, it had been a bit of a rough day. But you didn’t want that one thing to tip you over the edge, especially when you knew Mat was having it worse than you, “It’s fine, I’m fine. The eggs didn’t crack so it’s a win.”

Mat didn’t laugh at your attempt at a joke.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He paused before his voice dropped to an earnest whisper, “If you need me I can leave to come get you.”

“But practice––”

“No,” Mat cut you off, “If you need me I can leave.”

You thought about it. You thought hard about just waiting off in a park for Mat to come pick you up. But the subway station you needed to enter came into your eyesight. Even though he couldn’t see you, you shook your head, “I’m fine, I’ll just need a hug when I see you later.”

At that, Mat let out a breathy chuckle, “You and me both.”

You smiled, the familiar feeling of love that started with the squeeze of your heart spread through the rest of your body.

“Dinner at your place?”

“Yeah, my place tonight,” you answered him, “How much longer of this practice?”

You could hear the eye roll Mat gave off with his irritated voice, “Three fucking hours.”

Even though you weren’t a professional athlete, you rolled your eyes with him at how ridiculous all of the intense practice sounded, “As much as I want to keep talking with you,” you dreamily smiled to yourself because there was nothing you loved more than hearing Mat’s voice, “I know you said if players were late they have to run laps after practice.” You grimaced, “And I’m about to go under for the subway.”

Mat let out a sigh, he didn’t want to stop talking with you either, “Yeah…Running laps is the penalty.”

“You should be used to those.”

Mat scoffed at your comment, ”I’ll see you later at your place.”

“Mhm, bye Mat,” you hummed as you began to make your descent below ground, “I love you.”

“Wait, what––”

You ended the call and slid your phone into your bag as you took out your subway card. Easily, you swiped your card past tourists, and walked through the turnstile to the platform back to your place. While the rest of the day wasn’t on your side, the subway was, because your train pulled up right as you got to the platform.

While there were still seats available for you to sit in, you had grown accustomed to standing in the middle of the subway cart. You hooked your elbow around the pole, so that your hand wasn’t directly touching it, as you thought about the day on your way home.

It started off normal; waking up, getting ready for work, arriving at the office. But then small things started to happen; you forgot your laptop charger back at your apartment, someone had accidentally taken your lunch from the communal fridge because they thought it was theirs, and then someone spilled coffee on your freshly printed reports. But then the day got worse; Mat texted you saying he wouldn’t be done practice until late, your co-worker best friend said they were leaving the company for a new job, and then that stranger hit your shoulder.

But hearing Mat’s voice made your day a little better.

Knowing that he took time out of his grueling schedule to check in on you made your heart flutter even more with love.

Love.

Your eyes widened as the grip you had on the handle of the paper bag dropped. Your grocery bag fell to the ground just as fast as your heart. Because the last sentence you said to Mat replayed in your mind like a broken record.

I love you.

You didn’t even realize that you had said those words. You clutched those words close to your chest; held them so tight as if it was a secret Mat didn’t already know. And now all of a sudden…Your secret was out in the open.

The bile churning in your stomach caused your body to overheat and you wanted nothing more than to be out of the subway. You picked a loose piece of skin by your thumb so hard that it started to bleed. You swore under your breath as it began to sting, and curled your hand into a tight fist––with your thumb on the inside––to put pressure on the cut.

Unable to stand still with your anxiety, you got off a stop early and walked the rest of the way back to your apartment.

You had nearly walked into several people, almost walked across the street on a red light, and more or less banged your forehead against your front door. You thought you had unlocked the door, so when you turned the door handle, stepped forward, and walked into the wooden door…you saw that your keys had fallen to the ground.

Once you properly unlocked the door, you quickly walked into your apartment and hastily set the grocery bag down on the island. With shaking hands, you buried your face into them and let out a muffled whine. Because how could you let those words out so casually? How could you have been so careless?

Mat had three more hours left of practice. And that left you with three hours in your apartment alone.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at your phone to see if he was still coming over. So you cleaned. You changed out of your work clothes––into a pair of athletic shorts and one of Mat’s Islander shirts––and deep cleaned as much of your apartment as you could.

And it was when you were bent sideways, windex and paper towel in hand, as you scrubbed the inside of your microwave that you heard a key in your door. You felt your heart freeze and you scrubbed the microwave even harder.

The creek of the door echoed through your modestly sized one bedroom apartment just as loud as your heartbeat pounded in your ears. The door shut the same time you heard the thump of his practice bag hit the hardwood floor.

And if you listened closely, you could hear him let out the same anxious deep breath as you.

Mat ever so slowly made his way out of the little hallway, and when you saw him appear in front of you––still bent at your awkward angle––it was as if you saw him in a different way.

Mat inhaled deeply, and then in one breath, his shoulders relaxed as he smiled at you, “I love you.”

You stared into his eyes enough times to know they were hazel, but where he stood in your kitchen, his eyes were dark brown. They weren’t illuminated with flecks of gold or green like you had seen in the past, but they were warm and inviting as his eyes captivated you in a different way than ever before. You loved his eyes.

You ran your fingers through his hair enough times to memorize the feeling how soft it felt, but his hair was a little longer in the front than usual. And with him looking like he ran right off the ice to be with you, his loose strands of scraggly hair fell messily against his forehead. You loved the way his hair framed his face.

Everything about him…from the slight stubble on his face that came close to breaking the Islanders facial hair policy, to the way he never got mad at you when you stuck your cold feet under his warm legs when you sat on the couch together. From his annoying traits, to the quirks only you knew about him, you loved everything about him

You released a breath you didn’t know you held because this…this was what it felt like to feel in love. It was fresh and exciting with hearts pounding. It was desire pouring through veins. It was a give and take; intertwined lives.

As the two of you stood in your kitchen, you learned what it felt like to feel entirely at ease with your place in the universe. For better or for worse, love is learning everything there is to know about a person.

And you couldn’t wait to learn how he loved.

–––

It was your first real fight with Mat.

And it terrified you.

The day had felt odd from the start; your routine not flowing like usual. And as the day continued on, you didn’t know what caused the negative feeling in the pit of your stomach to grow with every hour that passed. And even at the end of the work day, when you were in your own apartment, the feeling still lingered.

Already in a bad mood, you should’ve known better than to turn on a hockey game. But you knew that seeing Mat, even if it was through a T.V. screen, would make you feel better. He always made you feel better.

But he played a careless game.

It wasn’t even that he was playing bad, because honestly, he was playing really well. By the end of the first period he had two assists and handled the puck well. When the second period came around, he had scored his own goal. But Mat being Mat…he let the goal get to his head. The newfound confidence he had led him to be more aggressive with the opposing team’s players and more mouthy with the referees.

