#i can more or less get that fifth person

[schumiatspa]

Does anybody else sometimes think about that day where Seb randomly followed Lewis, Charles, Mick and Mats Hummels on ig without any reason and then abruptly unfollowed them or is it just me

#if you are gonna tell me that there was a fifth person no there wasn't <3 #anyway I STILL NEED ANSWERS SEB #i get your husband and your sons #i can more or less get that fifth person #but Hummels?? okay you know each other but that's even more random aksjsks #i think it happened around christmas so he was probably drunk #because i refuse to believe he is so technologically challanged that he doesn't know how to use ig for basic stuff like this #but... i want to know #sebastian vettel #*challenged

[nereidprinc3ss]

drunk in love

in which fem!reader gets extra affectionate with spencer when she's drunk and he's just happy to be there

fluff! warnings/tags: drunk!reader, tooth-rottingly sweet fluff, spencer loves you so bad, short n sweet, that's it a/n: this is for the person who requested spencer taking care of drunk!reader and they're just being really cute and kissy and i lost your request i'm sorry but i hope you see this!! if you guys like this pls let me know, i have spencer helping drunk!r with a bath locked and loaded and its also so cute oh my god i love him goodnight

“Spence,” you say, voice pretty and airy as a song, pressing butterfly-light kisses with soft lips all over the side of his face. 

“What?” he asks fondly, fighting to keep his grip on you secure as you keep trying to fall down and bring him with you. This bar isn’t necessarily a dive, but he’s sure the floor is still sticky and he’s not interested in checking. 

“I really love you so much. I love you so much more than anyone else has ever loved anyone before.” It’s the fourth or fifth time you’ve told him you love him so much in ten minutes, but it doesn’t feel any less wonderful to hear. “Say it back!” you pout, settling against his chest. 

“You didn’t give me time to say it back,” he explains patiently, looking down at you and brushing hair behind your ear. “I love you so much, too, baby.”

Suddenly you’re too flustered and shy to make eye contact. 

“Call me that again.”

Spencer’s brow furrows. His smile flickers wider. 

“What? Baby?” You nod into his chest. He smooths your hair. “I call you baby all the time.”

“Because you love me?”

“Because I love you,” he agrees solemnly. 

You squeak, covering your face with your hands. Not for the first time tonight, he wonder what exactly was in those drinks Penelope kept ordering for you.

“Kiss?”

He gently grabs your wrists. 

“You have to show me that pretty face if you want a kiss.”

Your hands slide down your cheeks and you tilt your head up. Now that your face is on display, pretty and shiny in the low lighting, Spencer ducks down and kisses you sweetly, one hand on the back of your head, the other pulling your wrists down and out of the way. He makes sure to not let it go on for too long. There are still plenty of people around, but more saliently, you are quite drunk. 

“Good?” he asks, brushing a thumb over your cheek as he pulls away.

“Can we kiss forever?”

“We can try,” he muses. 

“I love you,” you say again, plainly. “I wish there was a word stronger than love. I feel like I’ve said love so much it’s lost all its meaning.”

“Keep saying it,” he encourages. “I like hearing it.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whisper. Spencer leans down for you to cup your hand to his ear clandestinely. Sweet vanilla perfume still clings to your warm skin, lingering on your neck, mixing with the smell of fruity cocktails on your breath and making him dizzy. “I think JJ has a crush on you.”

He chuckles, straightening. Grieving the loss of your scent for just a second in the back of his mind—until you’re pressing against him anxiously, and it returns. 

“JJ is married, babe. I don’t think so.”

You pout. 

“No, but I really think she does! It makes me sad!”

Spencer doesn’t believe it for a second, but he knows hard logic and persuasion aren’t really going to do much for you right now. So he loops an arm around your waist and reigns you in. 

“You don’t need to be sad, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter who has a crush on me because I have a crush on you.”

“Just me?” you ask anxiously. 

“Just you. You’re the prettiest girl in the world. I have a huge crush on you.”

He realizes his voice has taken on that saccharine quality that Derek would give him shit for, and it’s probably visible in his eyes as he leans close to you, but he doesn’t care at all. 

You raise your chin, wordlessly asking for another kiss. He delivers. The fabric of his shirt tugs where you grab onto it, attempting to bring him closer even when he draws away from the kiss. Of course he allows it, narrowly avoiding stepping on your toes as you pull him to you like a dog on a leash. 

“Can we go home? I wanna cuddle.”

Oh, yeah. If Derek were present he’d have the most ridiculous, shit-eating grin on his face right now. Luckily he’s not here right now, and even if he were, Spencer would still brush your hair aside and say, absolutely we can go home and cuddle. 

“Of course we can. Do you want to say goodbye to everyone?”

“Mm… can we Irish goodbye?”

He chuckles. 

“I think you should say thank you to Penelope for buying you all of those ridiculous drinks that are making you so nice.”

You make a face. 

“I’m always nice.”

“You’re not always this nice,” he reminds you with a small smile, resting his hands on your waist. You frown. 

“In my head I am.”

He kisses your head. It’s impossible not to. 

“I know. Come on, let’s say bye. I want to go home too.”

“You think I’m not usually nice?”

“Of course I don’t think that. I think you’re so nice.”

“Oh my god, can we get ice cream?” You gasp, already distracted and pulling him along by the hand as you weave through the sparse crowd. 

He smiles to himself, happy to follow your lead as long as you don’t let go. 

“We can definitely get ice cream. We can do whatever you want.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine

[toruslvt]

i LOVEEEE ur writing !!! can I request a bff gojo x fem reader where gojo starts to get close to another girl n the reader is kinda sad/worried ??? idk i was just thinking about the song dark red by steve lacy and the lyrics “only you my girl,only you babe” IT CAN BE SMUT OR SFW AAA

⋆ slightly angsty but also fluff because of course, we don't believe in sad endings in this house ‹3. jealous reader + oblivious satoru.

 ⋆ I was hearing that song while writing this and hello?!? it's so good like !!! so bff satoru coded waaaah, also thank you for the compliment, sending you many hugs 🩷

I will work on the bff satoru masterlist soon ^^

there have been moments in Satoru’s life when he felt uneasy, although none of those moments were strong enough to stick for more than a couple of hours, much less for a whole week. but you are a mystery.

he’s not certain why you’ve been refusing his hang out invitations, Satoru senses your coldness even through texts, the usual back and forth teasing no longer there, and replaced by a disgusting ‘k.’

Satoru’s phone bounces on the bed for the fifth time in the night, followed by his palms rubbing on his face and the slight tug on his soft, white hair in sheer frustration, you’re messing with his head, making his chest tug, and palms itch. the phone call goes straight to your voice mail, —most likely filled with his pleading voice. the option of visiting you is always present, but the blue eyed is certain your short, black haired roommate is already sick of him, eyes rolling behind the crystal of her glasses as she speaks in that annoyed tone, “i told you she’s not here”.

it’s all lies, Satoru knows it, he is your best friend and has already memorized your schedule by heart, “can you tell her I seriously need to speak to her?” Satoru responds, eyes filled with worry as he leans on your apartment doorframe, attempting to take a peek into the place, but quickly getting his hopes broken by the door smashing right in front of his face. for the nth time.

walking down the memory line didn’t work either, his focus was on the last time you hung out, on how your mood suddenly shifted after Satoru casually met with one of his new colleagues, who happened to be going in the same direction to you both, and her hand was awkwardly eager to be holding onto the white haired’s bicep. but then again, you were not a jealous person, and Satoru made sure to remind you how he’ll never replace your spot as his best friend.

“are you sure you’re alright, sweetheart?” he had asked that night, watching you mindlessly play with the hem of the blanket draped over your laps as you watched a movie, concern etched on his words.

“mhm, just tired” you mumble back, yet your eyes didn’t sparkle like they should, nor did they miss the way his phone rang with a text from the girl you saw earlier.

we should hang out soon ;)

and Satoru was quick to send a ‘sure!’ completely and utterly oblivious of the girl’s flirting.

“want me to leave? so you can take a nap” he says, brows furrowed and eyes locked on your face from above the rim of his dark glasses, he did not want to leave, but your health was more important; although in your ears his suggestion sounded more like a ‘i’ll leave so I can hang out with that girl’ and that bothered you quite a lot.

“yeah,” you’re quick to reply, standing up abruptly and dragging the blanket with you, “see you another time” and that was another lie, since you did not meet with Satoru in the next 3 days.

“fuck” he mutters, staring at the ceiling, strands of messy hair splayed on the pillow, “you’re not that busy... are you?” Satoru asks himself, about to slam his head against the wall.

it’s Sunday and he’s most likely looking like a stalker right now, pacing back and forth in front of your apartment complex, waiting for anything, until the sign comes, your roommate is quick to leave the building, a gym bag and a strange stick-like tool under her arm, and he knows you’re at home, of course he knows.

Satoru is up in three steps, and two knocks on your door. “Maki, did you forget your keys again?” your voice echoes in the room and his heart skips a beat.

“dunno where are yours but you can ta— Satoru...?” you ask, eyes widened slightly at the imposing form of your best friend towering above you.

“mm, i’m glad you still remember my name” he murmurs, attempting to tease but the sight of your tired face burns in his chest, flicking a single hair strand away from your forehead, “can I come in?”

you swallow, “what are you doing here?”

“pfft, can’t I visit my stunning best friend who has been ignoring my calls?”

“i haven’t...” you murmur, drifting your gaze and stepping back to allow him to get in, it was obvious Satoru were not going to leave any time soon, “i’ve been busy”

he snorts, splaying on the couch in your living room with long legs resting on the coffee table, “you’ve been worse and yet at least answer my texts” he taps the seat next to him, expecting for your thighs to brush like you always sit, but instead, your distance hurts.

“tell me what’s wrong”

“nothing’s wrong!” you say, slightly defensive, “i told you i’m busy”

“you were just fine a week ago, but got mad out of nowhere” Satoru speaks softly, squeezing your knee, not realizing the slight tremor running down your spine, “doll, if you’re jealous of—”

you clasp your hand on his mouth, “don’t finish that sentence” and Satoru’s eyes fill with realization, nodding like an obedient child.

“come on, I told you you’re my only best friend, darling” he whispers, sliding his hand from your knee and up your thigh, across your side until it settles on your nape.

“i don’t think what I feel is simple friendly jealousy.” the grip on the back of your neck tightens as soon as the words leave your mouth, breath hitching and eyes widening slight.

there’s a slight twitch in the corner of his lip at your confession, leaning in just briefly, “yeah?” he mutters, attempting —and failing miserably — at concealing a smirk, “are you in love with me?”

“don’t get too cocky” you mumble back, frowning but unable to tear your gaze away from his lips and eyes.

“you just admitted it” he grins brightly, a slight blush adorning his cheeks, brushing his nose across your jaw, “so that was the problem, hm? you’re so cute when you’re jealous”

“Satoru, i swear...” you start, mixed feelings of embarrassment and longing settling in your chest.

he sighs deeply, breath fanning over your skin where Satoru slides his lips across, inhaling your scent deeply, fuck... how much he missed you, “don’t ignore me again...“ he starts, ghost touches now turning into brief kisses on your jawline, trailing up until his lips press on the corner of your mouth and his thumb slides under your bottom lip, long fingers caging the side of your face, “...i like you too...” he breathes, meeting your gaze and flicking to your lips, “i just want you, only you, my girl”

reblog and/or comment if you want me to write the smut for this 🤭🎤

#𐔌᭥ᩙ༉ #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #satoru fluff #gojo satoru fluff

[deadsetobsessions]

Tim Drake had a lot of free time.

In between the time little Timmy was deemed old enough to not need a nanny and his ninth birthday when he got his first film camera, Tim Drake had so much time after school to explore his big, empty house. And so he did, hours upon hours were spent exploring his house.

Mansion, Tim corrects himself. His house isn’t a house. It’s an abandoned mausoleum disguised as a mansion. He intimately knows every creak of the floorboards in the out of the way galleries, every heavy weight curtain shut closed so what little sun that makes it way through Gotham’s gloom is reflected in order to protect the artifacts stored within the walls. Tim probably knows the exact amount of fleur-de-lys on the fourth sitting room’s wall paper- by extrapolation from preexisting data and personal data collection. Basically, he laid on the floor and counted.

Tim had a lot of time. He also had a lot of artifacts to pore over, making stories as he goes and double checking the actual history of the object.

Tim thinks he’s an artifact, almost. To his parents, at least. A child, a thing, they collected at one point in their lives and put on display at the galas they deem worthy to return to Gotham for. Perhaps he’s worth even less, had his parents bothered to look at him more than the lesser art pieces in their storage-mansion. The story everyone knows about him is prerecorded by people who weren’t really there.

Regardless, Tim Drake knows every single corner of his prison mansion. He’s catalogued everything, after all, on a nice spreadsheet. 

And that’s why, as he entered the fifth- and least used- guest bedroom, Tim’s attention immediately cut to the wrong bit of detail. Eyes flickering between the indent on the bed, the mussed- but not terribly dirty- state of the sheets, Tim slowly backed towards the door. His eyes fixed on the spot on the bed, he called out a soft “hello?”

He immediately cringed. He’s not an amateur, and that little “hello” was a mistake that might get him killed.

Tim trembled as the panic set in, tears pooling at his eyes. He wished Batman and Robin were here, they’d know how to-

There’s something appearing on the bed. Tim Drake stares as a glowing figure with white, wispy hair and a black hazmat suit appeared sitting cross crossed on the guest bed. His gloved hands were held out in the universal I-mean-no-harm gesture.

“Don’t- don’t panic!” The thing said, looking rather panicked itself. “I’m, uh, Phantom.”

Tim Drake’s curiosity and mystery-solving mindset slammed down on the toddler’s mind, quickly banishing the fear and panick in favor of interrogating this new, exciting thing.

“I’m Tim. Are you…” Tim frowns, wishing he had Batman’s intimidating growl. “A ghost?”

“Got it in one, kiddo. I’m, uh, not here to harm you. Or steal anything! I just wanted to rest.”

Tim blinked. He decided right then and there that he likes this person. This… Phantom. If his trust was based on the fact that the loneliness was worse than a dead person, no, it wasn’t.

“I thought you sleep when you’re dead..?”

——

Danny stared at the child in front of him, watching the kid- Tim- pout at something. Danny is distracted from the staples holding his ghostly guts from falling out of his non-consensual vivisection when the kid asks him if he’s a ghost.

“Got it in one, kiddo!” Oo, he should tone down the energy. Danny’s too tired right now to maintain that level when speaking to Tim. Now, gotta reassure the kid he means no harm before he reports Danny’s presence to whatever authorities around.

His parents, at best. The cops, at worst.

“I’m, uh, not here to harm you. Or steal anything!” He could tell he landed in some richie rich mansion by the opulent decorations in a seemingly impersonal room alone. “I just wanted to rest.”

Ancients, that had been more honest than he’d wanted. He really was out of it.

“I thought you sleep when you’re dead?”

Danny snorted.

“Yeah, but you can almost never have enough sleep, you know?”

The toddler looks unsure but nods anyways.

“Listen, would you… not tell anyone that I’m here? I’ll be out of your hair soon, promise.

Tim looks like a smart kid. There’s no way he’d fall for-

“Okay.” He fell for it. Danny blinked, stupefied. “My parents won’t be home for a while.”

“What.”

Tim shrugged. “You can stay. The housekeeper is only around a couple of days.”

“You… are you supposed to tell me that?”

Tim sent him a derisive look, clearly bolder now that Danny made no moves to hurt him.

On his cherubic but skinny face, the effect is both adorable and absolutely devastating.

“You’re hurt.” Tim fidgeted with his hands. “I can… I can get you water…?”

His core purred.

“Please. Thanks… Tim?”

The kid beamed at him and left.

Crap. New fraid member it is.

——

Danny, naive: “Surely him trusting strangers is just a one time thing, he’s so well behaved”

Tim, staring Danny in the eyes as he jumps out of the window to go stalk his vigilantes: “I’m gonna go take a walk in Crime Alley”

——

Tim gets Danny water, but it’s tap water from Gotham and is infected with both an ungodly amount of toxins (that doesn’t affect either of them bc one’s dead and the other had been chugging it since they were a baby- Gothamites get bottled water or from Wayne Foundation’s Clean Water Stations) and also like trace amounts of ectoplasm.

Danny: woah this is so healthy water!

Tim, pleased because Danny ruffled his hair: yes, I’m perfect

The rest of Gotham, if they knew: making warding sigils against these two eldritch gods

——

Basically, Danny gets attached and stays mostly because of said attachment but also Danny could see Tim’s budding world dictator tendencies and went yeah gotta curb that

#tim drake #bamf danny phantom #danny phantom #ghost king danny #baby tim drake #Tim Drake is a menace #Tim Drake’s stalker tendencies #I’m not saying he’s a criminal but his second option after nightwing was blackmail #Gotham #Gotham’s tap water #ectoplasm #found family #dc canon can suck my ass #dc x dp

[loveemagicpeace]

🏹Astrology Notes 🛼

People with many aspects of Neptune, especially Neptune Square North Node, can get into bad paths (alcohol, drugs...) many times they look for a solution by running away from problems. In life, they struggle with many difficult, incomprehensible, strange things. They may come across many people who deceive them.

Pluto opp chiron - can illustrate that you never really get over your traumas that were inflicted on you when you were little. Many times you can carry a swordsman's side inside you and never really let it go.

Mercury opp chiron- you have a hard time expressing or talking about your pain. It can often take a really long time to talk about what's bothering you.

Mercury conj Pluto- you can always be secretive about what you say. It could also be that a part of you is always hidden behind words.

The aspect of the moon and Saturn indicates the relationship the person has with his mother. People who have very strong aspects with the moon and saturn can be very attached to their mother and the mother has a great influence on them. It also shows that this person is not emotionally open and can always keep their feelings inside.

Dynamic aspects (opposition, square, inconjunction, semi-square) between Saturn and Jupiter indicate that a person can be full of hope at one moment and completely desperate at the next. These aspects are often associated with suicide. Because people can hardly bear such strong energy.

There are differences: Sagittarius is much more changeable than Jupiter, more freedom-loving and irresponsible. Sagittarius is less likely to symbolize the acquisition of material goods. Also, being a sign and therefore a less powerful symbol than a planet, it is less likely than Jupiter to operate at an excessive level. Sagittarius is less likely to signify waste, excess, or arrogance. Sagittarius gets along best with planets like Mars, Uranus, and the Sun, which are fast-moving, energetic, and not resistant to change.

Strongly emotional planets do not do well in Capricorn because the sign tends to repress emotion in favor of discipline. The Moon is particularly difficult here, because Capricorn will not allow the Moon to enjoy being dependent on others, a mode of relationship that is absolutely essential to the Moon’s functioning at some point in life. Venus is also not at its best, because its emotional criteria for choice are likely to be subordinated to practical criteria. Venus in Capricorn can also indicate an attraction to older persons who can serve as authority figures as well as lovers.

The Pisces symbol is two fishes swimming in opposite directions, and like Sagittarius and Gemini, Pisces is traditionally referred to as a dual sign. There are two types of Piscean: the advanced (Pisces as the last stage in the evolution of the archetypal ego or self) and the primitive (Pisces as the stage just prior to a new beginning in Aries).

Pluto in the 3rd house can represent a very strong bond with a sister. So separation with your sister can very difficult if you live far apart. You can create a beautiful and strong bond with your sister.

Mars in the 5th house indicates a difficult birth and problems with children. Children may be restless, aggressive or angry. It is important to look at aspects.

Jupiter in the 9th house often indicates good intuition and prophetic dreams. So it is important to remember your dreams.

Virgo rising people are so beautiful. I notice that women have beautiful faces and skin. Men, on the other hand, have well-developed eyes and bodies. I would say that virgins can have more beautiful beauty than technical ones in the subsign. Otherwise, it depends on where Mercury falls in the house, but still, their beauty is very naturally beautiful.