And with only six minutes left in the third period––the Islanders trailing by a few points––Mat dropped his gloves and instigated a fairly bad altercation with another player. You turned the television off before you could see Mat skate away to the penalty box.

Around an hour later when Mat walked through your apartment door the two of you stared at each other. You were curled up on the couch with a book, and he stood at the opposite end of the couch in his game day suit. He squinted his discolored left eye, his swollen bottom lip was bruised red, and you saw a few dried spots of blood on his face.

Neither of you were in the best mood, but that still wasn’t an excuse. Maybe you each expected the other to comfort you on your bad days…but that wasn’t the case for either of you now.

“I wish you were more careful,” you whispered up at him. You were still on the couch and he stood stiffly at the opposite end from you, “I don’t get why you have to fight.”

Mat let out an irritated breath out through his nostrils, “Did you even watch the game?”

Stunned by his attitude, you shut your book and rolled your eyes, “Of course I did. But that doesn’t mean––”

“Then you should know why I got in a fight.”

With a scoff, you flung the blanket off you and stood up. You mirrored his stiff position––jaw clenched, arms glued to your sides, and eyes narrowed in at him. The couch being the only barrier between the harsh words you threw at each other.

“That has nothing to do with what I said,” you huffed out, “I said you should be more careful––”

“I heard what you said,” Mat interrupted you with a snap in his tone as he shrugged off his suit jacket, “But I can’t control a fight if it happens.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I watched the game, Mat. I saw that you started it.”

“So it’s my fault?” He didn’t look at you as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, “Look, I don’t expect you to understand everything that goes on on the ice––”

“Excuse me?”

Mat rolled his eyes and his already irritable tone of voice sharpened, “Maybe if you cared a little less you wouldn’t be mad.”

His words felt like a punch to your gut. If you cared a little less. The squeeze of your heart was different than what it felt like when he told you he loved you a few months ago. Because instead of a warm tingly feeling that lifted you up, you felt a harsh burn throughout your body that made you want to shrivel up and hide.

Mat was one of the people you cared most about in the world.

But with both of your bad attitudes, like water and oil, your words caused more separation.

Your response was harsh––If I cared a little less, then who would care about you––and it sparked Mat’s short temper. He told you there were other people, people who wouldn’t make a big deal if he got in a fight because it was hockey. The yelling continued, intentional words of hurt shouted between the two of you. And soon enough, with both of you too blinded by rage, neither of you remembered why the argument even started in the first place.

“There are other people,” Mat spat out as he breathed heavily, “People who know me better. If we weren’t together, there would be other people who––”

His cruel words caused complete and utter devastation to flood your body. And you let the anger and agony of Mat’s ill fated words overtake every logical thought in your mind.

“If you don’t need me, then what are you waiting for?!” You threw your hands up as your shrill voice cracked as bad as you felt your soul shatter. Chin wobbling and chest heaving with erratic breaths, you repeated the question. Although this time, your voice was a whisper as the destruction of your words caught up to you, “What are you waiting for?”

Mat ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. And in a hurry, he scooped up his suit jacket from the couch and turned around. His heavy footsteps echoed through your silent apartment as you followed him to the door.

You choked on your words, “Where are you going?”

With his hand gripping the doorknob, you saw his shoulders tighten as he took a deep breath, “I can’t be with you.”

It felt as if the world froze, but at the same time, everything felt like it went too fast. A whirling sensation of grief caused you to lift your hand to cover your mouth. I can’t be with you.

You felt dizzy, unsure of if you wanted an answer to your question, “Are you…Does that mean just for now?” You bit your bottom lip as you tried your hardest to sniffle back your tears,”Or as in, you don’t want to be with me…anymore?”

Mat’s shoulders expanded in another deep breath as he mustered up the courage to turn around. Part of you wished he didn’t turn around because the heartbreak on his face looked just as bad as you felt. His chin wobbled like yours, lips pressed together in a firm line to keep his emotions to himself. His eyes were bloodshot, wide and scared like a child afraid of thunderstorms. And like yours, his chest heaved with small breaths, failing to keep his breathing under control.

“I don’t…” he shut his eyes tight and rubbed the corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger, “Just for now.” Although his answer relieved only a sliver of anxiety you felt in the middle of your chest, it looked like he was still going to leave, “I need to leave before either of us say anything else we regret.”

Blinking rapidly, you still felt a few tears roll down your cheek as you nodded your head just as fast. You hugged your arms around your stomach and anxiously tapped your foot, “Will you…Are you coming back?”

A flash of pain crossed his face as he sucked in another deep breath, “Don't wait up for me.”

Before you could process his vague answer, his hand pressed down on the door handle and he was gone before he put his jacket back on. The door closed gently, but you would have rather it slammed shut so you would have that sound echoing in your mind instead of your insecurities.

Still hugging your stomach, you bit the inside of your cheek and slowly made your way back to the couch. As if it took all of your energy, you picked the blanket back up, wrapped it around your shoulders, and tucked yourself into the far corner. You sat alone, cold feet tucked in between the cushions, as you leaned your head back on the couch and let out a sob.

You purposefully said words to hurt him, and he had done the same with you. While the two of you had arguments before, they were never this blown out of proportion. There was never any screaming, there were never any tears, and neither of you had ever left the other’s place without reconciling. But with this fight…There was shouting, tears fell from both of you, and Mat left your place without a promise to come back.

You don’t know how many hours had passed as you stared at the wall ahead of you. But it was enough time for your cries to settle down and for the sound of a key to echo your silent home. And just like earlier in the night, Mat stood at the opposite end of the couch as you sat curled up in a blanket.

As the two of you stared at each other in silence, you learned what it felt like to sit in purgatory; not knowing if Mat was to come back that night or if you were to go days without seeing him. You learned what raw heartache truly felt like without his presence when all you wanted was a hug. And when he moved to sit next to you on the couch––finally receiving a hug from him––you also learned that he was just as sorry as you and didn’t mean any of the words he said.

You never wished to learn what a life without Mat truly felt like.

–––

The nerves you felt were worse than your first date with Mat. They had been with you for months, but they were now at an all time high that caused your hands to shake. And just like the nerves you felt before the blind date, they caused you to be twenty minutes early to the venue.

What if there was traffic? What if the piano player you and Mat hired brought the wrong sheet music? What if there weren’t enough seats? While you were twenty minutes earlier than your scheduled time that was designed to make sure you already arrived early to avoid any mishaps, it was the only way to ease your anxiety.

As you fiddled with the dress you always dreamed of wearing on this day, you inhaled a shaky breath as you stood in the private room alone. You needed space to concentrate on the fact that in less than a few hours you would have a different last name.

“Y/N?”

A light knock on the door and the call of your name caused you to whip your head. Hurriedly, you made your way to the door and leaned your shoulder against it as you made sure it was locked.

You cleared your throat, “Yeah?”

“It’s just me,” you saw the locked door handle jiggle as you heard a soft laugh on the other side, “Mat’s not with me.”

“I don’t trust you.”

You heard another laugh, this one more gentle, as Tito reassured you, “He knows about your superstitions, he wouldn’t try and sneak a glance.”

You thought about turning the best man at your wedding away, but the more you thought about it, the more you trusted him when he said Mat wasn’t with him. Mat knew you had certain superstitions you didn’t mess with; like lifting your feet up when you drove over railroad tracks or how you threw salt over your left shoulder if you spilled it.

He had learned all of those things about you.

The click of the lock coming undone caused you to hold your breath. Slowly, you cracked open the door and peered out the tiny slit with one eye. Tito had his face pressed close to the crack and you saw him close up. He didn’t pry the door like you thought, so hesitantly, you opened the door as you looked both ways to make sure your fiancé was nowhere in sight.

With the door fully open, Tito’s smile was brighter than you’d ever seen it before. He let out a low whistle, “Are you sure you I can’t marry you?”

Tito’s teasing had been a constant in the years of your relationship with Mat, and for better or for worse, it was about to extend into a lifetime.

You shoved his shoulder with your left hand, the engagement ring Mat picked out for you sparkling slightly in the light, “Shut up.”

“But really,” Tito slid both of his hands into the front pockets of his pants as he shook his head in disbelief, “You look beautiful. Mat won’t know what to do.”

“Hopefully he’ll say I do.”

Tito chuckled at your comment and then the two of you stood in silence. But when he slightly bowed his head and awkwardly rocked on his feet, you knew there was a purpose for his visit when he looked up at you.

“There is…Mat…” He took a deep breath, preparing himself for your answer, “He wants to talk with you.” Your eyes bulged out of your head as you immediately stepped back into the private room and went to slam the door shut. But Tito stuck his foot out in time to stop the door from slamming shut, “He’s not here––he’s still out there talking with people, but he heard you got here early early started sweating, and he just wants to hear your voice––”

You shook your head behind the door, “No.”

“C’mon,” Tito pleaded with you, “I’m sure it’ll calm you down to hear him––”

“What if he sees me?” You exasperatedly said, “Even if it was an accident. That would––”

“He won’t,” Tito’s voice held just as much firmness to it as he had confidence in his best friend, “He knows you too well to break your superstition.”

He knows you.

Hearing Mat’s voice would calm you down, but the anxiety of him accidentally seeing you before you walked down the aisle was too much. It was almost too much nervousness for you to handle on your own, so with a deep breath and a silent prayer that this wouldn’t blow up in your face, you whispered to Tito that Mat could talk to you.

Tito had spun around to retrieve Mat before you could finish your sentence. He rushed away from you, afraid you would back out on your word. But just as fast as Tito ran away, you slammed the door shut and relocked it.

You turned around and leaned your back against the door. Pinching the bridge of your nose to relieve some of the stress, you let out a deep breath. With only a few moments to yourself, you did a few breathing exercises before a shallow knock sounded from the other side of the door.

“Uh, Y/N?”

You could pick out his voice from anywhere, and you let out an audible sigh of relief, “Mat?”

He also let out a deep breath, and you could picture his shoulders relaxing at confirmation he didn’t walk up to an empty room. You turned around and placed your hand softly on top of the door handle; resting your forehead on the door you whispered, “I’m so nervous.”

“So am I,” Mat let out an airy laugh, “We’re the ones who decided to marry each other, yet we’re both a mess.”

You replicated his laugh and it went back to silence. You had spent years together with Mat, but no silence had ever been more poignant than this. You could hear his love, almost feel it, but you couldn’t see him. Not yet.

It was his trembling voice that broke through the silence, “Can I hold your hand?”

“Mat––”

“I’ll turn around,” he rushed out, knowing how strongly you felt about this superstition, “You can stay behind the door––just with your arm sticking out––We can both turn around so we make sure we don’t chance anything, because I––” he cut himself off, calming himself down with a single breath, “I really need a hug, but we can’t do that.” He let out another deep breath, “Please?”

You loved him more than anyone else in the world, and in turn, you would do anything for him; including holding his hand.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, and you were positive he could hear it, “Turn around.”

And with a click of the door unlocking, you opened it just a sliver of a bit open and turned around yourself. You stuck your left hand out for him, and in an instant, his hand found yours. You felt tears well up in your eyes out of happiness, because even though you could feel him now you still couldn’t believe you were going to spend the rest of your life with him.

You filled the silent void with your voice and added a futile point to the non-existent conversation. But you wanted him to know this about you, “I showed up to our first date twenty minutes early.”

Mat chuckled as he repeatedly stroked his thumb on top of your engagement ring, “I know.”

You squeezed his hand, “You know?”

Again, Mat let out another soft laugh, “I was thirty minutes early to our first date.” You felt your wide open mouth transform into a smile, “I was across the street and saw you waiting.” He lowered his voice, “I was so scared.”

You were convinced that was maybe the only thing he didn’t know about you, but he proved you wrong. Time and time again he proved himself to know you better than you knew yourself.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you whispered.

“You know me better than anyone else.”

The way he continued to trace around your engagement ring caused your heart to squeeze; it only made you more excited for when there would be a second ring on your finger, “There has to be something.”

You felt your heart pound against your ribcage as a few beats of silence passed over. From his drawn out silence, you knew he had something, you knew he was debating on whether to tell you or not.

“The picture we took together at the first hockey game you came to,” you could hear the shy smile on his face, “I’ve kept it in my locker since then.”

You felt your heart melt and chin wobble; this was something new you were learning about him.

“And I…” He let out a nervous laugh, and ever since the first time heard the sound of it, it was infectious, “I have it with me now in the inner-pocket of my jacket.”

A lone tear trailed down your cheek as you tried to sniffle the rest of the tears you felt behind your eyes away. It was your wedding day, of course you were going to cry, but you didn’t think it would be this soon.

Mat’s hand briefly dropped yours as you heard a crinkle of photo paper being taken out of Mat’s jacket pocket. You felt the corner of a piece of paper hit the palm of your hand a few times. Gently, and without looking down, you took the picture from Mat’s hand. And when you brought the picture up to your face, you squeezed Mat’s hand hard as an audible gasp left your lips.

The two of you looked so young. Which made sense considering the picture was taken a few years ago. You smiled at the memory as if it happened yesterday; you in your #13 Barzal jersey, tilting your head toward Mat as if you were leaning your head on his shoulder if the plexiglass wasn’t there. Hayden had taken a hundred pictures of the two of you, but this was different than the one you kept framed at your office.

You looked the same, but Mat looked different.