Moon in the third house indicates sensitive emotions and feelings. Moods change quickly.

The Moon in the fifth house indicates great success for children. Also a  person very dedicated to fun.

Moon in the sixth house can mean too much strain in terms of health. Lots of public contact. It can also mean insecurity and health problems in the first 7 years.

Mars in 7th house can mean that the individual is too open in relationships and dealings. It can also mean that he is jealous, intense and controlling.

Mars in the 11th house means you can be argumentative and want things your way. Many times the need for freedom is strong.

Mars in 12th house- the individual is interested in hidden things. You can join things that are secret. You like to work in the shadows. And you present your things when you are sure of them.

Uranus in the first house often shows that your personality is very unique and special. You have an energy that others find rare and interesting. You are a person who does not like drug treatment and prefers to find a different way (natural way of treatment). You want a job that is free and you don't like being controlled by others.

Uranus in the seventh house indicates premature engagement or marriage. It also means inharmonious relationships (if the aspects are not good). It also indicates a relationship in which one is ingenious and clever.

Uranus in ten house people are prone to emotional or physical loss through one parent. It is said that people with this position are also inclined to have two professions at the same time. It is important for women to check if her Uranus is in the 10th house of a man. Because this can indicate that the man is more focused on his career than her.

A person with mercury in the 9th house will always know at least 2 foreign languages, if not more. These people learn foreign languages very quickly and quickly understand others. They often prefer foreign languages.

Mars in Libra -A person can be quarrelsome and inharmonious. But it's not always like that. It depends on what aspects the person has. Person can be very passive aggressive and hides a lot of their energy. Many times they do something, but in reality they want something completely different. They can place the blame on others in many cases unless the person has Venus in good stabile sign.

Chart ruler of 8th house in 5th house -if it is  in bad aspects, it can indicate the possibility of miscarriage, loss of a child at birth or in youth.

Chart ruler  of 8th house in 8th house symbolizes benefit from the dead. Interest in immortality, spirituality. If the ruler is in an bad position then there can be problems with dying.

Chart ruler of the 9th house in 4th house travel is necessary for family matters. Property comes from relatives and partner.

Chart ruler of the 9th house in 6th house means handling due to travel. As well as good success abroad. If the aspects are in an unfavorable position, it can mean illness while traveling.

Chart ruler of the 9th house in 7th house means marriage in a foreign country or marriage with a foreigner. It often symbolizes a person living in another country. If it is in an unfavorable position, it may mean that relatives oppose the marriage.

The ruler of the 10th house in the 1st house- can mean a lot of ambition and talents. But it can mean loss due to father.

The ruler of the 10th house in the 6th house- symbolizes a humble position in society. Treatment can be an important part of an individual's life. If the aspects are bad, it can mean loss of career due to health.

Ruler of 10th house in 7th house- indicates benefit from public. Lawsuits are positive and marriage can bring fame.

Ruler of the 10th house in the 11th house - symbolizes the fulfillment of dreams. Strong and influential friends help the individual.

-Rebekah🧚🏻‍♀️🦋

#astrology #zodiac signs #astrological houses #birth chart #astrology observations #moon #my notes #planets #energy

[sarahscribbles]

So I've been battling with this little idea for a few days but other projects keep me from writing it…

Loki takes y/n shopping and they end up in a lingerie store where y/n teases him by trying on some spicy sets. Of course Loki doesn’t like to be provoked like that and takes her in the changing room💚

Sorry it took me so long to get to this, my love! I hope it's what you had in mind!

𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟑.𝟐𝐤

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭!𝐃𝐨𝐦 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s well into the afternoon by the time you leave the fifth store that day still empty handed. The shopping trip has, so far, been entirely unsuccessful, and you know that Loki’s patience is hanging on by a very thin thread. He’ll never say it, of course, but you noticed the silent roll of his jaw when you emerged from the last changing room and announced that none of the dresses you’d tried on were The One. 

He hadn’t believed you when you had told him over and over that finding the perfect outfit for Natasha’s birthday would be a marathon and not a sprint. Likely, he thought you’d emerge victorious from the first store and he could whisk you back to bed to celebrate, but you can feel the tetchiness and exasperation beginning to roll off him as you continue hand in hand down the street. 

Your fiancè is an angel, he really is, because no one - not even Wanda - has lasted this long on a shopping trip without voicing their irritation. Given how long you’ve both been traipsing around Manhattan, you have no doubt that Loki’s tolerance is balancing precariously on a knife edge. 

He hasn’t voiced a single complaint, though, something you take as just another confirmation that you’re choosing to spend your life with the right person. 

“You’re being so brave,” you say with an exaggerated air of solemnity. 

You turn to him with an expression that mirrors your tone and he responds with an elegant snort of laughter that makes you grin. 

Loki’s hand squeezes yours and he runs the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “Little menace,” he teases lightly. “Remind me to take you at your word next time, lest I have to suffer like this again.” 

You know he’s teasing because the man would move mountains if he so much as thought you’d want him to, but you still nudge him with your hip as you walk. 

“I promise that the next store will be the last! I feel like this one will be The One!” you assure him, already beginning to think of a hundred different ways you can make today up to him. Loki will never expect you to, of course, but how could you possibly turn down the chance of spending several hours in bed with him? 

“My darling, you do realise you’ve said that each time we’ve stopped in the last hour?” Loki replies, but the affection colouring his words is impossible to miss.

“Yes, but I have a really good feeling about the next place! Trust me!” you tell him, tugging him down the next street Wanda recommended that morning. 

It takes less than a minute to locate the boutique amongst the crowds of people. Typical of Wanda, it’s bright and loud and stands out like a beacon amidst the more neutral tones of the surrounding shops. You’re halfway towards the door, though, when something else catches your eye only a few doors down - a racy pink sign with an elegant script that you’re sure you’ve seen on bags scattered around Nat’s room. 

A new idea begins to blossom and take shape in your mind. 

With a casualness that would make the Black Widow proud you stroll past the boutique until you reach the lingerie store. It’s only when you’re standing right outside the doors that you peek up at Loki. He silently offers you a raised eyebrow and the subtle beginnings of a smirk. 

“I’m going to need something to wear under the dress,” you say in explanation. 

Loki’s hand leaves yours so he can gently pinch your ass through your jeans. “I believe you raise a very valid point.” 

oOo

It’s over half an hour before you finally make it to the changing rooms. Unsurprisingly, Loki has found a new lease of life as you wander around picking out various items of lingerie, and each time you attempt to steer him towards the changing rooms, he finds something new and more risque than before. 

Your previous mission of finding an outfit is long forgotten. 

“Honestly, you’d think you’d never seen me in lingerie before!” you tease him as he follows you into the bright pink changing rooms. 

“You’ll forgive me for never ceasing to be enthralled by how exquisite you are, darling,” he responds smoothly, locking one arm around your waist to pull you back against his chest and planting a kiss to your neck. 

“Yeah, yeah, Casanova. I’ve already agreed to marry you. You don’t have to try and seduce me,” you reply. 

“That is my life long intention,” he says quietly in your ear. 

You fight the excited shiver that threatens to wrack your spine, instead turning to give him an affectionate roll of your eyes as you step into the changing room. “Just behave while I try these on.”

Loki looks back at you with an expression of feigned outrage. “How can you make those ridiculous requests of me?”

You catch his wink as you close the door and begin to sift through the seemingly endless fabric gathered in your arms. The first set you try on is pink and floaty and makes you feel like a cloud of candy floss, but when you open the changing room door, Loki’s eyes darken as though you’ve stepped out wrapped in leather. 

“How innocent you look, darling,” he purrs, but you watch that trademark smirk curl across his face. “Although you and I both know that’s not the case. Remind me where that little mouth was last night?” 

You playfully flip him off. “This is definitely going in the “no” pile. I feel like I should call you Daddy.” 

Loki visibly cringes. “Please do not ever use that word in reference to me.” 

“You got it,” you say and step back into the room. 

The next set you selected while Loki was otherwise occupied. You have no intention of buying it, but it was impossible to pass up the opportunity to tease him. The bodice is plain but brilliant red in colour, and dips low enough to give you an amazing cleavage. 

Yet, somehow, you don’t think that will be enough to redeem it. 

Loki’s eyes shoot up the second you pull the door open, but his face quickly drops into a scowl when he sees you half naked in his brother’s colours. 

“No,” he says immediately, though you notice his eyes roaming appreciatively over you.

“No? Really? I wasn’t planning on trying anymore after this. It fits perfectly, and I think it looks good!” you say brightly, fighting not to laugh as his eyes narrow. 

“I am not above putting you over my knee in public, dove,” Loki warns you. 

Warmth spreads shamelessly through your lower stomach until you feel that familiar, pleasant tingle between your thighs. You’re almost certain he wouldn’t, but you are dealing with the God of Mischief. It’s the lingering doubt that makes you sashay back into the changing room with Loki’s quiet laughter at your back. 

With the door securely closed you begin to pick through the swathes of material still spread over the marble bench, but it doesn’t take long to decide what you’re trying on next. It’s another that you sneakily draped over your arm while Loki was elsewhere in the store - a feat you’re quite proud of given how he seems to notice everything.

This set is made of delicate black lace - Loki’s kryptonite - and has tiny gold beading woven tastefully into the bodice. The sweetheart neckline gives you an enviable cleavage and when you catch sight of yourself in the floor length mirror against the opposite wall, you can’t help but make an appreciative face at your own reflection. 

You look good.  

After a few circles in front of the mirror - and a brief moment of wishing you could pair the set with the matching stockings - you finally open the changing room door. 

Loki is slower to turn his gaze to you this time, but when he does, it’s impossible to miss the pure lust that alights in his eyes. They run over you slowly from head to toe, like a starving man presented with his first meal. He swallows silently, wets his lips, and in two steps is standing right before you. 

“Enough,” he says huskily, placing a large hand on your shoulder to push you back into the small room with him in tow. 

The door clicks closed behind him, but his eyes never once leave yours. They’re dancing with raw desire, even though he’s seen you like this a million times before. 

“It isn’t fair to tease, dove,” Loki says, reaching out to grab your chin. 

You fix him with a look of feigned innocence. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do, you little minx,” he replies quietly. His other hand is suddenly on your other shoulder and he’s spinning you around until you’re staring at your reflection in the mirror. “Look at your reflection and tell me you aren’t testing the resolve of a god,” Loki murmurs lowly in your ear. 

Ignoring the first flames of arousal that are beginning to lick through your core, you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I was just trying on lingerie. I’m completely innocent.” 

Loki’s hand snakes around your throat from behind, applying just the right amount of pressure. “The God of Lies, darling.”

Even with his hand around your neck you smirk at him. “I think you’re losing your touch on that part.” 

“Brat,” Loki growls in your ear. 

Easily, he walks you forward until your knees hit the wide ottoman sitting just in front of the mirror. His arm curls around your waist before you can crumple, carefully guiding you into a kneeling position atop the soft velvet and slotting himself between your spread calves like a missing puzzle piece. 

“Be a good girl and admit that you were being a tease,” he speaks quietly against your temple. There’s humour in his voice, but it’s mixing with a dangerous note that you’d recognise anywhere.

Loki’s hand is still locked possessively around your neck, making it near impossible to lean into the teasing brush of his lips against your skin. He knows this and continues to ghost them over your flushed cheek, refusing to reward you with the full, thrilling feel of them. 

“Never!” you say through a laugh, and you’re rewarded with the quiet sound of Loki’s right by your ear. 

“As you wish, dove,” he says, each word dripping with warning. 

His free hand creeps slowly along the lace bodice, fingering the intricacies of the lace and the miniscule golden beads until it reaches the matching tiny black thong. With ease, he rips the fabric from your hips and tosses it carelessly to the side in one shocking - but equally arousing - movement.

“Hey! I haven’t paid for this, you know!” you cry out, attempting to appraise the damage but his hand holds your head firmly in place. 

“That’s not my problem,” Loki replies, sinking his teeth into your earlobe and gently pulling on the flesh. 

You groan and plant your hands back on his thighs, digging your nails through his jeans for an added kick. “I’ll make it your prob - o..oh!” you begin to mutter, but Loki’s fingers on your clit steal the words from your lungs. “Mm…fuck…,” you moan, letting your head dip back on his shoulder. 

“Ah, ah.” Loki quickly chastises you, using the hand still wrapped around your neck to guide your head forward. “Eyes on the mirror, dove. Eyes on me.” 

With another strangled moan as he skillfully circles your clit, you obediently keep your eyes trained on him. His face is pressed snugly against your cheek, and finally - finally - you feel the blessed press of his lips against your flushed skin. He leaves a wet trail of kisses all the way to your ear, then you feel the wet heat of his tongue trace a line along the sweet spot behind your ear. 

The only thing keeping you upright is the hand still gripping your throat, but even it can’t suppress the shiver that wracks violently through you. 

Loki’s fingers continue to rapidly propel you towards release, skillfully playing your body in a way only he can. Mixed with the filth that he’s whispering in your ear, you feel your climax begin to crest like a wave in your cunt, and when Loki decides to suck on your earlobe, you know you’re gone. 

“Loki…m’gonna cum. ‘M…gonna…..urghh!!” you cry out in utter frustration when he pulls his hand away from your dripping cunt. 

“I don’t think so, darling,” he purrs smoothly, running the tip of his nose along your cheek. “Not until you admit you were being a brat.” 

The scent of him - the scent of your home - wraps around you like a favourite blanket. It’s patchouli and clove and that ever evasive “something sweet” that drags you under like a buoy beneath the surf. You want to surrender, to lose yourself in this man as he loses himself in you in return, but, unsurprisingly, your stubbornness prevails. 

“Nope!” you say, trying to shake your head as best you can while he still holds it in place. 

Loki releases an exaggerated sigh and dips his fingers back between your thighs. “Very well.” 

Again and again he brings you right to the edge of a blinding release, each time letting your orgasm dangle enticingly before you and snatching it from your grasp when you still refuse to humour him. You whine and plead and beg, but he’s in a particularly sadistic mood this afternoon and refuses to grant you the climax you’re craving. 

By the fifth time, you’re whimpering and wriggling in his grasp. Each of your stolen orgasms are burning through your blood and you’re desperate for what promises to be a cataclysmic release, so when his fingers return once more to tease your aching cunt, you crave. 

“Alright! Ok, I yield! I was being a brat, you were right! I was being a brat and teasing you! Please let me cum now! Please!” you beg, not caring that you’re in a very public changing room in the middle of Manhattan. 

Loki presses his lips to your cheek. “Now, was that really so hard?” he taunts, and brings his fingers to your mouth. “Open.” 

Obediently, you clean your arousal off him and squirm with excitement when you hear him unbuckle his belt and free himself from his jeans. He moves closer still and his cock is achingly hard as he slides it along your slick cunt. You’re all but keening for him, about to burst with how wildly you crave him, but he repeats the motion again and again, laughing quietly as he does. 

“Loki, please!” you whine, pressing your ass back against him in a flimsy attempt to encourage him forward. 

It’s fruitless, you know; Loki does everything at his own pace. 

The hand still wrapped around your throat glides upwards to your jaw, locking your head completely in place. “Your eyes are not to leave this mirror,” Loki murmurs with quiet authority. “I want you to see what this perfect little body does to me. I want you to watch your god come apart. Understood?” 

You’re so madly aroused by this man that you can only manage a whimper, but when he lightly smacks your ass, you quickly find your voice. 

“Yes, Loki!” 

“Good girl. My good, good girl,” he praises you as his cock slips inside you inch by glorious inch. 

You’ve had this man more times than you can count, yet you still groan in absolute bliss when he fills you with his cock. He’s ruined you for anyone else. 

Loki’s face hovers near yours in the mirror and you delightfully watch in contort in pleasure with each thrust into your warm, welcoming cunt. His eyes slip closed in tandem with a broken stream of expletives spilling from his lips, words that you mirror when his fingers find your clit once again. 

Your instant cry of pleasure makes him groan shamelessly in your ear and reward you with a particularly rough thrust of his hips. “Exquisite, darling. You are exquisite,” he rasps in your ear. “Look at what you do to me, you divine creature.” 

And you do watch. 

You watch as he throws his head back on his shoulders, half lost to the pleasure your mortal body is bringing him; you watch his carefully styled hair become more disheveled with each thrust, falling haphazardly around his face in a rainfall of ink black; you watch the deep furrow of his brow and the parting of his lips as his own release builds like a storm within him. 

Watching him is better than any aphrodisiac. It’s addictively erotic - even more so at knowing it’s you that ignited so much desire in him that he had to take you here and now. His name is already etched across your heart, but you want to drown in this man until he’s all your lungs know. 

Watching his ascent to orgasm has only stirred your own to life between your thighs. You’re right at the edge, and this time you know he’ll finally grant you that glittering release. 

“Gonna cum. Loki…gonna cum…m’ gonna…,'' you slur out while his cock continues to brush against you at just the right angle and his fingers on your clit have you close to seeing stars. 

“Cum for me, beautiful girl,” he says roughly, but with a gentle squeeze of your throat.

You topple over easily, groaning his name as your orgasm rips violently through you. Your nails dig deeper into his denim clad thighs for purchase and, seconds later, Loki freefalls right along with you. He catches your eye in the mirror as his own orgasm drags him under, repeating your name like an ancient prayer of salvation.

The sight of him lost to pleasure only magnifies your own until you’re almost sure you’ll pass out from the sheer force of your climax. You don’t break Loki’s gaze for a second, not until the very last aftershocks are rippling through you and you feel boneless in his grip. 

Loki’s hand loosens from your throat in the wake of his own come down. Both arms wrap securely around your waist while his forehead falls to rest in the crook of your neck, his lips instantly latching on to your sensitive skin. You’re still spent and panting, and his cock is still buried inside you, but you gladly bask in the soft feel of his lips pressing along your shoulder. 

“So…d’you think I should buy this one?” you say lightly after a brief moment of silence. 

His answering laughter gently tickles your neck. “Darling, if you don’t, I will have no choice but to do this again and again until you see sense.” 

“That’s…that’s not really persuading me,” you reply, taking one of his hands in yours and bringing it to your lips. 

In response, you feel his teeth graze over your skin. “Hmm, how about this? If you buy this, we will return to the Compound immediately and I will lock our doors for the next few days.” 

You make a show of considering his words. “It’s a start, I guess.”

 Loki chuckles and nuzzles his face against your neck. “My darling, you have no idea what plans I have for you.”

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#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki fanfiction

[schtrawberry]

[3] personal astrology observations

[!] this is mostly an introspective view into my chart; in no way, shape, or form am i saying that any of this is fact or set in stone, nor am i saying that i am a professional astrologer. these are just presences that exist within my chart that i've felt manifest themselves in real life. simply put, take what resonates and leave what doesn't :)

— the observation that venus in the 9th house and sagittarius mars natives are far more likely to be attracted to foreigners and/or meet their future partner/s in a foreign country is true!

[nothing, just felt like confirming, esp as someone w both these placements 🤭 like, i honestly am more likely to be approached (in a romantic setting) by a foreigner both in-person and online!]

═ sun square neptune is the aspect of daydreamers. they're always thinking about an idealized version of the future or dwelling on the past. rarely do they ever think in the present. it is often easier for them to drift off into a daze either thinking about what could have been or everything that could be.

☰ chiron in fifth house indicates pain associated with creative passions and self-expression. one may have had negative experiences that have led them to feel insecure about these aspects of life; thus leading them to distance themselves from openly expressing themselves creatively. they may take great care to keep their works of art private, tone down certain parts of their personality, and may even feel ashamed to explain themselves when others ask them about certain aspects of their creative and self-expression because of negative feedback they could have gotten in the past.

but with such pain comes empathy and understanding. once developed, these natives are the first to take notice and are the fastest to lend a sensitive ear as well as a supportive hand as soon as they see others going through the same struggle.