He still had his hockey stick in hand, but instead of looking at the camera like you, his head was faced down toward you. His eyes were locked in on your smile, wide in admiration. His closed-lipped smile was bashful, but you could clearly see the happiness radiating off him. That day, while you looked into the camera, still high off excitement from watching him on the ice; he looked down at you with all the love he held for you in his soft eyes.

“I even take it with me on road games.”

Tracing your fingers down the worn down, slightly torn up, and bent edges of the picture, you felt another tear roll down your cheek.

While you wanted nothing more to look at the well loved photograph of the two of you in love before either of you knew it, you didn’t want to cry too much before walking down the aisle. You handed the picture back to him so he had it for safekeeping, and squeezed his hand again.

“I love you so much,” you breathed out.

“I love you, too.”

As the two of you continued to hold hands until Mat was called away in order for you to start the last of your wedding preparations, you learned that Mat cherished the small moments. Whether he wanted to memorize the first time he fell in love with you by carrying around a photograph from early on in your relationship, or how he wanted to hold your hand before the two of you committed to a lifetime together…You learned more about him in those moments than ever before.

And when Mat would eventually slide a ring onto your finger––and you to his––it felt as if the rings held a promise heavier than til death do us part. From the moment you met Mat until now, the most important thing you learned about him was how good of a friend he was to you.

You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life as his friend.

[wincore]

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. 

[hoodiewithhorns]

Hmmm how about and argument scenario with Atsumu or Suna...or both 🥺

━  argument scenario with Atsumu and Suna ✧

ofc aw, also sorry if this is bad and out of character I still don't know much about these two (I'm wrapping up season 2) but I’ll do my best <3.

▲ cw : not proofread, established relationship, fem reader, crying , hurt + comfort, insecurities of abandonment , neglect, angst, slight jealousy, hint of smut at the end(for atsumu), all characters are 18+, MDNI. ▼

Atsumu 

- he had been in a bad mood from the start 

- he told you ahead of time he wasn’t feeling good so to surprise him, you went to go see him at one of his practices

- you brought him some fatty tuna and a few sports drinks to cheer up your lovely boyfriend

- arriving safe and sound with a bright smile eager to see your boyfriend

- only to find him talking to one of his fangirls, not one but 3 of them. laughing and smiling as they showered him in compliments and praise him for his athletic abilities he even let the girls touch him up for just a bit too long for your liking. 

〜 ☆

- you paused only to stare at the scene in front of you

- his brother disappointed in him, making signs that you were here waiting for him.

- he turned around to see you standing at the door frame of the gym a frozen expression plastered onto you as if you have just seen a ghost.

- those girls were pretty. prettier than you and the fact he let them touch up on him made your chest tighten. the gym was silent with only the sounds of volleyballs being thrown left and right. 

- you didn't say anything you just walked outside and waited for him to be done.

- he walked outside and drove you back home not even saying a single word.

he opened the door for you locking it once he entered as well. you still felt uneasy wanting an explanation as to why he would let those girls touch up on him like that. the way they touched his built physique left you a little hurt. you were sure if you brought it up to him it wouldn't be a problem right? just talk about it like a normal healthy couple does! right? of course!! you thought letting a few of the negative thoughts vanish from your mind.

you took a deep breath before you walked into the bedroom. Atsumu was sitting on your shared bed with his head against the headboard, scrolling through his phone watching videos to improve his spiking abilities. he seemed to be in a relaxed state, but he didn't spare a glance when you walked in. maybe he didn't hear you? you thought to yourself. the uneasy feeling overwhelming you feeling you'd breakdown at any second. 

“hey atsu.” you spoke lightly to him easing your way up to the bed. 

“what.” his tone clearly annoyed by you. you took a step back surprised by his tone and how he responded to you. he never replied with “what” it was always “yes?” or “yes my love?” taking another deep breath looking up to try and fight back your tears that were ready to stain your face at any minute now, “y-you okay baby?” you thought it’d be smarter to ask if he was still feeling okay and not bring up the fangirls..but you were dead wrong since it only set him off even more.

“I'm fine.” he grunted back at you still not looking up at you. he tightened the grip on his phone scrolling and staring at the videos more intensely now. “o-okay baby..um..” it wasn’t a good time to bring it up you already knew he was pissed off but you just wanted to get to the bottom of it immediately. if he was In a bad mood why would he talk to those girls all happy and giggly but with you a salty attitude? it didn't make sense you needed to know. “ why were those girls touching you like that.. were they your friends..?” that was the last straw for him he placed his phone down getting up to face you as you took a few steps back.

he was now hovering over you looking down at you full of anger, shivering at his mean gaze. “what's the issue? it’s just some fangirls who saw I was in a bad mood and wanted to cheer me up not like you who just walked away.” your hands were shaking at this point you felt sick to your stomach at how cruel he talked to you. how could you just stand there while girls were touching him and laughing clearly not caring he has a girlfriend?? what were you supposed to do walk towards him as if they weren’t there?

“but a-atsu I wanted to come cheer you up I made you some of your favorites-” 

“why do you care so much about some silly fangirls huh? don't we live together?? isn't that enough for you? but nooo you always have to think about yourself don't you?” he was being unreasonable at this point he knows how you get when fangirls are all over him. it was one of your insecurities that he’d reassure you didn't have to worry about since he’d never leave you, but here he was calling you selfish for caring about that.

finally, the gears in your head letting the tears promised to fall, fall down your cheeks. you sniffled rubbing your eyes as fast as you could to not let him see you but it was too late he already did. avoiding eye contact you spoke sniffling up your words.

“i just w-wanted to make you feel better why are you acting like this atsumu..”

you cried looking down as your tears hit the ground. his face switching from annoyance to concern, he messed up and he knows it. reaching out to hug you, you moved away from him and stormed out of the bedroom heading to the living room planting yourself on the couch as you hid underneath the covers to cry your little heart out. he followed you out the bedroom looking over at the meal and drinks you had planned for him. his favorite food and sports drink with a note written in your pretty handwriting he loved so much.

“I hope this makes you feel better baby! I love you so much!♡ xoxo”

- with much love y/n 

feeling his heart crack realizing the number he did on you just now. you had every right to be upset he knew you seeing him around other girls would’ve set you off he just wanted to appear as charming as possible. if his fangirls knew he was in a bad mood it would’ve caused his reputation to sink to the ground. still, he knows he shouldn’t have let them touch him like that especially if he had you at home. he let out a sigh walking up to the couch sitting right next to you with his head thrown back on the couch eyes never leaving you, watching and hearing you carefully. 

your sniffles did so much damage to him it already hurt him when he saw you cry, but crying because of something inconsiderate he did hurt him even more.

he pulled the covers down to reveal your redden tear-stained faced stilling sniffling but not fighting back when he pulled you into his chest. how could you fight back? you loved him you never want to consider leaving him as an option. you just wanted to fix things and so you let out a soft apology as he rubbed comforting circles on your back.

“no baby I'm sorry...I was being stupid and was in a bad mood but that doesn't give me the right to hurt you like this..” his voice soft yet firm making you ease up more into his chest as you sat in his lap to face him wrapping your arms around his neck.

he looked like a sad puppy he felt bad he really did which brought you to kiss him on the lips he smiled into the kiss feeling relieved. this lasted for what felt like forever. you pulled away and he rubbed the last bit of tears off your pretty eyes.

“I'm sorry baby I really am..I was like..an idiot sandwich you know?” you giggled at his joke making him smile as if he just won back his girlfriend. “it's okay atsu I love you.. please don't forget that okay?” he nodded pulling you in once more for a much more deeper and passionate kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist while his hands roamed your body. letting out a soft moan into the kiss, his hands went under your shirt as he pulled away smirking.

“why don't you let me make it up to you pretty girl let me show you that those silly fangirls don’t mean anything to me yeah?”

Suna 

- he was always busy with volleyball

- which meant coming home really late.

- you supported him nonetheless adoring how talented he looked going against teams

- you just felt..empty without him

- he wasn’t just your lover but... your best friend 

- you missed his touch and his presence in general

- he kept coming home late from practice each week making you miss him more and more

- some nights he wouldn't even come home and would stay at a teammate's apartment at the very last minute instead of coming home to cuddle you like how he always did.

 - this made your head spiral wondering if he even acknowledges how much you miss him. 

- you understand his practice and games end really late but still, you were his girlfriend a little reassurance through a phone call or a facetime would be enough for you to sleep alright for a night.

- his texts also caused you to feel more alone back then he would spam you with stupid stuff the twins were doing back in high school and even a little bit now with stuff his teammates were doing with the occasional “i love yous” and the simple but sweet heart emojis he’d send. now it wasn't even like that. 

you glanced at your phone and it was 11:34 PM and still no text from him or sign of his arrival. did he even care at this point? you wondered tossing and turning in your shared bed scrolling through Instagram. your eyes lit up when he messaged you. hoping maybe it would be an i love you or an apology for being so neglectful towards you. 

“hey. i’ll be coming home at 12.”

“okay tarō be safe. I love you♡”

read at 11:40 PM

you sighed feeling a little happy he at least was coming home soon. still, an I love you back would’ve been nice. you waited for him for a few more minutes trying your hardest not to fall asleep. it's been so long since you two been together or specifically seen each other. part of you was excited to see your boyfriend after weeks of not seeing him but part of you was upset. so many weeks of you being alone sleeping alone without his chest to cling on or his shoulder to lay on when you cried over your favorite shows.

you jolted up when you heard the door open finally, he was home, you happily walked to the front door. Suna took off his shoes before entering placing them at the front door. you greeted him kissing his cheek hugging him tightly, you missed this..you missed him.

“hey y/n. I'm tired do you mind?”

you pulled away looking up at his dissatisfied expression. first, he calls you by your actual name and then tells you to back off after god knows how long you’ve seen him. he walked past you heading straight to the bathroom to wash up. you stood there appalled at the fact he barely acknowledged you only to tell you back off. you couldn’t believe it but you tried to shrug it off, maybe he was in a bad mood? he’ll still cuddle you to sleep so you have that to look forward too!...you hoped.

when you walked back to the bedroom he was already going underneath the covers and you followed, going under them with him, while his back was facing you. you waited a while to see if he’d ask you if you wanted to cuddle. waiting... and still not a word not even a goodnight when he finally turned the lights off.

you missed him so much all you wanted was him to acknowledge you just a little. you moved closer to his back and hugged him from behind. 

“god, y/n why are you so needy all of a sudden?” rolling his eyes at you in annoyance. you moved your hands back to you sitting up to face him.

“why I’m so needy?? jeez tarō I don't know maybe I haven't seen my boyfriend in god knows how many weeks!” you snapped back at him causing him to get out of the bed. 

“It was 5 weeks it wasn’t even that bad!” he yelled back at you, you felt your heart become heavy looking at his eyes that had not a trace of love in them while your very own eyes felt heavy holding back tears.

“you’ve been coming home late all the damn time suna! sometimes you don't even show up! I miss you so much sometimes I....” you froze the tears finally starting to fall. “I don't even think you love me anymore..” 

he froze his eyes widening at your final words. how could he be so blind? his sweet girl had every right to be needy for him 5 weeks must've felt like an entirety to you and now that he finally gets home he's acting like an assshole to you pushing you away as if you were nothing but an obstacle. he sat back down on the bed to hug you. a genuine one full of love and regret. it was silent for a few minutes of just the two of you tight in each other's embrace. 

“I’m..sorry my love...I didn't mean to yell at you like that I miss you too I just..I'm sorry” he felt bad he didn't mean to hurt you. he knows he's at fault here and all he can do is mumble apologies while he pulls you close to him as he hides his face in the crook of your neck for comfort. you hugged back of course finally having him in your arms brought you joy. 

“it's okay tarō...I love you...we’ll be okay, okay?” he nodded planting soft kisses on your forehead. “I love you too baby..but let's go to bed my love it's getting late..” smiling he pulled you into his chest to cuddle you to sleep wiping the remaining tears you had still left in you. after a while you fell asleep in his chest while he watched you sleep peacefully.

“heh.. you’re such a crybaby .” he smiled pulling you in closer planting soft kisses on you trying not to wake you.

“I love you y/n I promise to make it all up to you.” 

[bloody-bee-tea]

Wedding Days

Inspired by this prompt from @mingcheng-prompts

Jiang Cheng groans when he hears Wei Wuxian’s excited laughter and then he mentally curses himself for it, because it’s Wei Wuxian’s wedding day. He’s allowed to be excited and happy. Required even.

It doesn’t change the fact that Jiang Cheng got dumped a day before the wedding happened and he had to show up alone to this, but it is what it is. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t even change it in hindsight and he’s kind of glad that relationship ended, but still.

He deserves to get another drink, right?

Jiang Cheng is just about to knock back another shot when a hand settles on his arm.

“What the hell?” he snaps out, ready to tear a new one into whoever dares to interrupt his drinking, but the words die on his tongue when he locks eyes with the most gorgeous man he has ever seen.

“Drinking alone is no fun,” the guy says and lifts his own shot to Jiang Cheng. “Want some company?”

“Depends on why you are drinking?” Jiang Cheng gives back, because he could never simply take anything that was offered and the guy huffs out a laugh.

“I was dumped. Like, ten minutes ago. It feels like a good reason to drink,” he says with a shrug. “You?”

“Dumped yesterday,” Jiang Cheng mutters and clinks his shot against the other. “It’s a perfect reason to drink,” he says and then downs the shot, watching the man do the same.

Jiang Cheng is absolutely not itching to get his teeth into his throat.