☱ sun-lilith in harsh aspects might have been told to cover up more by both peers and grown-ups, even when wearing "acceptable" clothing when they were kids. this placement can indicate an individual that was more sexualized from a young age, which can lead to them either being hypersexual or overly-reserved sexually in adulthood.

☲ lilith in the 7th house can indicate an individual that struggles to commit and open up about who they are to their partner/s. people with lilith in this house may have had bad experiences with marriage (perhaps witnessing bad divorces or tumultuous long-term relationships between their parents) and therefore might be turned off by the thought of marriage and/or long-term partnerships.

and though this doesn't mean that the native will be a lone soul forever, it does make one more likely to have these sort of relationships at a significantly older age in comparison to other signs.

[tw: mention of domestic violence in my personal experience, i have witnessed my parents go through an incredibly bad separation (tons of emotional abuse, infidelity, and a situation actually involving domestic violence) which has honestly made me quite hesitant to get married, even as i approach my mid-20s.]

☴ the cancer rising urge to cry when someone you care about is crying or in distress in general.

☴ a few asteroid notes:

note: asteroids are less impactful to one's personality, physicality, etc. compared to personal planets. they tend to only be relevant to one's chart if they are either in a tight orb (0-1°) or have major aspects to personal planets, preferably conjunctions or oppositions.

✢ messalina (545) known as the most promiscuous woman in rome, empress messalina is still recognized today as a symbol of uncontrolled, violent, irrational, and impulsive behavior. this asteroid reminds me very much of lilith in that it is representative of dark feminine energy and having this prominent in one's chart can be indicative of an individual that is not afraid to use their sexuality to their advantage or to create harm unto others in different aspects of their lives, but especially in terms of romantic and sexual relationships.

✢ anagolay (3757) is an potentially hazardous asteroid named after anagolay, the tagalog goddess of lost things and the daughter of the hermaphroditic goddess of seasons, lakapati. she is culturally-recognized for her ability to find not only physical objects but also abstract possessions like lost opportunities and faded memories. having this prominent in one's chart can suggest an individual that is very in-tune with cycle of nature and the subsequent passage of time. they may be more sensitive to bouts of nostalgia where they dwell on things that could have been and the way that things were. may also just indicate a person that is hypersensitive to losing physical things, though.

[`] film: go (2001) dir. isao yukisada

last / next

#alis does astrology #astrology #astrology observations #astro observations #asteroid astrology #sun square neptune #chiron in 5th house #chiron in fifth #sun square lilith #sun opposite lilith #sun conjunct lilith #lilith in 7th house #lilith in seventh #cancer rising #cancer ascendant #messalina #anagolay #amateur astrology #astro placements #astro notes #astro community

[reasonsforhope]

No-paywall version.

"You can never really see the future, only imagine it, then try to make sense of the new world when it arrives.

Just a few years ago, climate projections for this century looked quite apocalyptic, with most scientists warning that continuing “business as usual” would bring the world four or even five degrees Celsius of warming — a change disruptive enough to call forth not only predictions of food crises and heat stress, state conflict and economic strife, but, from some corners, warnings of civilizational collapse and even a sort of human endgame. (Perhaps you’ve had nightmares about each of these and seen premonitions of them in your newsfeed.)

Now, with the world already 1.2 degrees hotter, scientists believe that warming this century will most likely fall between two or three degrees. (A United Nations report released this week ahead of the COP27 climate conference in Sharm el Sheikh, Egypt, confirmed that range.) A little lower is possible, with much more concerted action; a little higher, too, with slower action and bad climate luck. Those numbers may sound abstract, but what they suggest is this: Thanks to astonishing declines in the price of renewables, a truly global political mobilization, a clearer picture of the energy future and serious policy focus from world leaders,

we have cut expected warming almost in half in just five years.

...Conventional wisdom has dictated that meeting the most ambitious goals of the Paris agreement by limiting warming to 1.5 degrees could allow for some continuing normal, but failing to take rapid action on emissions, and allowing warming above three or even four degrees, spelled doom.

Neither of those futures looks all that likely now, with the most terrifying predictions made improbable by decarbonization and the most hopeful ones practically foreclosed by tragic delay. The window of possible climate futures is narrowing, and as a result, we are getting a clearer sense of what’s to come: a new world, full of disruption but also billions of people, well past climate normal and yet mercifully short of true climate apocalypse.

Over the last several months, I’ve had dozens of conversations — with climate scientists and economists and policymakers, advocates and activists and novelists and philosophers — about that new world and the ways we might conceptualize it. Perhaps the most capacious and galvanizing account is one I heard from Kate Marvel of NASA, a lead chapter author on the fifth National Climate Assessment: “The world will be what we make it.” Personally, I find myself returning to three sets of guideposts, which help map the landscape of possibility.

First, worst-case temperature scenarios that recently seemed plausible now look much less so, which is inarguably good news and, in a time of climate panic and despair, a truly underappreciated sign of genuine and world-shaping progress...

[I cut number two for being focused on negatives. This is a reasons for hope blog.]

Third, humanity retains an enormous amount of control — over just how hot it will get and how much we will do to protect one another through those assaults and disruptions. Acknowledging that truly apocalyptic warming now looks considerably less likely than it did just a few years ago pulls the future out of the realm of myth and returns it to the plane of history: contested, combative, combining suffering and flourishing — though not in equal measure for every group...

“We live in a terrible world, and we live in a wonderful world,” Marvel says. “It’s a terrible world that’s more than a degree Celsius warmer. But also a wonderful world in which we have so many ways to generate electricity that are cheaper and more cost-effective and easier to deploy than I would’ve ever imagined. People are writing credible papers in scientific journals making the case that switching rapidly to renewable energy isn’t a net cost; it will be a net financial benefit,” she says with a head-shake of near-disbelief. “If you had told me five years ago that that would be the case, I would’ve thought, wow, that’s a miracle.”"

-via The New York Times Magazine, October 26, 2022

#climate change #global warming #renewable energy #climate anxiety #climate crisis #humanity #green energy #green future #apocalypse #natural disasters #good news #hope #research #hope posting

[fandomsimagined]

Don't Go Dark - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Title: Don't Go Dark

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Female!Reader

Summary: Kaz Brekker realizes that he has feelings for his healer.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: What you could expect from Six of Crows

A/N: This is my first time writing for Kaz, so if it's out of character, I apologize. I kind of gave up and phoned it in at the end so if you can tell, I'm sorry. Very loosely inspired by the song Don't Go Dark by Bleachers.

For most of his life, Kaz Brekker called the Barrel home–despite the fact that there was really nothing homey about it–and there was one thing that he knew for certain about the dreadful place: that it always had a tendency to contort even the purest of things into something nasty. No one was good-natured for the sake of it. If someone was kind, it was usually a ploy, as he very well knew. That was one of his first lessons in survival. Love was a weakness that oftentimes had disastrous consequences. The only thing to come from the Barrel was carnage. The currency was blood, and he’d paid his share and then some with his own, and with others. Only the most ruthless and ungodly people prospered, and prosper he did. 

Believe it or not, he did remember the short life he had before the Barrel. He remembered his father and their farm, and he remembered after his father died when Jordie sold the farm with the promise that they would find fortune in Ketterdam. That was when he’d learned the most valuable lesson that there was to learn. That the only person he could truly count on was himself. To love nothing and trust no one. If he loved nothing, then there was nothing to be used against him. Nothing that anyone could take from him. It got lonely, but it had kept him alive for this long, a feat not many accomplished, so that was how he lived. 

She was different. She didn’t live under the same guise of violence as the rest of Ketterdam. She didn’t have the same mentality: that things can always–and most likely will–get worse. She didn’t hold grudges. Not like Kaz did. Kaz was fueled by vengeance and spite. He took whatever was thrown at him in stride with the knowledge that he would find vindication by dealing a much harsher punishment. 

The winter chill bit to the bone, an unfortunate truth for Kaz especially, whose bones were already not in well-working order. His limp was more pronounced as he made his way to his office (formerly Haskell’s). The Dregs were still bustling about, doing Saints knows what, but none would bother him. It was late, the state of his face was less pristine than when he’d left, and his permanent scowl was even more noticeable than usual. No, they would leave him be.

The meeting with the Razorgulls had gone as well as he’d expected, which was not well at all. They weren’t too happy to see him, still holding a grudge over Pekka Rollins’ quite unfortunate downfall. They’d landed a couple of punches, but he always had the upper hand, and they were smart enough when it was over to abandon Fifth Harbor entirely.

His office door was slightly ajar, something that didn’t bode well. He knew that the healer would be waiting for him, but she was never so careless to leave the door open, as there were quite a few documents and collectibles that he preferred to keep away from the other Dregs. 

He pushed the rickety door open and immediately he could feel that something was off. She was sitting in the extra wooden chair that he kept there (mostly for her and Jesper since he rarely gave anyone else the privilege to stay in his office for long periods). He sat in his desk chair, his gloved fingers thumbing through the papers that he’d left. Nothing important, just something to keep him occupied. 

Kaz Brekker noticed everything; meaning that Kaz Brekker noticed her trembling hands, though she tried to disguise it by keeping them folded in her lap. He noticed her red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks that she’d tried to hide, and he noticed that she was jumpier than usual. Something had happened, that much was obvious, but he wouldn’t push. If she wanted to talk, she would, otherwise, it was none of his concern. Though, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anger at the mere idea of anything happening to her.

“Again? Kaz, you really should be more careful.” It was no surprise that she was born a healer. It was quite literally in her nature to be caring. She was born to fix things. 

“Why? If I were to die tomorrow, all of Ketterdam would breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe even cheers to the occasion,” Kaz scoffed. It sounded grim, but it meant that he was good at what he did, so he saw it as an honor of sorts. He was in control.

“I wouldn’t.” She frowned. She moved to stand above him, getting leverage so she could properly heal his face. Her lips were pursed in concentration as her fingers hovered over a gash on his cheek. It was a strange feeling. It was like he could feel the skin stitching back together as she worked. It was like an itch. “I quite like having you around.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” Kaz raised his eyebrows, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “What are you getting at? A raise?” 

“Oh please, why would I even bother trying to flatter you?” She rolled her eyes. “Not when I know all I have to do is compliment Jesper’s hat, give him a few kruge to gamble away, and he’ll talk you into whatever I want.”

“And here I thought that you were too soft for the Barrel.” Kaz smirked. 

“I’m serious, what are you going to do if I’m not around to fix you up?” 

He thought about the statement carefully. The implication of the words. That was the confirmation he needed to push for further information. She’d opened the door. “Are you planning on going somewhere?” Maybe that’s why she was acting so strange. She seemed like the type to get all weepy about leaving. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea himself. It would be harrowing work trying to find a new healer. Especially a trustworthy one, but he wouldn’t stop her if that’s what she wanted. He just wouldn’t pretend to be happy about either.

“No!” She exclaimed quickly. “No, of course not.” Her quick response and furrowed brow were a relief. She wasn’t planning on leaving him. Not yet, anyway. 

“Well, if you’re not planning on leaving, then I suppose I don’t have to worry about it then, do I?” Kaz spoke bluntly, though he supposed if she listened close enough, she would hear the twinge of satisfaction hidden beneath. It was selfish. Ketterdam was a grim place, but he didn’t want her to leave. She made it a little less grim. 

Her fingers moved eloquently, drifting over his broken nose, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her palm. It did him well not to think about how close she was to him. It would probably send him into fight-or-flight mode if he did. 

He winced as he felt the bone setting back into place. It was nothing that hadn’t happened before, though he wasn’t sure that he would ever get used to the damn itch that plagued the area as she was working her magic. That wasn’t what bothered him, though. What bothered him was that she hadn’t spoken again, something that was quite unlike her. Normally she would be scolding him or telling him all about whatever had happened at the Crow Club that afternoon. No, she hadn’t spoken and she hadn’t provided any elaboration to her previous statement. 

“Is everything alright?” He pressed further. If it was anyone else, he would’ve left it be. A problem for another day, but this wasn’t anyone else. 

“No… I mean…” She started and paused, turning to face the wall to her side as if avoiding looking at him. He was relieved that she wasn’t planning on leaving the Dregs just yet, but there was something bothering her and he couldn’t deny being slightly concerned about what it was. Had something happened at the club while he was gone? Surely one of the others downstairs would have mentioned something to him when he walked in if it had. But, there was no way to be sure. 

She turned back to face him, taking a shaky breath as if trying to figure out what to say. “This afternoon while I was on my way to the club, a man grabbed me. Put a knife to my throat and said that if I didn’t give him all of my kruge, then he would slit my throat, watch me bleed out, and then take it all anyways. It wasn’t even much, just seventeen, but he was willing to kill me for it.” He clenched his jaw as she recounted the story. He wouldn’t interrupt, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t already plotting on what he would do when he found the bastard. She reached up to fiddle with the necklace chain that she always wore, but it was missing. He’d taken her locket too.

“I was sure he would kill me even if I gave it to him, I saw his face for Saints’ sake, but I just… It made me think about if something had happened to me, then who would be here to make sure that you didn’t get yourself killed? I mean, you’ve almost done it several times with me here and I’m one of the best healers in Kerch, not to pat myself on the back or anything…” She was one of the best healers in Kerch. That was why he’d recruited her in the first place, and that was why she was under his protection. Though, he thought that she might’ve been exaggerating. He was pretty sure, he only almost died twice, and only once was his fault. 

“Who was it?” Kaz said through gritted teeth. It was unlikely that it was anyone from a rival gang. It wasn’t a secret that she was associated with the Dregs and they weren’t stupid. Pulling a stunt like that would start a war, especially since it was in Fifth Harbor. That was his territory. No, the only one that bold would be the Dime Lions, but they would’ve killed her to send a message. This was probably some random person off of the street if he had to guess. Looking for a quick buck, so they thought why not steal it? What they didn’t know was that they’d stolen it from the wrong woman. 

“Kaz-”

“Who was it?” He repeated. 

“It doesn’t matter. The point is, that I might not be here next time you decide to go and get yourself all bloodied up, and what if it’s more serious next time?” He didn’t like the way that she was talking so casually about the prospect of dying. Like it was inevitable, and she was making her final arrangements before she went. 

“Listen to me carefully. Nothing’s going to happen to you because I won’t let it.” It was a statement not a question. He would make sure to get the message across that not only was she associated with the Dregs, but she was under the protection of Dirtyhands himself, and he would make sure to send a very clear warning as to what would happen should anyone get the bright idea to lay a finger on his crew again. 

“You’re not always going to be there to protect me, Kaz. We all know it’s only a matter of time. People like me don’t make it very long  here. I’m not strong, or smart, or resourceful enough…” Her eyes were glassy, trying to hold back the tears that were forming in her eyes. He was confused. None of those things could have been farther from the truth. She may have been soft, sure, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t smart or strong. She had to be strong to have put up with him for so long. He wasn’t known to be the most facile person in the world. 

“Nothing is going to happen to you.” Kaz’s voice was gravelly. It was rough. In fact, he’d often heard it described as the voice of a demon, or the devil himself. There was nothing soothing about it, yet he saw her shoulders slump in what seemed to be relief. That even though the Saints had never looked out for her, he would. 

She didn’t say anything else. Neither did he. That was that. There was nothing left to be said. He didn’t make promises that he didn’t intend to keep. He lied, he stole, he killed, but he didn’t break his promises. And there wasn’t a promise that he ever intended to keep more than that one. 

She silently worked on mending the split on his cheek. The Razorgulls had gotten a couple of good shots in. More than he thought, and he was starting to feel it, though he wouldn’t for long. 

“Stay at the Slat tonight.” He finally broke the silence. She didn’t live far, but clearly she wasn’t safe and he couldn’t have that.

“What?” She shot him a puzzled look. It was seemingly out of the blue, and he didn’t exactly give much room for any discussion. 

“I want you to stay at the Slat tonight. It’s late, you shouldn’t walk home in the dark.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kaz perused the selection at Alwynn’s pawn shop. When he’d noticed that her necklace had been stolen, he knew that it had probably ended up in a pawn shop somewhere. No one stole jewelry off of ladies on the street to wear. No, clearly he needed money. 

He’d expected to have to go to more than one shop to find any relevant information, but no. It was almost too easy. He’d spotted the necklace on a display in  the front of the store. He recognized it immediately. The dainty gold chain could’ve easily been confused, but the locket that dangled from it, couldn’t be. 

“Mr. Brekker, I didn’t think of you as the jewelry type,” Alwynn gave a short laugh. 

“Well, Alwynn, there are quite a few things you don’t know about me.” 

“That, I’m sure of.”

“How much did you buy it for?” Kaz inquired.

“Bought it for twenty-five. Selling it for forty-two.” Kaz wasn’t surprised. Alwynn had always been a crook. 

“Who brought it in?” 

“I’m afraid I can’t say. Merchant-client privilege, I’m sure you understand.” Alwynn appeared nervous now. Good.

“I’ll pay double the price.”

Alwynn thought for a moment. “His name’s Griffin. He came in yesterday afternoon. He’s been staying in the alley beside Burke’s.” 

“Thank you, Alwynn. It’s been a pleasure as always.” He was well aware that he probably could’ve stolen the necklace or threatened him without spending the kruge, but he decided to, for once, pick his battles. He slid over the proper amount of kruge before making his way to the door.

Kaz found Griffin exactly where Alwynn said he would be.He’d clearly been staying there, the pile of rags on the ground and empty bottles were scattered beside them. He almost felt sorry for him. He almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Kaz approached Griffin, making his presence known. The man, probably around twenty or so, must have been at least a little intelligent, because his expression was a mixture of fear and confusion. 

“Good evening Griffin,” Kaz crooned. “You know, I heard from a close source of mine that you met a lady around this area yesterday afternoon.” 

“I meet a lot of ladies around here.” Griffin scoffed.

“Well, this particular lady said that you threatened her. Stole her money and a necklace. Surely you would remember that. Unless, you make a habit out of stealing from women. Do you?”

“What?” 

“Do you only target women to  pay for your alcohol addiction, or was this particular lady just a special case?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputtered. 

“How much did you take?” Kaz growled, ignoring the obvious lie that had escaped from his mouth. He didn’t need an answer. He already knew. 17 kruge and her necklace (which he’d gotten thirty-five for at the shop), but he wanted to hear him admit it. 

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even if Kaz didn’t already know he was lying, it wouldn’t have been hard to tell. The sweat beading at his forehead, the way his eyes darted, the fact that he had around fifty-two kruge worth of bottles at his feet. It was too easy. 

“This wouldn’t happen to jog your memory would it?” Kaz held the chain out. Griffin’s face went pale. It was as if all of the color had simply vanished. “So, I’ll ask again: how much did you take?” 

“Not a lot, just seventeen kruge, and I’ll-”

“You’ll pay it back. In fact, you’re going to pay back the seventeen that you stole, the eighty-four I had to pay to buy the necklace back from the crook you sold it to, and an extra thirty kruge for making me get out in this dreadful cold to track down you and this necklace.” Kaz felt it to be a fair trade. For him at least. 

“I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Well, I suggest that you find it before the week is out. Paid in full, and after that, I don’t want to see you back in Fifth Harbor again, and if I do, I’ll make sure that you end up at the bottom of the Harbor.” He turned to walk back towards the street, but he turned back before he got there. He swung his cane, hard, at Griffin’s right hand–his dominant one–earning a howl of pain. “Next time you decide to steal jewelry from a woman on the street, I would suggest selling it to a shop that’s not only a few feet away from where you’re staying.” 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What’s this?” She looked puzzled at the pouch of kruge that he’d dropped on the table in front of her. Kaz didn’t answer, and realization flooded over her face. “Kaz…” she gave him a stern look. “You didn’t kill him, did you? I would feel really guilty if you killed him.”

“Relax, I didn’t kill him.” Kaz scowled. “But, he won’t be bothering you or anyone else around Fifth Harbor anymore.”