“Nie Mingjue,” the guy introduces himself once he swallowed and it takes Jiang Cheng an embarrassing long moment to tears his eyes away from his throat.

“Jiang Wanyin,” he replies and he wonders if he can pretend that his voice sounds rough like this because of the alcohol.

“Wei Wuxian’s brother, right?”

“And you’re Huaisang’s brother,” Jiang Cheng gives back, distantly wondering how they went all these years without meeting even once, but he shrugs it off. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Nie Mingjue says and then waves the barkeeper down for another round of shots.

~*~**~

Jiang Cheng feels pleasantly warm, a tingling spreading out from his stomach to all his limbs and he likes to pretend that it’s the alcohol finally putting in some work. It has nothing at all to do with the way Nie Mingjue kisses a scorching hot trail down his throat.

“No, stop,” Jiang Cheng breathes out, because this is monumentally unfair. He wanted to kiss Nie Mingjue’s throat, not the other way around.

“What?” Nie Mingjue asks, pulling away immediately and Jiang Cheng takes that opportunity to get his own lips on Nie Mingjue’s skin.

“Wanted to do that since the first shot,” he says between kisses and Nie Mingjue makes a noise in his throat that Jiang Cheng can almost taste.

“Gods, you’re so unbelievable hot,” Nie Mingjue says and reaches around Jiang Cheng to grab his ass in his huge hands.

“You’re one to talk,” Jiang Cheng groans out when Nie Mingjue simply lifts him up the ground and Jiang Cheng is quick to sling his legs around his waist. “Fuck, you’re one to talk,” he repeats as he grinds into Nie Mingjue.

He doesn’t get to say much more when Nie Mingjue claims his lips into a searing hot kiss and Jiang Cheng doesn’t quite remember how they end up in his bed, but he surely won’t complain about that.

Not that Nie Mingjue gives him a chance to even form a coherent sentence now that a mattress is below them.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng wakes up alone. There’s no note to find anywhere and Nie Mingjue doesn’t contact him, even though it would be easy for him to get Jiang Cheng’s number from Nie Huaisang.

Jiang Cheng tries to not let that get to him and he goes on with his life as usual.

~*~*~

It keeps happening. They keep meeting at weddings of their families or friends, always alone, sometimes recently dumped and sometimes not, but they somehow always drift to the open bar, where the other is usually waiting.

Drinks lead to kisses, which lead to making out, which lead to them leaving the reception early to put their booked rooms to good use.

Jiang Cheng normally wakes up alone. Nie Mingjue still hasn’t contacted him.

~*~*~

It’s the ninth wedding in the last year and a half and Jiang Cheng finds himself in the same arms that he always finds himself in during these things.

“Why didn’t you drink tonight?” Nie Mingjue asks between kisses, because of course he had picked up on that and Jiang Cheng tries his best to shrug, while also not to dislodge Nie Mingjue’s lips from his skin.

“No reason,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and hopes that Nie Mingjue will just drop the issue.

It’s the ninth wedding in one and a half years and Jiang Cheng is scared that it will be the last for a while yet. Their families and assorted friend circles are big, but not that big and the next wedding will be a while off yet.

So Jiang Cheng decided to do something stupid and he can’t afford to be drunk for that. Well, drunk on alcohol. He’s perfectly drunk on the hot feeling in his gut, on the kisses Nie Mingjue presses into his skin, on the feeling of his arms around him.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t think there will ever be a way to not get drunk on this, but then his head hits the pillow on his bed and like always Nie Mingjue makes thinking impossible for him.

Jiang Cheng leans fully into it. No matter how his plan works out, it will be the last time for a while, after all.

~*~*~

When Jiang Cheng wakes up, he is not alone. He takes a moment to let out a relieved breath and then he spends long, long minutes simply staring at Nie Mingjue.

It’s the sole reason he didn’t drink even a drop of alcohol yesterday; he tends to oversleep when he is intoxicated and for once he wanted to wake up before Nie Mingjue.

He has a plan, and no matter how stupid that plan might be, he has to try. Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to wait an undetermined amount of time before he sees Nie Mingjue again, and simply reaching out for him seems strange, especially with all the time that has already passed.

But for now, Jiang Cheng enjoys waking up to Nie Mingjue still in his bed. He’s breathing softly and evenly, his face turned towards Jiang Cheng and he has to fight the urge to reach out and trail his fingers over the slope of his nose or his cheekbones.

He doesn’t want to wake Nie Mingjue yet.

Jiang Cheng is pretty sure that he will never get to watch his fill of Nie Mingjue, but he tries his best now anyway. If this goes wrong, it might be the last time he gets to do this, after all.

He is aware that he could be labelled a freak for staring at Nie Mingjue like this, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t care much about that right now. He settles back into bed, head propped up on one hand, so he gets a clearer look of Nie Mingjue and then he stays that way until Nie Mingjue shows the first signs of waking up.

Jiang Cheng is never going to admit to it out loud, but the way Nie Mingjue scrunches his face right before he wakes up is the cutest thing he has ever seen.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” Jiang Cheng whispers as Nie Mingjue blinks his eyes open, and then he decides to fuck it all and he leans in and brushes a kiss over Nie Mingjue’s cheek.

“Wanyin, you’re—awake,” Nie Mingjue says, his voice still sleep rough and while that sends a shiver of heat down Jiang Cheng’s spine, his words make a pit open up in Jiang Cheng’s gut.

“I feel well rested,” he lightly says, untangling himself from the blanket to get up. “Maybe you didn’t put enough work in yesterday,” he tries to joke, but he knows it falls flat, especially when Nie Mingjue sits up and immediately covers himself with the blanket.

Jiang Cheng already knows that he made a monumentally big mistake here, but he’s in too deep now to simply call it quits.

He would rather Nie Mingjue tells him to his face to not be stupid than to live with this uncertainty for longer.

“Stay for breakfast,” Jiang Cheng says, his back turned to Nie Mingjue as he puts on his pants. “There’s no rush to leave, right?”

Jiang Cheng tries his best not to think about the last eight times when Nie Mingjue clearly couldn’t get away from him fast enough, but he soldiers through it.

“Your stomach grumbled in your sleep, you surely must be hungry.”

He turns around, once he buttoned his pants and Nie Mingjue’s face is answer enough for him. Bitterness sweeps through Jiang Cheng, and he can do nothing to stop it.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nie Mingjue says, much like Jiang Cheng expected, and turns away from Jiang Cheng to get dressed.

It looks like he’s in a real rush to get away from Jiang Cheng and he didn’t expect that to hurt so much.

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng bitterly says. “I’m good enough for a drunk fuck but not for breakfast. Got it.”

He feels bad for his words afterwards—it was always clear that this was no-strings attached sex and nothing more—but he can’t take them back and he’s not going to apologize either. Nie Mingjue can deal with that, while Jiang Cheng deals with his stupidly broken heart.

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue starts, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to hear his excuses or his explanations.

“No, that’s—” he can’t bring himself to say ‘alright’ because it’s not and he doesn’t want to lie to Nie Mingjue but he can’t find any other words, so he simply trails off.

He’s glad he booked a bigger room for this wedding than he normally does, because it lets him step away from Nie Mingjue and the bed, even though the distance is barely anything.

Jiang Cheng busies himself with his phone, but in all honesty he is listening for Nie Mingjue gathering his things, wondering if he’ll even say goodbye to him or if this is just going to be it.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Nie Mingjue simply walks out on him after Jiang Cheng’s stupid and clearly unwanted attempt.

What he didn’t expect was for Nie Mingjue to step up behind him and pull him into his chest, his arms tightly around his middle.

“It won’t just be breakfast, if I stay,” Nie Mingjue whispers into the space at Jiang Cheng’s throat. “If I stay for breakfast, I will want to stay for lunch and dinner and movies and dates and sleeping together and every second of every day that comes after. If you ask me to stay for breakfast, I’ll never leave you alone again.”

It sounds like a confession and Jiang Cheng’s eyes immediately feel hot with tears.

He turns around in Nie Mingjue’s embrace to sling his arms around Nie Mingjue’s neck and he hides his face much like Nie Mingjue just did.

“Stay for breakfast,” Jiang Cheng croaks out, hating how his voice breaks with hope and happiness and a shiver runs down his spine when Nie Mingjue presses kiss after kiss into his skin.

“I’ll stay forever,” Nie Mingjue gives back and Jiang Cheng nods his head.

“Please,” he says, beyond caring that he’s basically begging Nie Mingjue and even that thought leaves his head when Nie Mingjue pulls away just far enough to be able to kiss Jiang Cheng.

“You never said,” Jiang Cheng breathes out when they part and Nie Mingjue shrugs.

“Well, you didn’t either, and I thought—you could have reached out. And then every other time I met you you just came out of a relationship so I didn’t know what to think to be honest.”

“You didn’t reach out, either,” Jiang Cheng gives back, just a tiny bit angry over that. “And I didn’t—I haven’t been in a relationship since that very first time. I made them all up, because I thought I needed that excuse for you,” he admits, hiding his face in Nie Mingjue’s shoulder when he can feel himself blush. “But you always recently broke up before a wedding, too.”

“Ah,” Nie Mingjue breathes out and then he laughs. “Same lie here, to be honest,” he explains before Jiang Cheng can get really angry at him and Nie Mingjue takes his face into his hands.

“Let’s exchange numbers now, so that this misunderstanding can never happen again,” he says and Jiang Cheng leans up for a soft kiss before he nods.

Breakfast is much more comfortable than Jiang Cheng dared to hope for, but that’s probably because Nie Mingjue keeps him tucked into his side and Jiang Cheng can hold his hand all morning.

He’s not inclined to ever let go of Nie Mingjue again, so the fact that he wants to stay, too, fits perfectly well.

(Jiang Cheng was right; there were no more weddings for a terrible long two years. He would have died if he hadn’t gotten to see Nie Mingjue at all during that time, but when they are told that they can kiss now, Jiang Cheng figures it’s better to attend a wedding with his husband now, anyway. Especially his own.)

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[aminiatureworld]

Burden

Characters: Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,261

Warnings: None

Premise: Xiao fell in love with your goodness, with your selflessness and generosity towards others. Perhaps, however, in doing so he had misunderstood your own complexities.

In which the reader feels they are a burden.

Author’s Note: I feel like I should note that there are going to be some relatively extreme emotions, mostly negative. I don’t feel like it’s enough or specific enough to be given a warning, but if anyone wants to tell me to tag it for something I will gladly. That being said I’m pretty proud of this one

Xiao

Ever since your first interaction you had been helping Xiao. It had seemed so natural, even then, even when nothing seemed natural about interacting with a human, those strange people from who Xiao must always be separated. Yet there you were, asking if this perfect stranger was alright. And there Xiao was, suddenly seeing his world opening up before him.

Perhaps it was for this reason that your relationship had developed in the way it had. To Xiao your selflessness, your never ending kindness, the fact that you would stop to help someone regardless of circumstance, all of that was normal. It was innate in your personality, and perhaps that was why Xiao never questioned what effect having that kind of personality might have on you. It is easy to assume that a kind and selfless person is also one with a short memory. After all, how could they stand it otherwise?

So when the first, barely noticeable, traces of that burden which Xiao saw so often began to swirl around you the yaksha’s initial reaction was that of utter panic. Was this not the exact reason that Xiao had chosen to disconnect himself from humanity? Was this not proof, right before him, that the chains he carried could not be contained. Though Xiao generally thought of humans as vaguely useless, deserving of protection because Rex Lapis proclaimed it be so, the idea of harming any one of them with the legacy of his own sins, it was something that he could never stomach, no matter how many times he feigned apathy. That you should be the person upon who his burdens should be transferred, how could he bear it?

Of course a small, more logical, part of him urged the adeptus to stop and think. The miasma that Xiao attracted in such high concentration was everywhere, and humans were not exempt from this burden by themselves. After all, did humanity not channel great evil as well as good? Did not the most ordinary human, dejected by their lot in life, become swarmed by little wisps of evil? Yet those were other, ordinary humans. Ordinary humans couldn’t understand the sheer capability to love that you seemed to possess. No, if Xiao could sense such a miasma around you then it was surely his fault.

Still the idea of leaving you was something quite painful to Xiao, to the adeptus who had so recently learned what it meant to love someone wholeheartedly. He told himself that it was best to leave immediately, best to disappear with the wind and never look back. Yet a part of him couldn’t seem to bear the idea; and that was the part that won out as Xiao approached you later in the day, as if in a desperate last attempt to prove himself wrong.

“Are you alright?”

“Xiao!” You jumped slightly, having evidently been lost in thought. Smiling widely you shook your head. “Of course I’m alright! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I…” Xiao paused for a moment as the idea of telling you what was going on flitted through his head. Almost immediately the thought was squashed. After all, would the knowledge not worry you more? “I was just asking.”

“Well thank you Xiao, it’s very kind of you to think of me.”

“It’s my duty.”

“Still,” your smile never faltered. “You deserve thanks for what you do nonetheless.”

Xiao tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, tried to block out the emotions that crashed over him like great waves as you leaned in to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Was this not a good thing? After all, if Xiao was what cause this miasma to float around you, then was that not your salvation? Xiao knew how easy it was to drown in the burdens that one must shoulder. He knew how easy it was for humans to sink to the bottom of their despair and never once more emerge for water. Why should it not be a blessing that you would never have to fight to keep your head up, to keep yourself from a life full of burdens? Why, why did it hurt so much?