“That really makes it sound like you killed him…”

“I did not kill him. I simply reminded him that it’s not very polite to threaten women.” Kaz rolled his eyes. “Besides, if I’d killed him, I wouldn’t have gotten this back, would I?” He draped the gold chain over his gloved fingers. It was beside the point that he’d found the necklace before he’d found Griffin, and that he could’ve easily gotten it back had he killed him. She didn’t need to know that. 

“You got my locket back?” She gasped in disbelief. She took the chain, eyes wide. “How? Wait…” she paused. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“I’ll have you know that you’re missing out on quite the lovely story, then,” Kaz teased. 

“I’m sure. I think it’ll be far lovelier if I never find out, though.” She chuckled. “Because something tells me it involved some of your more extreme measures.”

“Not extreme enough if you ask me. He got to keep all of his fingers. You know if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you’re making me soft.”

“Thank you.” She offered him a gracious smile. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kaz had never been one to fear others. He was fairly confident in his ability to fight his way out of a skirmish, should one come up, so why would he? He’d fought off far more men than the three in front of him on his own. What could he have to fear?

He had never been afraid, but all it took was a few goddamn words and his blood turned to ice. “It would be a shame if something were to happen to that healer of yours, wouldn’t it?” A threat. A barely subtle attempt at one. In any other case, he probably would’ve laughed it off. Come up with some witty response. He didn’t have it in him. What if it wasn’t a bluff?

“If you touch her, I swear to you, I’ll gut you,” Kaz snarled. It wasn’t the smartest move. Now, there was no doubt that he cared. That they could use her against him. 

“The Bastard of the Barrel does have a heart, eh?” Rowell sneered. His last encounter with the Razorgulls hadn’t ended as smoothly as he’d hoped. They’d gone searching on him. Trying to find–well he supposed they did–find leverage. They’d finally found Kaz Brekker’s weakness. 

The words echoed through Kaz’s head. “Rowell, if you touch her, I can always pay a visit to Broad Street. I seem to recall that’s where your wife and daughter are? If I find out any of your men touched my healer, I’ll put a bullet in their heads myself.” He was good for it. Rowell knew it. He had never been above killing, and that was when he didn’t have something to lose. 

Rowell’s face contorted in alarm. Kaz knew where his family was. Kaz had just as much leverage as he did. The only difference was Kaz was far more ruthless than Rowell ever imagined. 

“You may think you’ve found my weakness, Rowell, and maybe you have, but you should know by now that I don’t respond well to threats. If you’re going to do something, do it. Otherwise don’t waste my time and your breath just telling me about it.” With that, Kaz began his trek back to the Slat. For the first time in quite a long time, he was scared. They could very well call his bluff. By this point, Rowell could have already gotten to her by now. He’d spent so much of his time focusing on protecting her from the Barrel, that he’d forgotten that association with Kaz Brekker was the biggest threat of all. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been weeks since Rowell’s threat. He hadn’t taken it lightly. He didn’t think Rowell was brave enough to do anything, but if he’d noticed, it was only a matter of time before others would too, if they hadn’t already. 

He’d decided to keep his distance. That was the only way he knew how to keep her safe. Kaz Brekker was the most feared man in the Barrel because he had nothing to lose. If it came out that he did in fact care for anything… well he had a lot of enemies that would waste no time doing everything in their power to take it from him. 

He’d been avoiding her altogether. She was hurt. He knew that. It was better for her to be hurt than dead. 

He was making his way up the stairs to his study, ready to shut himself for the night to plan for the upcoming job he’d secured. It was nothing big, probably him, Jesper, and a couple of the newer recruits for the Dregs. Test their loyalty before anything major. 

He saw her near the bar talking to Jesper, laughing at something he’d said. He swiftly turned away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Xavier (ironically one of the new recruits he was planning to take) grab at her waist. He was quite intoxicated, slurring a remark that he couldn’t hear, but was almost certainly derogatory. She politely pushed him aside, muttering a soft ‘no thank you’, but Xavier wasn’t taking no for an answer. 

Kaz didn’t even have time to think, really. He didn’t have to think. It was instinct. He ignored the pain in his leg and crossed the room. He’d never been the biggest fan of Xavier, so he didn’t feel too guilty about the punch that landed on the boy’s jaw. His knuckles throbbed from the contact, but he ignored it. When Xavier offered to try and return the blow, Kaz dodged the jab and cracked his cane over his back. 

“This is a respectable establishment, and that means when a woman says ‘no’ that’s the end of the discussion.” 

Kaz avoided her gaze, and made his way up to his study, but he was followed. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Kaz muttered, sitting in his chair, finally resting his leg. 

“You’ve spent weeks acting like I don’t exist, and now you’re getting in bar fights to defend me? And what? You’re just going to go back to ignoring me?” She was hardly a confrontational person, so Kaz knew that she was angry by the sudden outburst. “I don’t get it. What did I do to make you decide that you hate me?” 

Surely she didn’t really believe that he hated her. “I don’t hate you.” He still didn’t look up. 

“So, what is it then?” She was blinking back tears. He felt guilty, a feeling that he didn’t even know he was capable of. 

“You seriously don’t get it?”

“No, I don’t get it!” She shouted. 

“I care about you!” He blurted. “Far more than I should.” His confession earned a scoff. “You don’t believe me?”

She raised her eyebrows. “No, I don’t believe you. Why would I?”

“Why? What would I possibly have to gain from lying to you about that?”

“I don’t know, but I never know anything with you!” 

“Fine, if you don’t believe me, then go. If you think I’m lying then why are you still here?” He didn’t believe that she didn’t believe him. She wasn’t stupid. He knew she wasn’t. 

“I just want to know why! Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I already told you the truth, so what do you want from me?” Kaz suddenly felt defensive. “I care about you, and people noticed. Rowell threatened you straight to my face, and I realized that if people thought that you meant anything to me, then they’d come after you. They’d kill you to get to me, and that can’t happen.” 

“So, it was that easy then? You got scared that someone was going to come after me so you decided to just stop caring? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“That is not what I said. What I said was that if they thought that you were important to me, they would come for you. I never said that meant I stopped caring.” Kaz huffed. “This is the only way that I can be sure you’re safe.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I have a stake in this too?” She was letting the tears fall freely now. “I don’t care who comes after me.”

“I can’t lose you.” Kaz shook his head. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I can’t guarantee that people won’t come for you. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I haven’t exactly made a good reputation my priority.” Kaz attempted a joke, but really it served more as a warning. A glimpse into what being close to him would entail, which would mean always looking over your shoulder. 

“Believe it or not, I have actually caught on to that part…” She let out a soft chuckle. 

He reached up, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her face. He took the opportunity to rest his gloved hand on her cheek. He felt his body tense. His hand fell. Flashes of the nightmare that he’d endured. Jordie’s cold grey skin. The smell of waterlogged rotten flesh. It was as if he was back in the harbor. Surrounded by nothing but death and decay. 

She seemed to notice his ordeal. Concern flashed through her eyes. “Are you feeling alright, Kaz?” He’d never told her about his brother. He’d never told anyone, really. As far as he was concerned, Kaz Rietveld had died in that harbor, but that wasn’t all true. If it had, he wouldn’t be damn near hyperventilating because he’d touched her. It was stupid. He was stupid. He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. She probably thought he’d lost his mind.

“I think you need to rest,” she suggested. “I’ll run downstairs and grab you some water, I’ll be right-” 

“No.” His voice came out hoarse. 

“Kaz, you look like you’re about to pass out, I think you should drink something.” 

“I want you to stay.” He sounded needy like a child and he hated it, but he also meant every word. “Please stay.” He grabbed her hand. Only this time, it was easier. He wasn’t thinking about death and despair. He wasn’t thinking about Jordie. He was thinking about her. 

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #grishaverse #six of crows #imagine #fanfiction #Spotify

[yourplayersaidwhat]

[Context: We've been splitting the treasure more or less evenly between the five of us for the whole adventure and before and a shit ton of gold just got dropped into the party's laps.]

DM: [evilly] What will you spend it on? You can buy practically anything you want--

Fathomless Warlock : [wicked grin] I already know what I'm doing with my share!

DM: Oh?

Fathomless Warlock: I'm opening a shelter, soup kitchen, and free healer clinic to help the common people of the city. :)

Celestial Warlock: And this will be great as a warchest for my political campaign!

DM: ...Oh its not like you needed that money to complete the game or anything.

Fathomless Warlock: (ooc): What? This is what my character would do? This is clearly a serious societal problem for Waterdeep and it's really not safe for all these folks to be sleeping in the dungeons we're crawling through. I'm friends with a lawyer and a cleric and with help from our allies I sure we could swing this. And I just took my fifth of it, like we previously agreed? But look if it's plot important to have a lot of cash on hand, I can pay some of it back to the party pool from my own funds from what I inherited as a noble and just from the treasure we've accumulated on this adventure. You know I'm also still working for the paper and we've got the tavern and that should cover personal expenses...

DM: No no no it's not important.

[Beat]

DM: How much?

Celestial Warlock: And I'm not spending my fifth all at once. It's just sitting there until I use it. At first it's probably gonna be smaller expenditures like flyers and pins. And it's not like we have to pay for TV ads, just need to use my Book of Shadows to learn Skywrite...

DM: Oh, okay... So what will you all spend it on?

[Collective shrug]

Fathomless Warlock: I think you all should get yourselves a fine set of clothes so you don't have to rent a tux again. I already have one because like, you know...

Wizard: I'll be getting spell scrolls and inks to study my magics.

Fathomless Warlock: Cool!

Monk: I bought brass knuckles!

Paladin: Alright, then I'm buying plate mail.

Monk: They cost 10 silver. :)

Paladin: ...I'm still buying plate mail.

Celestial Warlock: That's cool! (Won't have to spend as many slots healing her.)

Paladin: Is that really all you're buying...?

Monk: [thinks for a moment] Steel toe boots? (Can I wear boots as a dragonborn?) ...A second silvered wakazashi in case I lose the first one?

DM: That's it?

Monk: I'm a monk. I don't really need material things. Though I figured I might buy some bamboo and knick knacks and things for our Tavern. If we need more money for the tavern (or the campaign) for the tavern I won a lot of prize money doing those mixed martial arts competitions that I don't really use or need.

DM: No no no that's okay...

[Beat]

DM: How much?

#shit my players say #rpg #submission #shareable #upsetting the dm

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

routine vibe check: what’s the best starter pokemon and why are you right (pictures and long paragraphs of evidence welcomed and appreciated)

Gonna get a good grade in vibe check, normal to want and inevitable to achieve because I have objectively correct Pokemon opinions and will block naysayers

OKAY LET'S GO

I decided to do, like, a top 5 list or something, because I'm bad at picking a single favourite of stuff. And then even that overwhelmed me, so I found one of those tier ranking list sites and produced this:

It was done in less than a minute, so if I wanted to get really picky, I don't know if I would be fully wedded to it (not sure if maybe Sceptile should be one higher) BUT it did help to highlight the important ones.

So!

5. Bulbasaur

It's. Just. So. Nice.

Like you can find cooler, more beautiful, cuter, fancier... there's a whole bunch of ways for a Pokemon to be great. But you will never ever find a nicer Pokemon than Bulbasaur. It's so lovely. Look at it. Look at its face.

I can't put it higher, because the rest of the line is fairly bland in terms of development. It's good and logical and fun, don't get me wrong, but Ivysaur and Venusaur just look like bigger versions with More Flower and Less Cute rather than creatures in their own right. To be honest, if it weren't a starter requiring a three-stage evolution, you could do away with Ivysaur. Something I don't like about a lot of lazy three-step lines is that the middle step just looks like a transitional mid phase rather than a Proper Creacher, like they were artificially inflating the Pokemon number count. Meanwhile it took us until Paldea to get a Girafarig evo that would actually make the giraffe tall. Madness.

However my first ever Pokemon was a Bulbasaur I called Daffodil, and I have traded him forward onto every single successive generation since. He is, quite literally, my First Ever Pokemon. I love him desperately. I still have him. Not many people still have their First Ever Pokemon. But I do and I love him. So, Bulbasaur gets the fifth spot.

4. Snivy

Again, a victim of the Banal Transitional Middle Evo, but both Snivy and Serperior are incredible, and as Meatloaf took such pains to tell us, two out of three ain't bad.

But Snivy! It's so snooty! I was super lucky with mine, too, because I beat the 12.8% odds and got a female, and I loved her. Normally the initial baby starters are designed to be cute but Snivy has SO MUCH PERSONALITY, she's great. And the design of Serperior is utterly gorgeous. She keeps the expression, but rather than the Animal Crossing-style snooty-cute vibe of Snivy you get this thousand yard withering stare of an empress whose servant (you) has just turned up dripping mud in her throne room and asked her for money. Her green and gold colour scheme is exquisite. Her filigree design, including her high collar, give off the air of wealth and sophistication befitting her immaculate pedigree. And all this! In a simple snake. Incredible design work, 10 out of 10, no notes.

Begone, you miserable peasant. Have him boiled.

3. Torchic

Now I'll be real with you, lads, but Pokemon design hit its stride with Hoenn and then got better.

It's partly a fashion thing, of course - you look at some of the Kanto designs and they are remarkably 90s, because that's when the franchise launched. Others are clearly a product of what the 1990's were capable of producing in pixels on an already over-stretched cartridge medium. Like we like to clown on Red and Green/Blue now, but my god, those game designers performed a miracle with Pokemon. Every single square inch of space was used to make that game, and complex designs weren't going to cut it.

(With that said, there is still no excuse for Dragonite.)

And then Johto came about and its Pokedex sucks ass. It's mostly new evolutions for existing Kanto stars, useless babies to inflate the dex number, or poorly thought out single-evos like the inexplicably short Girafarig and the unacceptably dreary Dunsparce (our greatest thanks to Paldea for fixing both of those).

BUT THEN CAME HOENN (trumpets intensify)

And we get habitats! Biomes! A different regional climate, gifting us a brand new area of Pokecology! And therefore a brand new flush of creativity in Pokemon design across the board; less dated, and more inclined to be unique rather than a rehash of Kantonian stuff.

Which brings me nicely to this lad:

Now, I mean. Just look at him. Fucking hell. Cute starter stage, check. LOOK AT HIM FACE

AND THEN he became, at the time, a brand-new unique typing: Fire/Fighting. I realise that is now the norm for like, half of the Fire starters, but that's because of Torchic, actually. He was super popular. In fact if you ever play Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald and you do what my husband and I like to call a Mynci Dave run (use one Pokemon almost exclusively, meaning it gets all the experience points and therefore over-levels to a terrifying degree, allowing you to sweep the game; so named after the noble Primeape we first did this with, Mynci Dave), Torchic is the PERFECT Pokemon to choose, because almost everything is weak to either Fire or Fighting in that region.

Anyway, Combusken is, again, kind of mid (although props for the inverted colour scheme and the fact that it actually does look like a teenager.) But Blaziken, on the other hand... Blaziken is a six foot ninja chicken with wings for hair whose Pokedex entry describes it as able to leap tall peaks in a single bound, a feat it achieves after strengthening its legs by hoofing Geodudes down mountains like they're fucking footballs

Also an impressive bulge.

My first was called Gilgamesh, and he was fucking great. For a long time, this mad lad was my actual favourite Pokemon, not just starter. Brilliant. Love him. Five stars out of three. King.

2. Fuecoco

It would probably surprise you to know I've not actually used one. I chose Sprigatito, and I do really like Meowscarada, actually. But pretty anthro cat boys have been done in Pokemon quite a bit at this point; cats, dogs and rabbits are over-represented in terms of Poke-taxa. Possibly this is another reason for a toad, a snake and a chicken being 5, 4 and 3 so far (ooh, basilisk ingredients, I've just realised.) They're new and unusual! I like an Eeveelution as much as the next person, but they're a whole family of cat-dog-rabbits, like.

However.

Nintendo has tried its hand at Pokecrocodilians three times (Feraligatr, Krookodile, Skeledirge), and they have gotten so much better at design each time that the three of them are basically a scale proxy for ongoing design improvement. Look, I've made a diagram:

EXCEPT

(Strap in)

This one is that rare thing: a three step line that deserves to be a three step line. Let's talk Fuecoco first:

SO CUTE. It's charming, it's charismatic, it's adorable.

It also has hints of its evolutionary end goal, but not like an undeveloped middle evo. It likes singing. The white face hints at the eventual calavera, and it looks a bit like a lil chilli pepper - a ghost pepper, probably in reference to the eventual Fire/Ghost typing. But the colours and shape right now also look a bit reminiscent of a babygro, because this thing is a cute starter. Lookit them teefs. That tuft. Its lovely smile. Beautiful.

And then, at the point you expect it to turn into just the awkward teenage version of the adult, instead we get Crocator:

Oh boy. Oh there's so much to say. Okay okay:

The region it's from is based on Spain, but this thing is incorporating Hispanic elements from across the board. It's a mariachi in a sombrero, except the sombrero also looks kind of like a ring of Mexican marigolds and kind of like a Catalonian Easter cake called Mona de Pascua that has an egg (or egg-shaped confectionary) in the middle. Body shape and markings look kind of like a piñata. The white face is now on its way to a calavera, with the cheek and nostril markings more defined. And it sings, with its open mouth (also how crocodiles release heat, appropriate for a Fire type) and signified by the mariachi theme.

THAT IS A LOT.

And then it becomes Skeledirge. A Fire/Ghost crocodile.

Now the obvious design here is the calavera and the  Día de Muertos theming, which is part of it. But there are also many examples of crocodile figures in Spanish folkloric ghost stories: the Catalonian Cocollona, the Lizard of Magdalena from Jaén, or the Drac de Na Coca, or even the Cuca - that one is Portuguese, but turns up in both Brasil and the Iberian Peninsula including in parts of Spain. It's got a Gaudi vibe (like Barcelona). It's got an alebrije vibe (like Mexico).

And the bird! Nile crocs have a cleaning symbiosis with Egyptian plovers; it also sits at the tip of the snout where male gharials have a sort of bulbous bit to help them make sounds (the singing thing).

But this is what the bird does when Skeledirge uses Torch Song:

It becomes a microphone, then grows in size and attacks the opponent in Phoenix form. Phoenix: Fire/Ghost. Resurrected from the ashes.

Quite simply, your fave could never.

5. Rowlet

My god. (My god)

gasp

Look at this lovely creacher. He is so round and so soft and so lovely. He looks like that baby Yoda meme. He looks like that cat that someone's landlord said they would make an exception for because he looks very polite. Look!!! At his lil bow tie!!! He is a smartly dressed young man and he is kind and he is... well, a bit vacant behind the eyes. A himbo, if you will. But he is all the better for that. What a lovely owl.

He looks a little like a barn owl, perhaps, and those were imported to Hawai'i, where Rowlet is from. But I think he looks a little like a Pueo owl, and given that he will eventually be a Ghost type, that seems right - pueos are one of the physical forms assumed by ʻaumākua in Hawai'ian culture, as I understand it.

And then, hang onto your tits, lads, because this is another banger - THE MIDDLE EVOLUTION IS ITS OWN DESIGN!!! (confetti cannons)

I said earlier that boring middle evos are like just awkward teenagers of the adults. Here, I present to you, a very deliberate Awkward Teenager, in Dartrix:

IT'S A DANDY

I love him I love him I love him

He plays with his fringe and if you touch it without permission he has a tantrum. God, he's so charismatic. Also, that fringe further suggests the pueo - they have pronounced outer rims around their facial disks like that. Look at his bow tie and tail coat. So smart and handsome

This one is so good that it could be the final evo. This is actually my issue with the Delphox line - Braixen is amazing, and then it becomes the bland boredom of Delphox. Braixen should have been the final stop. Here, Dartrix is much the same - good enough to be a high-quality end goal.

Where they differ is that Decidueye is better again.

IT SHOOTS ARROWS MADE OF ITS OWN QUILLS

Also, fun fact - This line is the only starter to change secondary typing. Dartrix is part Flying; but on evolving a second time into Decidueye, it switches to Grass/Ghost. In this evolution, it's definitely mostly a pueo, so the ʻaumākua reference is IN, but actually barn owls also have their associations with the dead in various cultures.

The crown of feathers around its head are also reminiscent of an ayaigasa - a hat worn by Japanese samurai archers. And yet! AND YET!

It still has its lil bow tie look. Bigger now, more of a cravat; but there it is.

A perfect Pokemon, and a perfect evolutionary line. No notes.

Anyway, thank you for this chance to waste three and a half hours writing this essay

#asks #pokemon #long post #gif

[wafflefries13]

Walk Me Home (Bakugou x Reader)

Summary: You get help with a stalker from an unexpected hotheaded source.

AN: I posted this a while ago, like a couple of years, but Tumblr ate it. So, repost!

Warnings: Stalking, kidnapping, canon typical violence. Sort of an au where hero work is more of a college track.

You were racing the drops of condensation dripping down the frosted cooler glass. Personally, you thought the one on the far left was going to win. The center had been in the lead, but it crashed into a glop of drops and was forced to a sudden halt. The middle left gained a sudden lead by dropping down through an empty space. It veered suddenly and crashed into the far left, both of them stopping dead. 

Well, so much for that. 

That was the fifth race you’d monitored this hour. You’d spent the previous hour walking around the aisles of the convenience store you were holed up in, rotating the chip bags, soda bottles, and cans so that all the labels faced outward. The hour before that you spent memorizing the employee cleaning manual kept under the sink in the customer bathroom. And the hour before that you had spent tirelessly counting every ceiling and floor tile (Ceiling = 237, Floor = 422.) You were kind of surprised the worker behind the register hadn't said anything by this point. His feet were kicked up on the counter, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t looked up from his magazine since you came in.  

It was dark outside by now, the street lights the only way to see where you were going. It had been early evening when you had first rushed in. Abandoning your condensation drop race, you sneaked a look out the wide windows that lined the front of the store. There, half-way hidden in the shadows of the large tree, silhouetted by the street lamp light. You jerked back, heart jumping up 100 beats per minute. God, you hoped he hadn’t seen you. But he had to know you were in here. So why hadn’t he come in? Why hadn’t he left? 

You felt sick. You were going to be sick. 

The door chimed as they slid open. Your fight or flight response kicked into overdrive

 (Definitely flight). You ducked behind a display of dill pickle flavored chips. Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Did you jinx yourself? Did he see you looking out and take that as an invitation? If he tried to do something, would the cashier help you? Would he even think something was wrong? Would he call a hero? 

“Hey,” A voice broke you out of your panicked internal monologue. “The hell are you doing down there?” 

Wait. You knew that gruff, irreverent voice. 

“Bakugou?” 

You and Bakugou were in the same class at UA. You weren’t sure he actually knew your name, though, much less that you sat a few seats away from each other. 

You looked up from your crouch behind the chips display at his confused and slightly annoyed looking vermilion eyes. Well, his default state was slightly annoyed, so maybe that second part didn’t mean much. He had one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a bottle of cola by the neck. 

“Umm,” you said, flustered. “I dropped a 500 yen coin. So, you know, don’t want to lose that. And, hey! These chips are 500 yen, too! So if I find it I can get a bag!” You nervously laughed, still not standing. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, furrowing his eyebrows. Letting your self-consciousness take over, you slowly stood, rubbing your arm awkwardly and not meeting his gaze. Your eyes nervously darted to the large window, trying to see past the glare of the store lights. 

“The hell are you looking at?” Bakugou said, lazily turning his head to look out. 

“Don’t!” You said without thinking. You grabbed his uniform shirt sleeve and pulled him toward you, if only to get his attention away from looking outside. 

He jerked back away from you, bringing up his arm as a barrier between you, as if you could ever do anything to hurt him. “Hah? What the hell?” 

You looked away, wringing your hands together. “Sorry, I just… Can-can you do me a favor?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “Outside, across the street, there’s a big oak tree next to the street light. Is there… Is there someone still standing there?” 

His glare turned less harsh. He rotated his neck and shoulders as if he was stretching his muscles, sneaking a glance through the window. He hummed low in his throat and turned back to you. “Yeah, there’s some creep there. Can’t make them out too well. You know that guy?” 

You pressed your lips, slinking farther to the back of the store and away from the view of the window. “It’s nothing. I can deal with it later. Sorry to bother you.” 

“Jeez,” Bakugou huffed, not buying it for a second. He followed your retreat, looming over you as your back hit the cold window door of the fridge. “You’re really bad at lying, aren’t you? What, is he some ex you’re trying to avoid? Owe someone money?” He smirked at his joke, but his face turned serious again when he saw your concerned and fearful expression. 

“The truth is,” you started in a whisper. “I have a stalker. That guy out there has been following me for a few weeks. Usually it’s from school to work, but today he was waiting till I got done with my shift. I-I didn’t want him to know where I live, so I started taking all these back streets to try and lose him. I thought he’d just get bored or something, but he was always just behind me. So I came in here. Maybe if I Just waited here for a while he’d get bored and leave, but he’s been standing out there, waiting for me, for hours now, and I just want to go home and forget all about this but if I step outside…” 

You weren’t sure when you started crying. All you knew was that at some point you couldn’t keep it in any more and everything started pouring out. You started hiccuping with the effort to keep back tears and making a scene, the heels of your hands digging into your eyes. Bakugou awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and looked away. 

“Jeez,” he said under his breath. “I never know what to do when girls cry. Uh, hang in there?” He patted your shoulder, bringing his hand back when you flinched from his touch. “Have you, like, tried calling the police?” 

“Of course I have. They said they can't do anything because he hasn’t actually done anything illegal. And it’s not like I can get a restraining order or something because I don’t know who he is.” You sniffed. 

“Huh. Well. You want me to go kick his ass?” 

Your brain took a second to process his response, then you burst out in a fit of giggles. He smiled back, more like a self-satisfied smirk. You tried to gulp down a breath, laughing becoming frenzied as the stress of the situation finally overwhelmed you. Then, as suddenly as you started, you stopped as an idea slammed into you. 

“Actually, maybe you could do that.” Bakugou quirked his brow at you. “No, not literally. I mean, well, you’re scaring looking-“

“Hey!” 

“And I was just thinking that maybe if someone was with me - if you were with me - when I walked home, then he wouldn’t think he could, I don’t know, take advantage of the situation?” 

“You want me to be your bodyguard?” 

“I mean, when you put it like that…” You fiddled with your hands again. 

You stood in silence, the only sound the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you and the hum of the drinks fringes behind you. 

Bakugou shoved his drink in your hands. “Pay for this for me. I’m gonna grab some instant noodles and boa buns too. You know how to get home from here?” 

You blinked up at him, twisting the bottle anxiously in your hands. “If we get to the train station, then I know where to go from there.” 

He jerked his head to the front. “Great, let’s hurry it up. I want to get home too, you know.” 

You blinked. “Wait, really?” 

“Yes, really. Move your ass.” 

You followed closely behind him, paying for the snacks at the counter. You hesitated when the doors to the convenience store slide open, standing half-way out. The street light hit your eyes differently out here, blinding you to the already dark shadows. Was that a twitch of movement? A hidden figure in the mess of shapes cast by the trees? 

Bakugou’s grip on your wrist shocked you out of your grim hyperactive imagination like a bucket of ice water. His mouth was pulled into a frown, but he gently pulled you out of the doorway. He let you go as you walked out of the light of the store. You desperately wanted him not to. 

It didn’t take long before you heard a third set of footsteps join yours and Bakugou’s. You inched closer to him, arms brushing together. Seemingly unconcerned, Bakugou munched on a boa bun. 

“Hey,” He said. The abruptness of it in the otherwise silent night made you jump. “Didn’t you win the 50 meter dash in the sports festival last year?” 

“Uh, yeah?” 

“Cool. This should be easy, then.”         

He whipped around, chucking the boa bun directly at the man following you. You heard a sound of surprise. Bakugou grabbed your hand and took off in the other direction. Your feet pounded against the sidewalk, knees high in a way that you would have considered indecent in your uniform skirt if you weren’t already terrified. Your heart pounded in your ears as he led you down turn after turn, block after block. After the length of several 50 meter dashes, he let go of your hand, Both of your long strides slowing down as you came to a stop in the glow of the train station’s entrance. You bent over, hands steadying yourself on your thighs. Next to you, Bakugou stretched backward, pulling his arms back to ease the muscles. 

“Well, that wasn’t too terrible, huh?” He said with a smirk. 

You gave a breathy laugh. Standing up, you searched the dark around you for any signs of human disturbance. You pushed your hair out of your face, sweat sticking to your forehead from your impromptu marathon. 

“Sorry you had to sacrifice your bun.” 

He shrugged. “You‘ll just owe one. You know where to go from here?” 

The two of you started down the road back to your house. You tried to fill the space between you with small talk. Bakugou would grunt in response every once and a while. You tried to ignore the feeling that he was getting annoyed with you. But whenever you would trail off, he’d snap at you to continue your line of thought.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you finally got home,  just that it was late. The windows were dark and you fumbled with your key. Bakugou skeptically observed your house. 

“You’re not home alone, right?” He asked. 

“I am, actually. My parents work for a pretty new company, so they’re out of the city a lot for business trips.” 

“Hah?” He sounded indignant, like you personally offended him. “They left you alone with this creep around?” 

“I mean, I haven’t really told them.” You pressed your lips, trying not to meet his furious glare. “They already just deal with a lot. And I already told you what the police said. I just don’t want to worry them, you know?” 

He tapped your forehead with his knuckles. “Idiot. Parents are supposed to worry, that’s what they’re there for.” He glowered as his cell phone rang. Fishing it out of his pocket, he mumbled, “Speak of the devil.” He held up a hand in goodbye. You waved a little before dropping in to a bow of gratitude. You could hear him arguing with the person on the other end of the line. 

You triple checked all the locks on your windows and doors, turning on all the lights. You drew the curtains in tight, not looking too deeply into the dark outside. But you were home now, you were safe behind these familiar walls. And besides, that guy didn’t know where you lived, right? 

~~~

You were still half asleep at your desk in school the next day. You hadn’t slept well last night, jerking back awake at the slightest irregular noise. You were becoming a wreck. You weren’t sure exactly how much more of this you could take. After you had woken up for the n-th time last night, you had typed out a text to your mom, explaining what was happening back home. Agonizing over the text, you ended up deleting it. 

You started nodding off. You could just rest your eyes for a second, right? It was a passing period, so you had some time. 

A stack of textbooks slammed down on your desk. You shrieked, throwing yourself back. You would have fallen back if someone didn’t catch your chair. 

“Whoa, hang on there, (Y/N)!” Kirishima caught your chair and set you back upright. Bakugou drummed his fingers on the textbooks he had just stopped your heart with. 

“Thought you were going to bed after I left last night,” He said. 

“Ooh, left last night?” Mina said, sliding over. “Is there something we need to know?” 

“Lay off, Pinkie!” 

“No, it’s no big deal, really!” You tried to salvage the situation, waving your hands in front of you. “We just walked home in the same direction is all.” 

“Walking home together?” Sero said, leaning back in his chair. “That’s a pretty big leap in your relationship, don’t you think, Bakugou?” 

“I said to lay off, you damn extras!” 

The small group started playfully arguing with each other. It didn’t feel at all serious, especially since every one but Bakugou was laughing and joking against his threats. 

“Can’t anyone have a private conversation around here?” Bakugou said angrily. He stomped away, turning back at the door. “Well, aren’t you coming?” Realizing he was talking to you, you quickly excused yourself and hurried after him. 

Bakugou was leaning out an open window, the autumn wind tossing his hair. Not sure exactly what you say, you bowed a little. “Thanks again for last night.” 

“Do you have any clubs after school?” Bakugou asked, ignoring your gratitude. 

You blinked.”No, I don’t. I have to head to work after the final bell.” 

“And how far is that from here?” 

“Not very. It’s a Japanese sweets cafe that opened nearby. I’ve seen some people with our school’s uniform there, so I guess it’s pretty popular here.” 

“And how long’s your shift?” 

“From 4 to 6:30 on school days, 8 to 4 on the weekends. But, um, why?” 

He scoffed, knocking your forehead with his knuckle like he had the night before. “Idiot. Obviously because I’m gonna make sure you get to work and home okay. You said that weirdo followed you from school to work. So we’ll walk there together then back to your place. At least till your parents get back in town, because you’re definitely telling them, you got it?” 

You could feel yourself blushing hard. “Yeah, sure, of course! That’s really kind of you, actually. Thank you!” 

Bakugou waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t take it personally or anything. I just don’t want to be watching the news and hear your dumbass got kidnapped or some bullshit like that.” 

You weren’t really sure how to respond to that, so you just twirled a lock of hair around your finger. “Still, I really appreciate it. It’s really heroic of you!” 

Bakugou whipped his head away, but you were almost sure you caught his cheeks turning pink. “Tch, whatever. Don’t think too hard about it. And I still expect payment! You better be ready to cough up some of those sweets from your job!” 

~~~

“So, (Y/N),” Your coworker, Matsu, said while elbowing you good-naturedly. “Who’s your friend you brought in today?” She winked and nodded her head at a small table set on the patio of your workplace. 

Bakugou was studying, gnawing at the end of his pen. He’d planted himself there after the two of you left school. He’d kept on a steady diet of sweets since your shift started, and you started getting worried about what your paycheck at the end of the month would look like. Once again, you talked the whole way through your walk with only interspersed responses from the blond. But you felt much more comfortable chatting this time, less like you were bothering him. Although you knew he would never admit it, you had a feeling that Bakugou could really be kind under all that ego and anger. 

You started placing chick-shaped meika hiyoko in a tray in the display case. “Bakugou is a friend from school. Well, I think you’d call him a friend, anyway. He’s just waiting for my shift to end to walk me home.” 

You didn’t like the self-satisfied look that came over Matsu’s face. “Ooh, walking you home, huh?” 

“Oh, stop coming up with ridiculous ideas! He’s just…” You trailed off. How exactly were you meant to explain your situation? 

You were saved from responding with a knock on the window. Bakugou mouthed an order of Shingen Momo. You quickly excused yourself despite Matsu’s teasing protests. 

Bakugou had a healthy stack of plates from previous sweets stacked next to his text book. You tried mentally adding a tally of how much his little feast was going to cost you. You set the plate down and looked over his shoulder at what he was studying. 

“Wow,” You commented. “That looks really difficult. Did I miss something in class today?” 

“No,” He said. “I’m studying for college entrance exams.” 

“Oh, right. You want to get into that famous hero college, right? I guess they have to be pretty tough. I heard Izuku in our class wants to go there, too.” 

Bakugou snapped the pencil he was holding. “That damn Deku! Always trying to take my ideas! Who does he think he is, trying to be a hero, huh?! No one even knew he had a Quirk until recently! He pretty much breaks every bone in his body when he uses it! How’s a loser like that meant to be a hero?!” 

You were a little shocked. You didn’t think you’d ever seen Bakugou this suddenly passionate about anything. Yet, despite his negative ramblings, he came across as admiring the boy with green hair in your class, talking about Izuku’s training schedule and how strong he had gotten since they knew each other in middle school. You couldn’t help but giggle at his sudden uproar. Hearing you, Bakugou cut himself off, quickly glancing away. 

He fished another pencil out of his bag and re-focused on his text book. “That creep is still here.” Your mouth went dry as all frivolity seeped from your body. Bakugou stealthy pointed the end of his pencil to  a garden store across the street. “He’s been walking in and out of stores this whole time. He’s hiding out there now. Definitely keeping an eye out.” 

You gulped hard. “What should we do?” 

“Well, first, you can bring me another momiji manju. Then, go back to work. Let me know when your shift ends. You guys have a back door, right? We can go through that, cut through the big inside shopping center.” He pulled out his phone and opened an app. “I looked it up. There’s another train station near here. It goes right to the one near your house. We’ll jump on there.” 

You expected your heartbeat to slow down now that there was a solution to the probable danger. But instead it kept speeding up as you thought of the work Bakugou had put into researching his escape plan. 

“Wow,” You breathed. “I guess you really are my hero, huh?” 

Bakugou bristled, turning his face away before you could see it turning red (although the tips of his ears were practically a cherry color by now), and shoved an empty plate at you. “Momiji manju! And make sure it’s hot this time!” 

~~~

“He’s still behind us.” 

Your stalker was more cautious this time. He was making more of an effort to go unnoticed, ducking in and out of shops, getting lost in the crowd, but still keeping an uncomfortably close distance. 

Bakugou clicked his teeth. “This guy doesn't know when to quit. You’re sure he doesn’t know where you live, right?” 

“I’ve never seen him around. But…” You let the thought hang between the two of you like a dark cloud. 

Bakugou seemed to be contemplating something for a second. Clenching and unclenching his fists, his hand shot forward to tightly grip onto yours. You started a little at his sudden aggressive hand holding, but flexed your fingers to intertwine with his. Bakugou cleared his throat, looking away. 

“You’re not-“ You could have sworn you heard his voice crack, not that you would ever admit it. Bakugou cleared his throat and started again. “You’re not scared of heights, are you?” 

“Not really. Why?” 

Faster than you could keep up with, Bakugou pulled you closer. His other arm swept down, scooping you up under your knees and holding you to his chest. He took two large steps before kicking off a vending machine on the side of the street. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he took off his support from your back, pointing his hand palm down and releasing a blast. The explosion rocked through your ears as the two of you were propelled upward. A scream died in your throat. Just before you landed on the roof of a store neighboring the street you were just walking along, he released another explosion which propelled you even higher and further. 

“I thought you said you weren’t afraid of heights,” Bakugou said with a laugh in his voice. “Open your eyes.” 

You didn’t really notice how tightly you had clenched your eyes until he told you to open them. You had your head buried in the crook of his neck, the scent of caramelized sugar and smoke overwhelming your senses. You cracked open one eye just as Bakugou launched you both high in the air. You lost your breath, gazing in wonder at the sight before you. The sky was ablaze with red, oranges, and purples as the sun set. A band of stars was just twinkling into existence at the very top of the sky. The town below you looked just like a train-set model, tiny and delicate and perfect. Your stomach dropped as you plummeted back down. You laughed, yelling, clutching to him tighter. He tightened his hold around waist, smirk widening into a genuine heartfelt smile. 

You both stumbled a bit, coming to a rocky landing in your neighborhood. There weren’t any more commercial buildings around, so you thought the residents would be grateful that they wouldn’t have to deal with shoe prints on their roofs. The air around you was crisp with the scent of melting sugar. You were lost to a giggle fit, holding your stomach as you tried to get a hold of yourself. 

“You think he saw that coming?” Bakugou asked with a sideways grin. 

“This is worth all the momiji manju in the world if we get to do that again!” 

Bakugou’s chest swelled with pride as he brushed off invisible dirt. “Hah, what I tell you? It’s going to take a lot more than some creep in a black hoodie to get one over on Bakugou Katsuki.” 

You clapped for him. “Full marks, Mr. Future-Number-One-Hero.” He ducked his head, looking away bashfully. You started walking in the direction of your house. “How did you even come up with that idea?” 

“Rockets. I figure you have to get some pretty powerful force to shoot something that high up. And considering my Quirk is the most powerful force out there, well, it was a cinch.” 

“So is that going to be your hero name, then? Rocket Man?” 

He scowled. “No way! My hero name’s gonna be something way cooler! Like, like,” For someone who had dedicated his whole life to becoming a hero, you thought it was a little cute that he had left off some of the more practical aspects, like what he would be called. He snapped his fingers. “What about Lord Explosion?!” 

You tried to bite back a laugh. You failed. “It’s a little obvious, don’t you think?” 

“Alright then. What about King Murder?” 

“Well, it’s certainly direct.” 

“Wait, I’ve got it! Lord Explosion Murder!” 

You stopped trying to hide your laughter. “Perfect. I can see it on all the T-shirts now.” 

He pouted, no doubt trying to look menacing. “Alright, what’s your great idea?” 

You hummed in thought. “What about Ground Zero? That’s what you call the middle of a major disaster. You know, like an explosion? It’s kind of metaphorical, thematic, and way more marketable than having the word ‘murder’ in your title.” 

Bakugou looked down, eyebrows furrowed. “Damn. That is good.” He gave you a sideways look. “What’s your Quirk, anyway?” 

You fiddled with your fingers. “It’s nothing too fancy. Nothing heroic or strong like yours, I mean.” You pressed your lips together and whistled. Instead of a normal sharp note, however, you replicated a perfect Asian Koel call. Not a second later, you heard a reply from a nearby park. Altering your call al title, a small brown bird with white speckles and red eyes flew down and landed on the back of your hand. You alternated with a few more calls, a Pacific Swift, Gray Nightjar, Kentish Plover, and Japanese Sparrowhawk. One by one, the birds would respond and come to perch on your hand or shoulder, the plover taking a dignified seat on your head. The sparrowhawk squaked at Bakugou when he tried to poke it. 

“I can recreate any birdsong if I hear it once,” You explained. The Koel cooed as you pet under its chin. “I can kind of understand them, too. Not in a Dr. Dolittle way or anything, more just the general idea of what they’re trying to communicate. Danger, hungry, food here, that kind of thing.”

“Must be fun in the spring.” 

“Ugh, you have no idea. It’s impossible to sleep in.” 

“Maybe they’re just trying to chat you up.” Bakugou created a little explosion in his hand. The birds squaked in protest and flew away. “Little bastards. Don’t birds have noises to let other birds know not to mooch on their territory?” 

“You mean a song? And what do you have to defend anyway?” 

He slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close again. “Birds mate for life or some shit, right? They need to know you’re not available.” 

Your heart definitely didn’t skip a beat. Definitely. 