During the night, Xiao would leave during the night. After all, you deserved one last evening of happiness, if the yaksha could even believe that he brought you happiness. Or maybe it was for his sake that he refused to leave before the world was plunged into darkness. Maybe it was simply that Xiao could no longer imagine a world without you, and that such nightmares came out easier at night. Lying on top of the roof, eyes closed, ears focused on the familiar tread of your feet, Xiao willed himself not to think. He could regret when he was far away from you, when you were once more safe. For now he could only follow that ritual which had so long kept him sane, kept him from joining his brethren. For now he thought only of the contract he had once made.

The sound of your feet on the ground below came all too soon, as the sun finally began its descent across the heavens in earnest. Keeping his eyes closed, as if to stall the darkness for a little longer, Xiao took a deep breath in. He needed to steel himself for this evening; if not, well, Xiao had no wish to cry for the first time in a millennia.

Only once these thoughts finished flitting around in his head did the yaksha finally recognize the change in your footfall. Usually you were very light on your feet, dashing this way and that, stopping to ask Goldet or Yanxiao some mundane question, inquiring after the old lady who had basically set up permanent residence on the bottom floor of the Inn. This time, however, you seemed to drag, as if you were indeed carrying something very heavy. Alarm flashing through him, Xiao willed himself into perfect stillness. He wished to hear more, wished to understand what had caused such a change in you.

What he certainly hadn’t expected was the labored breathing of someone seconds away from tears.

The moment Xiao heard the door to your room close the sobbing began in earnest. Though you certainly seemed to be trying your hardest to hide your tears the sound of your muffled sobs rang through Xiao like a siren, flaring up every bit of alarm he had to offer. Jumping off of the roof Xiao catapulted his way through the hallways of the Inn, not bothering to hide his presence to the few, very confused, residents that were out. Reaching your room he didn’t allow himself a moment’s hesitation before grabbing the knob and opening the door.

Your head snapped up, eyes a mixture of dark emotions as you stared at him. For a moment you seemed ready to flee, to run and hide somewhere, or perhaps to throw him out. However almost immediately you seemed to sink back into yourself, and though Xiao could still sense your distress, at least the initial shock of his arrival seemed to have passed as quickly as it would otherwise.

“Xiao! I, I didn’t expect you. I, could, could you leave? I don’t, I don’t want, I don’t want to be seen right now.” It was all you could get out before another round of sobs wracked through your body.

Trying to remember what you had done for so many people, for himself, Xiao grabbed the pitcher that sat at one of the tables in the room. Pouring some water into a glass he crept towards you as softly as possible, hoping that he could convey his worries in these odd, brusque actions. He knew that he didn’t have the talent you had to comfort people, knew that all his gestures of kindness inevitably came out cramped and awkward. Nevertheless he shoved the glass into your hands, staring just past you as you tentatively downed the water. Taking the glass from you Xiao then reached out one of his palms to you. His relief when you placed your own palm on top of his was indescribable.

“I guess you probably would like an explanation,” you rasped out.

Xiao said nothing, waiting for you to act on your own. If he knew anything the yaksha knew that attempting to force the truth out of anyone would never worked. Hadn’t his own years as a pariah taught him that.

“It’s just,” you finally continued, taking in deep, labored breaths. “It’s just so hard. It’s so hard Xiao, I can’t stand it anymore!”

“Stand it?”

“Stand the… the hurt!”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you went to grab the handkerchief that you left on your nightstand. You always needed one with you, as your eyes stung terribly whenever you began to cry. Xiao said nothing as you sobbed once more, only moving to draw small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

“It hurts so much, to see other people. To hear their problems. Not that it’s their fault, or that I don’t want to help them. I do, I really do. I look at all the people suffering near me and I just want to take all their burdens and give it to myself, after all they don’t deserve all their sufferings. But it’s so hard Xiao, it’s so hard to take on people’s burdens, even a little bit. And I feel so selfish when I think that, so selfish and so worthless. How can I say that? But it’s true, it’s really, really true. And when I think about that, when I think about all the other people suffering worse than me, it just makes me feel so horribly selfish. Like, like all my problems are so stupid and selfish and telling others would only hurt them, and didn’t I want to take everyone else’s burdens away? I’m so stupid. And it just, it hurts.”

Xiao sat there quietly once more, waiting as you cried. At one point you seemed to collapse in on yourself, leaning against his shoulder as if to support yourself. Only then did Xiao allow himself to move. Carding his hands through your hair he said nothing, he merely waited.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. You already have enough burdens, I know. I shouldn’t be complaining to you of all people. I, if you want you can tell me if something is wrong. I mean, you always can, I, just. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“My burdens are my own,” Xiao replied softly, finally letting the emotions swirling through him try to string together as words. “It has nothing to do with you. It never will. You, you should come to me when you feel burdened.”

“But then I’m only passing my problems onto you!”

“I told you, my chains are my own. They are the payment for my contract. They aren’t what you tell me or push on me. If you feel these burdens then give to me. That is my duty.”

“But Xiao, I, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be a problem.”

“How can you say something so stupid,” Xiao scoffed. Bringing his hand to your cheek he sighed softly. “You will never be a problem. You will always be dear to me. Let me help you. You help so many humans. I want to help you.”

“I, I don’t know,” you spoke, voice faltering.

Though Xiao could still feel the tension in the air, could still see the miasma which swirled around you, there was something fragile about it. It was as if Xiao could reach through the tangled threads and pull them away, if only he could find a way to do so. Stroking your cheek softly Xiao pressed his forehead to yours. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath in. After a few moments he heard you do the same.

The rest of the evening Xiao stayed vigilant by your side, listening as you finally let yourself say all the things that had been weighing down upon you. It was painful, listening to you. Xiao constantly had to fight the urge to tell you how wrong you were, how much you mattered and how far he would go to bring you all the happiness he could possible gather in his stained hands. Still he said nothing, for if you had taught him anything it was that simply listening could do infinitely more than promising to fight or trying to shoulder each burden as you lay them out in the daylight.

Eventually you grew exhausted, a combination of the crying and the talking and the reliving. As Xiao listened to your breath even out, softly shifting your head from leaning on his shoulder to resting in his lap, the yaksha thought about all that had happened.

Xiao had assumed that you were somehow above all the humans around you. Purer, gentler, kinder. He hadn’t stopped to think how that might have affected you. Now that he knew that wasn’t true, now that Xiao knew how deeply you felt, how sometimes your mind too chased after darkness or found itself struggling to keep above water, he couldn’t help but feel as if he’d missed something before. Perhaps you shouldered these burdens and perhaps you were just as human as the rest. You were still kind, kind and selfless and utterly beautiful. And Xiao still loved you in a way that continued to burn brightly through his soul.