~~~

One of the last things you expected the next morning was to find Bakugou waiting impatiently at your front door. “What am I supposed to do if you just don’t show up for class, huh?” He declared with a haughty attitude. “You’ll make me feel guilty.” He came in, slugging off his shoes at the doorway and collapsing on the couch in the living room. “Let me know when you’re done with breakfast then we can leave.” 

“Oh,” You said. “I, uh, don’t usually eat breakfast. I try to get to school early, so…” 

Bakugou furrowed his eyebrows. “Seriously? It’s the first thing in the morning. How are you supposed to have energy for the rest of the day?” He put on a begrudging air as he marched to the kitchen. He started pulling out pans and rummaging through the fridge and pantry. “Geez, you have nothing here! What, your parents didn’t leave any grocery money when they abandoned you here? Well don’t just stand there. Go finish getting ready. I’ll get something together by the time you’re done.” 

Unsure about leaving him alone in your kitchen, but in no position to refuse him, you headed back to your bathroom to try and make it look like you had been getting a decent night's sleep for the past week. 

Slugging your backpack over your shoulder, you came back downstairs to the smell of warm waffles. How Bakugou had managed to make a giant stack of fluffy waffles in the few minutes you were gone was beyond you. 

“Shouldn’t we eat on the go?” You asked when he set down a plate on the table. 

He tapped the long handle of the spatula against his shoulder. “You have way too many unhealthy habits. You don’t ask for help, you don’t eat breakfast. What am I going to do with you?” He pushed you down into a chair and took a seat in the one next to you, angrily stabbing the top waffle and taking a massive bite out of it before it even made it to his plate. “Eating on the go messes with your digestion. If you want to be helpful, start making a grocery list. You don’t work today, right? We’ll go to the store after school. I don’t need the stress of having you pass out from hunger on top of everything else.” 

You stared at him as he wolfed down his breakfast. When he noticed you still haven’t taken anything, he shoved the plate to you. Taking a waffle, you couldn’t help but have a large smile spread across your face. 

“You really are nice, aren’t you, Bakugou?” 

He choked on his waffle. He refused to look at you for the rest of the morning. 

~~~

Bakugou had been walking you to and from home for three weeks now. People at school had definitely started  to notice. Especially after he started to drag you to eat lunch with him and his friends, lunches that he had made for you. You started showing off your Quirk a little more. Your favorite was calling down crows, bribing him with shinny pins and glass gems. You especially got a kick out of Denki freaking out when the birds mimicking human speech. 

Without really noticing, you had slowly stopped being so nervous. You didn’t triple check your windows and doors at night, you weren’t always looking over your shoulder, you didn’t flinch when the chime over the door at work sounded. 

You had also been growing significantly closer to Bakugou. You didn’t think it was at all possible for someone so rough to have such a sweet side. Sure, everything kind he did was still smothered in his devil may care attitude, but you came to learn that his abrupt remarks and aggressive personality was just a top layer. Bakugou knew what he wanted in life and was never subtle about sharing his thoughts. But his own emotions still came as an annoying mystery to him. He would intertwine his fingers with yours, declaiming with a blush and avoiding your eyes that he just wanted just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t get lost or snatched away from him. He made sure you started eating well, something you had all but dropped due to stress. He would pull you into the kitchen with him, having you help him making breakfast and your bento lunches. 

There was one situation where sitting on the patio of the sweet shop you worked at. Your boss had noticed his frequent stays and had recruited him to help test new recipes. Not to mention this helped ease the impact on your pay check. 

Munching on a new flavor of melon pan, you two chatted under the warm sun. Giggling at some remark he made, you froze when you felt his fingers brush your face. Suddenly, Bakugou was less than a breath away from you. He brushed a lock of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. His hand dropped down to your chin, eyes falling to your lips. Your heart started stuttering, breath coming out in shallow gasps. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. 

Bakugou looked up, searching your face. You let your eyes flutter closed, leaning forward. 

You both must have jumped three feet in the air with the interrupting squawk. A crow perched on your head, beak darting forward to peck at the melon pan forgotten in Bakugou’s hand. Bakugou yelled at the bird, waving it away and yelling obscenities at it. But that didn’t stop him from tearing off a chunk of the sweet bread and throwing it to him. 

You both kept the blushes for the rest of the day. 

~~~

You knew that nothing this good could last forever. 

It started out like any other new-normal day. You were walking home from work with Bakugou. It was late autumn now, the days getting shorter and nights longer. The sun had already completely set as you strolled down the street. You didn’t notice something was wrong immediately. But then your stomach started to turn into knots. You shuffled closer to Bakugou who seemed to be noticing that something was amiss, too. You kept telling yourself that you were being paranoid. Nothing had happened for so long now, why would something suddenly happen now? 

And then you heard the sparrow start singing. It was high pitched and panicked. A few swept down, fluttering in front of the two of you before cascading back up to their tree. You knew that sound. It meant danger. 

You latched yourself to Bakugou’s side. “Bakugou,” You whispered. “Something’s wrong.” 

He wrapped his arm around you. “Yeah, I noticed. Stay close, okay?” 

You were afraid that you were practically tripping over his feet. But you didn’t want to move away. Every muscle tense, you looked over your shoulder. He was walking behind the street lights, staying out of the majority of the light. The street lights just barley illuminated his dark clothes, his hunched figure, determinately marching at a steady pace. Was he holding something? Did he just speed up? Was he-? 

Bakugou stopped suddenly. You stumbled a bit, clutching his arm to get your balance again. “Bakugou?” 

He whipped around. “Hey! Asshole!” He turned to you, hesitating for only a second before cradling your face, maybe a little more aggressively than he should have, rattled by nerves, and kissed you. It wasn’t extremely romantic, your teeth clashed for a moment, his fingers burying in your hair. He dropped one of his hands to your hip, pulling you closer and angling his head. The kiss was desperate, urgent, trying to communicate feelings and thoughts that it would have been difficult to vocalize. Your eyes fluttered closed. You pressed back up into him, one hand resting on his shoulder and the other tangerine in his mess of spiky blond hair. 

The seconds stretched on for what seemed like minutes, but when you pulled away it felt like it was over all too fast. You tried to regain your breath, slightly panting. He looked into your eyes with an intensity and softness you had never seen from him, all his layers peeled back to show a soft and caring core. 

His face suddenly hardened. He pulled you into him, turning his face to look back at your stalker, who you had almost completely forgotten about during your kiss. 

“She’s not interested!” He shouted. “She’s got a boyfriend! Get it through your thick skull! And if I ever find out you’re nothing my girlfriend again, I’ll kill you, got it?!” 

You looked at your stalker straight on from the first time. He was this dark shadow that cut through the street lamps lights. He was shaking, with nerves you hoped, but more likely with rage. But at least, standing in front of you, with someone strong at your side, he looked so much more human. This wasn’t a shadow with fangs and claws. Just a person. Sure, an unhinged person who had been following you, but you had back up. A whole team of support both emotionally and physically. 

The stalker didn’t say anything, just stared at the two of you. He looked like he was going to come to you, to fight, to scream. But he just turned, marching away, back into the dark. 

~~~

“Do you think he’s actually done?” You asked. You were back at your house, nervously chopping leeks for lunch in the coming week. 

“Damn better be,” Bakugou said. He reclined on the couch, flipping through a magazine. 

“I guess that means you don’t have to walk me home any more then,” You said, leadingly. 

You smirked when you heard him slam the magazine back on the coffee table. “Like hell! You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you? I can walk you home whenever I damn well feel like it! Or, you know, if you want me to, I mean. You still want me to, right?” 

You tried to press down your grin as you walked back into the living room, sitting down next to him. “So, you were serious about that? You’re my boyfriend now?” 

He scowled. “I don’t say anything you mean. You’re mine now, got it?” 

You smiled and kissed his check. “Only if that means you’re mine, too.” 

He blushed up to his ears, pressing his face to the top of your head. “Sure.” 

~~~

An hour later, there was a knock on the door. 

Bakugou left just a little while ago, and since then you had taken a shower, changing into your pajamas. Coming down stairs to check the locks and lights one last time, you saw Bakugou’s laying across the back of the couch. You picked it up, rubbing your thumb over the collar. You’d have to give it back to him at school tomorrow. You smiled fondly, thinking of what he’d try to say to justify him forgetting something. 

And then someone knocked at the door. 

You started a little. You put a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart. It must have been Bakugou. You supposed Bakugou had realized he had misplaced his jacket and come back. Well, you didn’t mind seeing him again, you supposed. 

Practically skipping to the front door, you opened the door with a smile. You barely had the door cracked when it slammed open, cracking against the wall, the knob indenting in the soft drywall. You shrieked and fell back, landing hard on your butt. Before you could regain your bearings, a heavy weight pressed down on you. 

Your eyes bulged open. A man in all black was on top of you, knee pressing into your chest, one hand securely applying pressure to your throat and the other pressing a too sweet smelling rag against your nose and mouth. The bottom of his face was covered by a black bandana, but his eyes were wide and blood shot. He was muttering something to himself, or maybe you? But the blood rushing to your ears blocked out any cognizant thought. 

Your hands flew around, slapping and shoving, trying to jab your thumbs into the soft tissues of his eyes, clawing at his cheeks. But nothing seemed to bother him too much. And then things started getting fuzzy at the edges. The spiked fear in your head started swirling around. Your limbs felt heavy and stopped responding to your commands. Then everything fell, and the dark pulled you in with an ice cold grip. 

~~~ 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. It was dark, so dark you almost thought you were blindfolded. You were curled  up in an uncomfortable ball, something fibrous was shoved in your mouth. You tried to poke it out with your dry tongue, but it didn't budge. Your hands were fastened behind you with plastic zip ties. You flexed your fingers, coming to grasp  the thin but strong metal bars behind you. You tried to stretch out your legs, but your bare feet came into contact with more of these bars. Trying to sit up, you could only manage an awkward hunch as a roof of bars thunked against your head. A cage. You were in a dog cage. You were tied up in a dog cage in the dark. 

You tried to kick against the bars, but you couldn’t build up much force with so little space. All it did was shake the cage in an awful rattle. You stopped when you heard footsteps. You shuffled on your side to the back of the cage, which wasn’t saying much with how little room there was any way. 

The door to the room the cage was in opened. You squinted against the sudden light, temporarily blinded. Blinking up at the figure of your capture, You felt the blood in your veins turn to ice. Your ears rang with the sudden surge of adrenaline and every muscle in your body told you to get ready to run. 

Your capture, your stalker, stood like a horrible stain, silhouetted in the light. He pulled back the hood on his jacket, beaming down at you. This is the first time you had seen his face up close. Did you know him? You think he might have come into the shop once or twice. But you couldn’t think of any time you would have talked to him. 

He smiled like a kid in a candy store. It made you ill.  “You’re awake!” He said. His voice was chipped, strained from years of smoke. The reek of it hung on his clothes and wafted through the room. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know it’s small and uncomfortable. But I had to make sure, you know? You get it, right? I had to speed everything up, see? I just-” He balled his hands into fists. Suddenly, he slammed down on his knees in front of you. Your shriek was cut off by the gag in your mouth. “I had to get you away from him! The way he was all over you, touching you, grabbing you, k-k-kissing you!” He slammed his fists on the cage, making it shudder. He saw your wide eyes, your trembling. He lowered his voice, leaning down to look closer at you. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t your fault. He was taking advantage of you, right? But it’s okay, I have you now! And don’t worry, we’ll get out of here soon. There’s this place, way out in the mountains. We’ll be safe there. I have a room, just for you. A little palace for the perfect little doll…” 

He tried to reach through the bars and touch your face. You screamed through your gag, trying to kick away his hand. He jerked back, surprised. He got angry in a flash. Slamming his fist against the bars again, he got up, muttering to himself about how this would all be solved once he could get you out of the city, how that damn boy had tried to poison you against him. 

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. You had to get out. You had to get out! You squirmed against your bonds, but only succeeded in having them cut deeper into your flesh. 

You felt a chill in the room. You squinted, trying to see through the dark. You noticed a blackout curtain taped around a window. One corner fluttered away. The window must have been slightly opened. If you could just get your gag out…

You chewed at the dense fabric. Bits were coming off in your mouth, getting stuck between your teeth. Working your jaw until it felt like it was about to fall off, you finally managed to work it loose enough to shove it from your mouth with your tongue. Pressing your lips together, you let out a pitiful excuse for a whistle. You swallowed hard, willing saliva back into your mouth. Once more, you whistled, the sound transforming into a Russet Sparrow call. You thought you heard a faint reply from outside, but couldn’t be sure with every one of your nerves rattled and frayed. 

You ran your fingers along the bottom edge of the cage. Along the back side, where the bars met the hard metal floor, there was a small lip of metal, something that had been welded wrong in the cage’s construction. Maneuvering your bound wrists, you started to saw at the zip ties with that jutting piece of metal. 

~~~

He’d forgotten his damn jacket. 

Bakugou was on his way home after leaving your place. Halfway there, he suddenly realized he felt a lot colder than he had when walking to your house. He supposed he could always turn around and pick it up now. It would give him another excuse to see you. But his old hag would probably just get angry at him if he showed up later than normal. Still, maybe he could just use the later hour as an excuse and stay at your house for the night. Sleeping on the couch, of course!  But he did wonder what you looked like first thing in the morning…

Feathers flung in his face.  Bakugou jerked back, swiping at the air in front of him. A couple of those small birds you would chirp at was frantically flying circles above him. One dive bombed him again, chirping nervously and fast. 

“Beat it, dumb birds!” He whacked at them again. Stupid jelous birds. 

Then he noticed their patterns. Sure, they would dive down at him, but then they would shoot up and fly back in the direction of your house, circling back to him. It was almost like they wanted him to go back there…

Bakugou broke out in a cold sprint. His feet pounded the pavement as the birds flew leading the way. He was panting by the time he reached your street, more out of the rising dread in his chest than actual exhaustion. 

Reaching the front gate to your house, he froze. The door was wide open. He launched himself inside, yelling your name. His coat lay in a crumpled heap just inside the entrance. Underneath it was a strange rag. Picking it up, Bakugou felt that it was slightly wet. He brought it to his face and sniffed, jerking it back when the sickly sweet smell hit his nose. Chloroform. 

His mide connected the dots in a flash. He yelled angrily and punched the wall, the drywall caving it without his notice. He dropped the rag and headed back outside. 

He saw the birds chittering in a tree branch. “Hey!” He yelled at them. “You know where she is, right? She sent you to tell me. Take me to her!” At the back of his mind, Bakugou felt like an idiot for yelling at birds in the middle of the night. A sense of relief overwhelmed him when the birds chirped again and purposefully flew away, darting back to him to make sure he was following. 

~~~

You couldn’t tell if you were making any headway with the zipties. Did they feel looser or was that your imagination? Or perhaps you were just losing feeling in your hands from the cutoff of blood flow. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop the one thing that might help yourself. 

With a sound that to you mimicked a thunder clap, one of the zipties snapped. You almost sobbed in relief as you brought your hands to your front and rubbed your wrists. You tugged on the other plastic tie around your wrist, but it was still stubbornly strong. You’d have to cut it off with a knife or something. 

A knife! You needed something to protect yourself with. There was no way of knowing if your bird distress call had actually reached anyone. You needed to take care of yourself, get outside, get to a phone or a police station or a hero or something. You knew you had a slim chance of taking on your attacker in a one-to-one fight. He had at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you, not to mention whatever his Quirk might be. 

You fumbled around in the dark, trying to find the latch for the cage. Swiping randomly, your fingers clutched around the pull handle for the door. You tried to yank to open but it wouldn’t budge. Feeling around, you clutched a heavy padlock firmly attached to the handle. Of course your stalker would have taken extra precautions, and you didn’t think you could break the lock with a thin piece of metal. 

No sooner had hopelessness started to creep back into your mind than you heard the door to the room click open. You threw yourself back against the far side of the cage, shoving the gag back in your mouth and putting your arms behind you as if they were still tied. 

Your stalker peeked in, smiling widely like he had a wonderful surprise for you. “We’re almost ready,” He said, giddily. “I can get you ready to move now. You’re just going to have to sleep for a little longer, okay? By the time you wake up, everything will be fixed!” 

You watched in disgusted horror as he took out another rag, licking it to soaking with his saliva. Was that what he had pressed against your mouth and nose back at your house? Did he have some sort of chloroform-saliva Quirk? If you weren’t going to be sick before, you definitely were now. 

But then he fished out a key from the pocket of his ill-fitting sweatpants. His hands shook as he tried to fit the key in the lock of the cage. You still had the element of surprise on him. You pictured your plan of attack. When he opened the cage door to grab you, you’d kick him. Then, while distracted, you’d claw at his face, bite him if you had to. You didn’t need to beat him, you just needed to distract and disorientate him enough to make it out of the room. You could close the door behind you. Maybe there was something near you could barricade it with.  Then just sprint as fast as you could to the door. He made it sound like you were still in the city, in a residential district as the very least. You could run next door, hide in someone's backyard, pound on their door until they let you in to call the police. 

Just as he fit the key into the lock, there was a loud sound from outside the room. It sounded like it came from downstairs, banging. Your stalker glowered, ripping the key from the lock. He tossed it on a desk in the room, slamming the door behind him as he marched out to deal with the intrusion. 

You were barely able to fit your hand through the bars, much less reach the key. You took a steadying breath before starting to whistle the sparrow song again. You heard a faint reply from outside. You whistled more frantically, a sharp song that indicated danger. You could just barley make out a lump pushing against the blackout curtains covering the window. A tiny tan bird head popped up from the corner of the curtain. You could have cried. Quieting your whistle, you nodded your head at the desk with the key. The little bird fluttered its wings, hopping around the room. It probably didn’t have the best night vision either. 

You heard banging coming from downstairs. There was a roar of something you quickly recognized as an explosion. Bakugou? Your message had reached him! And now he was fighting your attacker by himself. You had hoped he would call the police or a hero or something. Honestly, you thought to yourself, you should have seen this coming. 

The sparrow found the desk. It pushed the key off with its beak. The key was about the same size as the sparrow. It had a little trouble carrying the key over to you. It dropped it just within reach of your index finger to pull it into the cage. Using two fingers to hold the key, the most you could fit between the bars, you jammed the key into the lock and twisted it. You had never been so happy to hear a click before. 

You slammed the cage door open, causing the bird to flutter away in surprise. You stretched your aching muscles as you unfolded yourself from the cage. Whipping your head around, you tried to find some sort of weapon you could use to help Bakugou. Seeing nothing in the small room, you opened the door just enough to peak out. As silently as you could, your legs still half asleep from being stuck in a cramp position, you snuck out into the hall. 

Downstairs, you heard Bakugou yell. The little sparrow dove down the staircase and you followed. You saw Bakugou and your attacker grappling in the living room which was crowded with moving boxes. Your stalker had his teeth sunken in to Bakugou’s arm. His arm fell limply to his side as numbness seemed to spread to that whole part of his body. 

Frantically looking around, you saw a half-packed lamp sticking out of one of the boxes. You heaved it up, the weight reassuring in your hands. 

Bakugou spotted you over your stalker’s shoulder. “(Y/N)!” He barked out. “Run!” 

Just as your attacker turned around, you surged forward with the lamp held aloft. With a scream, you brought it down on his head with all the strength you could muster in your addled limbs. He crumpled to the floor like wet cardboard. Blood began to leak from his skull. You dropped the lamp, the feeling on impact still drumming through your fingers. 

“(Y/N)!” Bakugou called again. He stumbled to you, his left side already half paralized by your stalker’s Quirk infused bite. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you? I told you to run, idiot! How did he get inside your house?” Before he had a chance to breathe, much less answer his questions, his left leg gave out on him. You caught him, halfway holding him up. 

“I’ll tell you everything when we get to the police, okay?” You said in a frazzled voice. He tried to haul himself up to standing, but he might as well have been standing on a broken ankle. 

Bakugou told you where the front door was. You half dragged him through the house to get outside. Just as you opened the front door, you felt something hard and heavy plow into the small of your back. You went flying forward, dropping Bakugou who landed with a grunting thud. 

“(Y/N)!” You heard from behind you. You pushed yourself up, looking behind you. Your stalker, face now red with dripping blood and wild eyes, stumbled towards the two of you. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to poison you against me! He’s going to take you away from me! Unless… He already has! He’s corrupted you!” He lifted his leg to kick Bakugou in the stomach. Bakugou lifted his good arm and released an explosion aimed at the stalker’s stomach. The second man yelled in pain and was blasted backwards. 

Bakugou shoved himself up, propping himself up on his good knee and maneuvered his way in front of you. “This time, listen to me and go,” He said sternly. 

“Bakugou!” You protested. 

He looked over his shoulder at you and smirked. “Hey, I’m your hero, right? That means I got to protect you, even if I get hurt.” 

Your stalker roared, thrashing as he picked himself off the ground. The place where Bakugou’s explosion had caught him ripped his oversized hoodie, revealing his belly and chest that now had burns. He roared again and started charging to you. 

You gripped Bakugou’s good shoulder, pulling him back. You threw yourself in front of him, spreading your arms wide and closing your eyes tight. 

Just when you were expecting a blow from your stalker, you heard an annoyed and surprised grunt from him instead. Opening your eyes, you saw the deranged man tangled in ribbons of white cloth. He snapped and tried to lash out at it, but the more he struggled the tighter it became. 

A man appeared behind him, seeming to melt out of the shadows. He tugged the white cloth so it snapped tight around your stalker, pinning his arms and legs so he fell over unbalanced. The man controlling the cloth was dressed in all black, goggles over his eyes and a mess of black hair. He pulled his goggles up, revealing extremely tired looking eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at the two of you. 

“Isn’t it past your bedtime by now?” 

~~~

The next half hour was a rush of commotion. The hero, Eraserhead, who had secured your stalker called for an ambulance and the police. As soon as the red and blue lights were visible, he left, leaving your stalker tied and gagged against a street lamp. You barely had time to thank him while Bakugou grumbled about not needing saving behind you. 

The paramedics gave Bakugou an injection to counteract the poison from your stalker’s Quirk. The police quickly took him away as he shouted obscenities, making promises that he’d come back to you, that he’d save you. You tried to take some comfort in the officer’s promise that the man would never see the outside of a jail cell again. 

You sat in the back of the ambulance, a heavy blanket around your shoulders. You had just finished giving your statement to the police. The neighbors surrounding the house you were trapped in had come outside to see what the commotion was all about. You felt pinned by a million unasked questions, unsaid accusations, prying eyes. You were going to be sick. 

“Hey.” You looked up. Bakugo stood in front of you, rubbing feeling back into his previously paralized arm. He jerked his head to the side slightly. You scooted over and he sat next to you, pulling the blanket over his shoulders too. “So,” he said. 

“So,” You echoed. 

“The police called my parents,” He said after a moment of silence. “Mom’s coming to pick us up. She said she can bring some extra clothes for you to change into, if you want. Dad’s making up the guest room.” 

“What?” 

He gave you a sideways look. “What, you think I’m letting you stay alone in that house after what happened tonight? You think I’m an idiot or something?” He put his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. He spoke into your hair. “You’re staying with me and my folks until your parents get back. Then I’m going to chew them out for leaving you alone for so long, and maybe then we’ll see if you can go back there.” 

You giggled at his statement, half out of frazzled nerves and half out of love of his protective nature. You curled your fingers into his t-shirt, resting your head against his shoulder. “That sounds nice,” You mumbled, exhaustion and worn out adrenaline finally taking hold of your body. “It sure would make walking home easier.” Just before slipping under, you leaned up and kissed his cheek. “My hero.” 

He pressed a kiss on the top of your sleeping head. “Always.” 

#fanfic #wafflefriesfic #my hero academia x reader #bnha #my hero academia #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader

[the-kingshound]

Adrei growls. She bangs her arms against the door until it breaks, splintering under her enhanced strength. Her parents locker her inside the room where her father goes when he has his episodes.

But she isn't mad, she's thought this through.

She has sins she needs to amend to. And if anyone tries to chain her up again she'll kill them.

She makes her way through the courtyard with heavy, dragged steps. She crushes the sword of a guard that dares standing between her and her horse. A loud crack echoes as she pushes the guard aside, a limp body colliding with stone and collapsing to the ground.

Someone screams, and Adrei advances.

WHo cares.

She needs to get to her brother. Emyr is in pain and Adrei has allowed that suffering to take place for years, doing absolutely nothing. She swore, as he was departing from the House to be wed, that they would see each other again.

Twice. Twice have she met her brother since then. What she has is fifteen years of letters in which her brother withdrew more and more, parchment becoming progressively more crumpled, stained with ink as if he didn't even have the energy to write anymore. And she did nothing.

But NO MORE.

Her mare neighs, agitated, as she mounts it and pushes it to a fast gallop.

---

Emyr looks up from the desk with a worried frown. He doesn't want to get up, even less to leave the room, but when another loud sound reaches the depths of his room, by now the fourth or fifth one he's heard, he rises.

His clothes are a mess. His hair unwashed, tied up in a bun that would have made him cringe in shame a few years back.

He walks up to the door, but stops just before wrapping his fingers around the handle. He hasn't gotten out in so long... and if his wife sees him, she'll scream and-

Other worrying sounds reach his ears, so Emyr opens the door.

Blood stains greet him.

The ground is washed in gore. Sparse severed limbs lie scattered, and just at the end of the hallway his sister, drenched in blood, is holding off the ground the body of Emyr's wife. He feels locked in place, and isn't able to let out even a sound as Adrei, eyes lifeless and completely black, crushes her neck without effort.

Her body goes limp, then Adrei throws it to the side with very little care.

Emyr wants to throw up.

His oldest sister spots him, then. She takes a step forward and Emyr takes one back, his heart beating loud, but he only feels numb.

His wife is dead.

His prison her House is destroyed.

Adrei freezes.

Everything stays still for long, endless seconds. Some rasping, dying monas fill the silence and nothing else. Then, Emyr starts to advance.

He takes a step forward, then two, until he is standing in front of his sister, until he sees a spark of recognition in her black eyes, consumed by magic induced madness. Emyr has never been a tactile person, he avoids physical contact most days, but he wraps his arms around his sister and buries his face against her neck.

"I'm sorry I took so long," she rasps out.

He clings to her.

"You're free now. I killed them all."

He puls back, exhaling a trembling breath. "They'll hunt us now, Adrei. The Council will want us both."

Adrei just stares, swaying on her feet. Emyr steadies her. He brings her to his room, pullng her to sit on his bed. With trembling hands, he writes a letter, rolls it up and calls for his sparrow.

"To Camelot," Emyr says, seeking aid from the one person that can offer them both protection.

#emyr #adrei #i was so merciful

[adventuringblind]

Sunrise

Oscar Piastri x Autistic!Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: The fans and media get to Oscar’s girlfriend in a way he’ll never forgive

Warnings: SUICIDE AND SH depictions, toxic media, death threats, lack of communication, anxiety, Oscar is a mess.

Notes: …. We’re not talking about my patterns alright. I swear I’m in therapy.

Masterlist

Oscar is not normally an irrational person. He prides himself on his calm and collected state. Something that his neurodivergent counterpart loves because it makes him easy to read. Everything is clear to her with him.

He adores his girlfriend. Plans to eventually marry her one day. He doesn’t care that her body isn’t the ‘standard’ for beauty because he finds her stunning. He doesn’t care that she has deep passions for her interests and could talk for hours about it because he loves listening.

So why is it his fans don’t get that same thing? Why do the vultures have to attack her for doing nothing wrong?

He ponders these questions as he sits in the hospital waiting room. Fingers crossed he got to her in time.

~

She’d turned off all her notifications on social media. She had to. For some reason now that Oscar and McLaren are on track and fighting again, people are seeming to notice her more often.

Gone are the days of sneaking off into the quiet corners. Numbered are the days she’ll be able to spend with him at this rate.

The death threats started a month ago. To many things she’d rather not think about. The name calling is flat out unnecessary and something she doesn’t understand.

She knows logically nothing can come if it. But the nagging at her brain won’t stop for some reason. She hates it, being empathetic. She just feels so extremely that she can’t decipher if the words hurt her or if she’s angry and why she feels this way. It’s to much for her mind to process.

So she turns everything off. No social media for her.

She’d simply told Oscar the hate was to much and she needs a break from the internet. Which isn’t a lie, but she didn’t want him to worry about her and start doing poorly because of it.

Instead curled up underneath her blankets with music and switched off the world.

~

Oscar is feeling alright with fifth in Hungary. Not exactly where he wants to be, but it’s still considerably better then where he was previously.

As is routine, he gets into the garage as quickly as he can. The one thing he managed to negotiate for with his PR team: the he gets to check in on his girlfriend before he does media duties.

He peers inside. It’s mostly empty due to the incoming podium celebration. But there is no sign of her. Nothing is the garage or his driver room or Lando’s room, or the bathroom.

His heart thuds in his chest. This is routine, and she always sticks to her routine. If she’s not here then something must be terribly wrong. Oscar pulls out his phone to see he has a text from her and the weight on him lessens just a tad.

‘Sorry I won’t be there for the end of the race! I was feeling incredibly sick so I went back to the hotel room! I love you so much! 🧡🖤’

And suddenly that weight is back. If she left then something is clearly wrong. She’s stayed through blurry vision from migraines, endured hours of overstimulation for him, even dealt with his fans pushing her around. Yet she always stayed. If something caused her to leave then it’s definitely something to worry about.

He ended up missing the podium celebration. His PR manager is looking for him. But he could care less and heads straight for Zak.

He gives a brief summary of what’s going on and defines is as an emergency. That word was what made Zak let him go as long as he promised to keep everyone posted.

Then he ran.

~

Race weekends have come to be one of her favorite things. The consistent hum of car engines stimulates her brain in a way that she loves.

What she doesn’t love is the fans. She wonders for a moment if all the WAG’s have this kind of hate. So she sets off to go find Lily and ask. She’s become close with her over the course of this year. She’s also passionate about things and it’s fun to listen to her get excited over her interests. Something the female can relate to well.

When she neared the Williams hospitality, she saw Lily and waved her over only to be stopped in her tracks by a few fans in McLaren gear. She instantly took notices of the very blatant disregard for personal space and the negative energy they carried with them.

Then they out in some fake smiles and handed her an envelope, walking away without a word.

She was left confused and stunned. But also curious. The envelope in her hands had some weight to it and she can’t help but wonder what’s inside.

She doesn’t hesitate to open it. Her eyes scanning over the contents. Every second she looks at it makes her feel sick to her stomach.

Someone had been stalking them. Not just her and Oscar, but Lando as well. Addresses, pictures, personal information, even images from intimate moments where they are very clearly without clothes.

She could see the possibility of her and maybe Oscar being stalked if these are the same fans who have been harassing her for a couple months now. But Lando as well makes her feel dirty and upset in a way.

It’s to much. She feels to much. It’s overwhelming.

She stuffs everything back inside and finally gets to Lily. A brief excuse leaves her lips that she’s going back to the hotel cause she’s feeling sick. She takes note of Lily’s instant concern and the female does her best to fight back every emotion. It’s utterly draining. She has no energy to sort out her feelings and other peoples feelings when she can’t understand any of them anyway.

Lily lets her go on the condition she texts her when she gets back to the hotel.

She agrees. She'll be messaging everyone when she gets there.

~

Oscar gets into his car and fumbles around for the keys.

He left them with his stuff. His stuff that he doesn't have. Now he's going to have to run all the way back.

He gets out and heads straight to the McLaren garage. Ignoring the strange looks.

He even tries pulling his phone out to call her. Straight to voicemail. Twenty times.

Halfway there, he runs into Lando. The Brit is winded and carrying Oscar's things.

"I'm driving."

~

She can't believe she's actually going to do this. It's not that she's never thought about it before. Feeling alien on your own planet will do that to you. But she feels like she has no other choice.

It's too much. The fans want her dead, and they are willing to do horrible things to get it.

She can't handle it. The feelings of all of it are overwhelming. She can't tell where her emotions end and someone else's start. The letter written to her only points out further.

The last few months have been beyond her limit. She doesn't feel safe in her own skin. Everyone is telling her she'll never be enough. That she is not meant for this life.

She'd thought about her friends as she wrote those damn notes. The blank looks when she says something lnnapropriat for the conversation. The times she's had meltdowns and they had to deal with her.

She thinks about Oscar, too. His note is three pages long. It's intimate, and she hopes he can understand it. Words she's written countless times the last months to make sure he understands her decision.

She lays it out where she knows he'll see it and then locks herself in the bathroom. The bathtub is filled with ice-cold water and not filled all the way to the top. Just enough to make things easy.

Is she really doing this because those damn fans are going to leak everything about their lives tonight if she doesn't? Certainly a factor in her decision. It seems the logical solution if she's to fix the problem. She hates herself for this; that she can't just be what everyone wants.

That thought brings the first cut.

She didn't bother taking off her clothes. She hates the feeling. They cling to her skin and it makes her want to peel her skin off.

The second cut is for her clothing.

Then the third.

And a fourth.

The fifth makes her dizzy.

The sixth causes her vision to dance.

The seventh and eighth she can't even register.

Everything is numb by nine and ten.

Then nothing.

~

Oscar and Lando take three steps at a time.

Apparently, Lando had run into Lily and found out what had happened. The Brit also felt his stomach drop with the feeling something is wrong.

Oscar sprints down the hall when they make it to the right floor. Fumbles around with his key card. Then, finally, he gets the door open.

He scans the room. There is paper stacked neatly on the table. An envelop almost thrown to the side.

He looks at the note addressed to him, and he chokes. Lando is searching for any sign of life but the Aussie can't see past the fact that there are fans asking her to kill herself. And that she felt the need to say yes because now they have stalkers.

He'll think about it later. Right now, Lando is screaming for him.

He barrels to where the voice comes from. Again, he chokes. This time on frantic tears.

Lando is looking like he might pass out, but the Brit is staying strong for his teammate and friend. He tries to get Oscar to help him.

She may be passed out, but the Aussie registers Lando saying she has a pulse. That she's still breathing even if it's shallow.

They work together to drag her out of the water. Her make it so that when they set her down, she immediately is sliding on the tile. They wrap her arm in wash rags. The only thing they can find to slow the bleeding. But the cuts are too deep. It doesn't slow.

So they call an ambulance.

Oscar doesn't register much after that. Listening to Lando instruct him on what to do, including breathing. Riding with her to the hospital. Watching her be taken away. Meeting Lando in the waiting room.

Now he has nothing to do but wait and look through everything he missed.

Her socials are where she's being threatened, sure. But it's the contents of the envelope that got Oscar angry. Way past the point of livid.

"Lan, I- what the hell." He shows everything to his teammate, and terror stretches across his face.

And then she was left with a ticking clock and an ultimatum. Disappear or have all this and more released to the public. What better way to disappear than to do it permanently.

It breaks him. He can't breathe past the thought of not having her around. He can't live knowing she left because the world is suck a cruel place. And he feels utterly selfish for wishing her to stay with him through it.

Somehow, he ended up on the floor, sobbing dramatically into Lando's sweatshirt.

But then others start to appear. It's not just the two of them because there are so many people that care for her.

Max shows up first with a certain Monegasque in tow, followed by Alex and Lily, the latter of which looks about as broken as him. Then George and Lewis appear, followed by Logan.

They explain what happened. Everyone is shocked, and there are no words between them for a few minutes as everyone processes.

"I don't understand why someone would do this." Pipes Max. He knows about death threats fairly well, but this is a new level of extreme.

"We could say something. Make a statement about it and start a suicide awareness campaign." Lewis suggests.

Oscar knows a campaign probably won't do much against whoever sent this, but a statement might. He wants to say everything on his mind.

And that's exactly what he did. His PR team be damned because this takes precedence.

~

She wasn't expecting to wake up. She wasn't supposed to wake up. So how is she awake?

She cracks her eyes open just a tad to assess her surroundings. Her arm is bandaged and she's underneath some of the worst textures to come in contact with.

The thing that catches her eye is the brown locks of a specific Australian. She moves her hand to them and runs her fingers gently along his scalp.

he shifts around a bit before relaxing into the feeling. At least she could give him this before she ruins his and Lando's life.

She's not sure how long they go on like this until Oscar sits up and yawns. He blinks a few times and adjusts himself to the florescent lights.

She's not sure she's ever seen Oscar cry before. Once at a really sad movie, but even that was just slight. Now he's crying tears for her. The sound makes her tear ducts spring into action as well.

"Please, don't ever do that again." He rasps. His voice crackles with the sound of sobs.

She doesn't say anything. She can't say anything. So instead, Oscar crawls into the bed with her. He just cradles her body into his.

"I'm sorry." Is all she manages to say. And after a few more breathes she continues. "I didn't want to be the reason you and Lando lose your jobs. Or be the cause of your stress. And then everything felt like it was too much, and I just wanted it to stop." She feels pathetic.

"I promise that I will never be upset with you for something like this. The fans pushed and pushed and then drove you into a corner. But in the future, you have to come to me. I can't help if you don't communicate with me."

"What about racing? And Lando? And all your personal information?" The weight she'd had before has made a sudden return.

"Should be taken care of. We beat them to the punch and made a statement about how someone close to McLaren had been threatened and the person responsible would be posting personal information." Oscar explains. She feels better knowing they didn't say it was her name. "I also said I would be taking a break from socials for personal reasons... and also said something about how much I love you."

~

The news came out eventually. It's not every day that F1 driver's campaign for mental health. But they've all been incredibly helpful. She is on the road to recovery and Oscar intends on being with her through every step of the way.

#x reader #fanficion #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 #racing #f1 fanfic #angst #lando norris #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren racing #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar pastry #mclaren #McLaren f1 #papaya #formula one x reader #lando norris f1 #oscar piastri x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #op81 #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #ln4

[blkgirl-writing]

hi!! i just read your massive headcanon list for gale (loved it btw) and i desperately need one astarion as well!! ❤️

Astarions Massive list of SFW and NSFW headcanons (Part 1?)

Literally of course!! I wasn’t sure the people wanted this so I was waiting for a request. I’m bundling a lot of my astarion requests in this one too so if you see an ask you did it’s probably inspired!

TW: Acended Astarion section, details on physical and mental abuse there. I will put a warning for where it starts and ends. Some headcanons are more illuded to "female" anatomy, not all headcanons will reveal much

Astarion is somehow so soft with his touch yet rough and almost feral when he really desires you

He will trace every inch of your body with such light, soft fingers, but grab onto your hips tight and nearly thrust you into him. Gently kiss you neck before sinking his teeth into your skin

Because honestly his true desires, wants, and needs, are unfiltered and less calculated than his normal affair

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

TW START

I do have to include acended astarion here because I don’t want to write him fully, so here’s that section. I feel like too many people want acended Astarion to be loving and caring. That unfortunately isn't the truth of the cycle of abuse

It doesn’t last, his love for you. It extinguishes fast, like water to a flame. He becomes cold and controlling

The only was I can see a happy future for tav and Astarion ascended is a Durge, where you rule the land together, ignoring the heart you once had together. It’s lots of bickering. If chaos is your turn on, this is it

Lots of hate sex and screaming matches. At least one per month where you both loose your voice before the argument ends and red marks across eachothers bodies

And honestly, I think one of you kills the other, in a fit of rage. But still whoever dies would get a grave stone. Small, unlabeled, a sort of revenge for the people who wanted it all. Forced in a common place with no success flaunted and easily forgotten

TW ENDED

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion holds hand in his sleep, rather than cuddling

A hand is all he needs to feel like he’s in the safest place in the world

Full spooning is just too intimate and personal until much later In your relationship. He wasn’t ready for something so real yet

There's a lot of pushing and pulling til he gets comfortable, but he will always make sure you know that he loves you and wants your touch, there's a lot of learning along the way

He just hasn't experienced the seriousness of true love and compassion for someone he truly feels he can't lose. It's scary, loving so much that your death would lead to his emotional one, if not physically as well

Astarion would never admit it but he would do just about anything for you

he becomes somewhat soft, which, initially annoys him, but he finally accepts it after a few weeks

He realized when you looked at him, with brightness in your eyes, asking him something important, he really wasn't listening

All he could think was to never make those eyes cry again, he'd do anything to stop you from feeling like that again

Your first date isn't very planned

After a fun but quick night on the beach, you get clothed and Astarion stares at you, taking all of your skin in, as it slowly gets hidden by clothing. A bit of a shame, he couldn't see you bare all the time

There was a blanket and you both lay on it for some time, in silence. Slowly, you feel his pinky finger graise yours. You hook them together, and simply watch the moon in the sky, fading in and out of sleep. Astarion doesn't get any closer or further, but he does sigh a few times

And for the first time, when you wake up, he's still there

Your second date was much more of a traditional date, at least for you two

Astarion had the bright idea to sneak as much alcohol as possible from the inn

feet dipped in the cold water of the docks, four bottles of quality whiskey polished off, and working on a fifth, you were positively hammered

Astarions head was leaning on your shoulder, arm slumped around your waist

the laughing and mumbled words only get louder and louder with each sip, and at some point, Astarion looks up at you, a small glint of his sharp teeth peering out of a smirk, and he leans into you further, pressing his lips against yours doe a deep kiss

it was almost aromatic. A charm whispered in your ear that made his lips taste like roses and sugar, with a hint of copper, you feel your own tongue lick his bottom lip, needing more of whatever that taste was

the night was a blur, after that. Too drunk to really remember much the next day, but you both knew there wasn't going back after that. There was a bond, now, with feelings more than just lust and need

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion fucking you feels like getting close to a campfire, warm, hot, even, like getting any closer may kill you, pounding and scraping, biting and bleeding, breath thick and hot

When you fuck Astarion, everything feels light, it flows like water over a riverbed, he lets you ravish him in a gentle, caring sense

His attention is all over you, but your neck clearly has his attention-grabbing the back of your neck, kisses down it, bite marks, hickeys, licks, even cum, sometimes, purposefully dripped on your face, but mostly on your neck and collarbone

It definitely also is just a very obvious placement, it can show that you fuck, he fucks you, and you love it. It gets to the point where there are faded bruises, bite marks, and scratches littering across your whole neck, it almost looks like tattoos, and a few passersby comment on it.

Astarion had a very smug smile on his face that day, and that night he ravished you with more passion than ever before

What else can I say, Astarion fucks, but I do think once you really start your relationship, there's a lot of re-learning of what he really wants

so sex starts off fairly vanilla, adding stuff in, changing it out, uses of safe words and communication being key, a safe, loving space between you and him where he is never used and he never uses you, it's just pleasure and ecstasy

I believe he'd be open to a closed relationship as well, at least for a while, especially if you choose the path of the underdark for your future

Literally not even once do you wear protection either lol

It's messed up so TW, I have a feeling Cazador made sure Astarion could never procreate, giving him an attachment to anyone is dangerous, and something to fight for even more so. Having his own offspring would never be an option for him

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

There would never be normalcy in your relationship, that's kind of the beauty of it

Every single day is different, there is never a moment that passes with Astarion that isn't unique

Especially when Astarion is adjusting to a life where he has to think and care for another, a routine isn't comforting to him, spontaneity is important in your early relationship

Astarion is still very romantic in his own ways, kissing your fingers hugs from behind, small, light touches across your whole body

The first time you nearly die? my god. He's incredibly distant for a few days

and when you ask what's up he would definitely blow up

like what were you thinking? Going in like that, you could have died! You could have left him alone again

He cries softly in your arms, then, repeats how you could have died. It seems like forever, that he stays there, tears dripping down your skin, cold

From then on he always looks back at you, in battle, before striking, to make sure you're ok, accounted for

------

hey! What other HCs would ya'll like me to add in the next part! I haven't romanced Astarion more than twice so I may need a little help there, haha. But thank you for reading!!

@shyminnie07 @makers-breath @claryvoyantfray @black-sapphic @fapqueen

(Consider supporting me on Ko-fi)

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #x reader #smut #baldurs gate #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x dark urge #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate x reader #baldurs gate headcanon #headcanons #x reader smut #x reader fluff #fluff

[rrxnjun]

blondes are done with fun ✲ h. renjun

pairing. journalism student! renjun x journalism student! fem! reader starring. huang renjun, lee donghyuck, yoo jimin, huh yunjin genre. college au, acquaintances to lovers. angst, fluff, smut warnings. alcohol consuption, swearing, renjun is a dick at the beginning, sexual content (fingering, unprotected sex) word count. 31k (31.320) a/n. awsten knight please stop making music so i can stop writing fics about your songs thanku. also this is my first smut please be gentle with it also if you're my friend please don't read the smut parts orif you do dont tell me abt it or i will literally kms

playlist. cherry red - waterparks ; fake happy - paramore ; heaven angel - the driver era ; blonde - waterparks ; disaster - conan gray ; raspberry - grouplove ; black butterflies and déjá vu - the maine ; fuck about it - waterpakrs, blackbear ; robbers - the 1975

a rumor has it that the popular couple in town broke up after years of being together. having to share your favorite seat in class with the male part of said relationship, you try to find out how to make your heartbroken project partner warm up to you— or— huang renjun goes blonde when he's sad.

✲ PART 1 OF THE SIMPLIFY ROMANCE SERIES ✲

“A rumor has it Huang Renjun and Huh Yunjin broke up,” is the first sentence that lands into your ears when your feet cross the imaginary border of the school premises one early morning, a cup of coffee in your hand as your best friend Jimin breaks the news to you, walking by your side into the university building.

Snapping your head around to look at her in shock and surprise at the news, eyes wide in question, you’re already invested in the love life of your classmates more than you probably should be, but due to multiple reasons that could explain it; one of them being the ordinary human curiosity– mainly created in your brain thanks to the fact that these two had dated for as long as you can remember– another reason being the gossip-oriented side of your personality– the part of it you like to explain through the fact that you’re a Journalism major and the love for gossip is just another part of your (hopefully) future occupation– and the last reason, the one that is probably the most harmless of them all (or maybe the most, depending on how you look at it) is the mere fact that while Huang Renjun had been a taken man for as long as you remember, he is also insanely attractive, and you’re just a simple woman. The idea of him being finally attainable is irking something in your brain, and even though you would feel embarrassed to admit this out loud, you can’t help but wonder what happened between those two after such a long time that made the legendary couple– iconic, even– break up. 

“What happened?” you ask, walking alongside the girl as you round the corner of the hall, in a rush to get to your morning class. The two of you slept in by accident, watching too many episodes of Keeping up with the Kardashians last night to notice the clock striking well past midnight, and now the journey to school was more difficult than it already is, with your dorms situated 30 minutes away and the class starting at 8 o’clock sharp. The time is now 7:58AM and while you’re already in the building and yours and Jimin’s classes are different, they are both on the fifth floor– and with the frequency of your visits to the gym, the way up there is hard not only because of the time pinch, but also because of the shortness of your breath when you rush to walk up there in less than five minutes before you have to take the walk of shame to your desk, watched by the professor with passive aggressive eyes.

“Nobody knows,” Jimin heaves out, taking two steps at once now, “I just heard from Yizhuo that Yunjin deleted all of their Instagram posts together and she supposedly stopped wearing that necklace he got her for their anniversary. Oh and also, Renjun didn’t drop her off at school on Friday, so something must be up.”

Humming in agreement, you rush up the stairs, the halls already emptied out because all of the students are hidden in their respective classroom. You manage to keep your voice down in case anyone’s listening in on your insensitive gossip, now that your voices aren’t drowned out by any other noise. “That’s weird. They’ve been together for so long, I’m starting to lose faith in real love if they really broke up.”

“No, yeah, I know,” Jimin squints as the two of you finally reach the fifth floor, the girl checking the time on her wristwatch huffing out at the sight of already being late, “something bad must have happened, if they really broke up, because the two of them didn’t seem like they’ve had any problems, you know.”

“Definitely,” you nod, pacing along the hall as you finally reach the door to your classroom, waving your roommate off with a tight-lipped smile, still trying to catch your breath. “I’ll see you after class?”

The girl doesn’t even turn around as she agrees with you, long legs striding down the hall into the last classroom on the left, waving at you with her right hand. “See ya!”

Silently opening the door to the classroom, you notice the professor already standing at the very front of the class, turning around to look at your figure once the almost unhearable noise of the door cuts through the silence in the room. Offering her a shameful smile, you hurriedly scan the space, feeling the eyes of everyone glued to your sweaty and out of breath body, as you try to find a place to sit. Your usual seat is right at the corner of the room, at the very back– it has the window in close accessibility, so you don’t have to worry about being too hot or too cold, depending on the weather, because you regulate the freshness of the air in the classroom. The window also provides a good distraction to you once the class gets too boring to listen to, so you’d say with 100% sureness that the desk you chose to sit at the very first day of your Journalism class was the best option. 

However, when you look at the usually empty desk for two– one of the chairs, the one closer to the corridor being your handy armrest as well as a place to put your coat and bag on as you sit on the other one, the one closer to the window– you notice a man sitting at your usual place, eyes glued to the whiteboard. Feverishly scanning the classroom once again, realizing in terror that there is no other empty space for you to sit at, you sigh in annoyance as you near your usual desk, cursing the intruder in your brain for breaking the unwritten seating plan. 

Taking the bag off your shoulder, you softly land it to the ground, afraid of making any noise that would interrupt your professor’s lecture again. After sitting at the chair and trying to listen to the words coming out of your professor’s mouth, trying to see what she’s talking about, you find yourself drifting off into the mess of your thoughts, choosing to daydream about the amazing lunch you’re about to have once your classes are over for the day, your eyes knowingly moving away from the whiteboard to their place out of the window. It’s a little harder to gaze out of it in the different position– you tell yourself you’ll come earlier next week so the intruder doesn’t take away your spot again and you can go back to your usual plan of watching people walking through the campus and making up fake stories about them in your brain– when your periphery vision takes notice of the side profile of your seatmate, the curve of his nose and the slight pout of his upper lip sparking interest in you as your brain finally connects the dots.

Only slightly moving your head to the side, so your seatmate doesn’t notice you staring, you observe Huang Renjun sitting at your desk. The image in front of you (or beside you, to be precise) surprises you to an extent nothing has ever surprised you before (no, not even the birthday parties Jimin has thrown you have made this effect on you– but that’s probably because she can’t keep a secret and always spoiled the surprise), and once again, there are multiple reasons for your surprise. To list a few, you’d start with the fact that Huang Renjun almost always sat at the same desk with his girlfriend Yunjin– the desk was at the very opposite corner of the room, leaving you to occasionally observe the couple as he landed a hand onto her thigh or let her put her leg into his lap, away from the eyes of the professor– but due to the news that were broken to you just a few minutes prior, maybe this is the only reason that shouldn’t surprise you with the sight of Renjun sitting by your side. Continuing the list, you’d state the fact that the boy looks lifeless– his eyes lost their usual spark and there are dark circles adorning his lower eyelids, the sick look making you feel almost sorry for your classmate. And to finish the list, you’d state the fact that takes you by surprise the most– the one that shocks you to your core, for it’s the reason why you didn’t recognise the boy when you first sat down in the first place. His hair is now bleach blond, and while the look definitely suits him, it’s something different, something new– because for as long as you can remember, not many things changed in Renjun’s appearance over the years, and you’re not so sure if you can consider this as the side effect of his breakup, or if he really just wanted change.

Blinking at the male, as if to make sure that you’re not dreaming, you take notice of the dead strands falling into his eyes, contrasting well with the darkness of his eyes. Once again noting that you’re just a simple woman and Huang Renjun is simply put, a very attractive man, you can’t help but gaze at him with a newly found interest, everything you’ve learned about the male this morning irking you with undeniable curiosity.

The sad and embarrassing reality of it all is, though, that you’re not the only one who gets that weird feeling of someone staring at you in public sometimes, only for that feeling to be true as you turn around and see someone with their eyes burning through your skull; Huang Renjun gets them as well, it seems, as he turns his head to you with his eyebrows furrowed, as if to silently ask you why the hell you’re creepily staring at his side profile in the middle of your Journalism class. The two of you were never close, despite sharing multiple classes over the course of multiple semesters, and so being caught only made you feel more embarrassed as you sharply turn your head towards the front of the classroom– so much for being subtle and nonchalant about it, erasing all the possibility of playing it off in the process– feeling heat creeping up your neck. 

This is not how you imagined your morning to go.

Trying hard to pay attention to the class instead, in order to both learn something and also forget about the events happening only a few seconds prior, there’s no use as your brain now decided to replay the moment over and over again, making sure you never forget about it and randomly think of it in the middle of the night 5 years from now, still not moving on from the shame. In the process of trying so hard to focus, you actually do quite the opposite– as if your brain decided to turn off from the essence of humiliation instead to protect you– and before you notice it, the class is over and everyone is scattering out of the classroom with their things and bags hung over their shoulders. At least it’s finally over, you think, when a voice lands into your ear, shaking you out of it.

“We’re doing the project together,” he says, and as you turn around to face the owner of the saccharine voice to inquire him on what the actual fuck he’s even talking about, before you get the chance, the man is already out of the room, leaving you standing in full dumbfoundance.

Maybe you should’ve paid more attention to the class, after all.

Next week, even though you arrive to class earlier than the last, it seems like your designated seat in the corner of the classroom is now your and Renjun’s designated seat in the corner of the classroom, and if you’re being totally honest, this is exactly the thing you did not expect to come up on your Junior year bingo card. Talking over the whole interaction with Jimin right when you got to dorms– alongside with the takeout you ordered in the restaurant that’s at the corner of the street– the both of you stared into your plates with a newly found sense of absolute, utter confusion. 

You also had to shamefully text one of the only classmates from your Journalism class whose number you have– Osaki Shotaro, who you had a thing with in Freshman year because you thought he was an exchange student and would go back to Japan after summer, surprising you with his smiley face in the class in your Sophomore year (and this year, once again) as you had to be reminded of making out with him at a party every time your eyes landed on the poor boy– about the assignment. The truth is, you could just ask Renjun when you got into class, but you also wanted to spare yourself the embarrassment of that action. Through your fling from Freshman year, you learned that you have to work in pairs on a magazine of some sort– and while the assignment still wasn’t clear to you, after Shotaro ended the text message with ‘i’m sorry tho, i already have a partner ://’, you didn’t have enough dignity in you to pry him for any more information.

Clearing your throat as you step inside the classroom with an encouraging slap to your bottom coming from your roommate walking along to her usual class at the end of the hall, you walk over to your seat and put your bag onto the ground, silently sitting on the chair next to the corridor– the thing that makes you the most furious about this whole thing– as you prepare for the next lecture. From what you’ve gathered, the assignment was 70% of your final grade, and you really didn’t feel like failing your most favorite subject, especially if it’s something you could see yourself doing in the future. Working on something like this with someone you’ve hardly ever spoken to was a scary feeling, though. 

The class starts as soon as the noise of footsteps fills your ears, your professor standing at the very front of the classroom announcing her arrival with a heartfelt smile on her face. Sometimes you wonder if it’s her cheery demeanor that makes you like the class so much, but then again, you’ve always been interested in the topic– her character is just a bonus.

“Hello class,” she greets, full of energy despite it only being 8 in the morning, “I decided that instead of following with the lectures today, I will leave you some space to plan out your final project for the class. It has the weight of 70% of your grade, so it’s kind of important, so make sure you plan it well and come up with something original and interesting. The contents are 25-35 pages and you have until the end of the semester to complete it, so I hope you all put in some effort!”

Nods and hums of understatement are shared along the class, the pairs turning to each other in soft murmurs as some even take out a journal to note down all the things they come up with. You think it’s not a bad idea to at least brainstorm a little, but with how awkward you feel at the moment with your project partner sitting right next to you, you don’t think you can start. And the thing is, Jimin told you you could just pick a different partner– but as you look across the filled classroom, you really don’t think working with anyone else is possible, since you don’t have many friends in this class and everyone seems to be paired up already. Huang Renjun is your only choice, and although it doesn’t fill you with relief, you wonder why he chose you, when in reality, he’s the popular one– he has many different choices to pick from. Maybe he was just too lazy to ask anyone else. Who knows.

Clearing your throat again, you avert your gaze from the front of the classroom and try to sneak a look on your seatmate. The platinum blonde hair neatly styled on his head doesn’t fail to make you shocked again, but you figure you must start to get used to it now, because you can’t keep living with the constant urge to stare at the boy just because he dyed his hair. Waiting for him to look at you or give you any sign of the fact that he’s willing to work on the project, you continue your little staring contest with his side profile– it seems like he’s in the mood to ignore you today, so you gotta bring out the big guns and actually talk to him instead.

“So… how do you want to work on this?” you mumble out, nervously bumping your knee up and down. Human interaction isn’t your favorite thing in the world, mainly because you don’t like things you’re not good at– this includes sports, but mainly volleyball, drawing, knitting and mixing drinks as well– but you’d say with full confidence that making friends and talking to new people is truly the worst thing you could ever imagine. 

You notice that your seatmate finally recognised your efforts to spark up a conversation– he rewards you with a shrug of his shoulders as he not only does not look at you, but also decides to lay on the desk instead, closing his eyes as if this was the perfect time for him to catch up on his lost sleep. “Dunno,” he says, “we have plenty of time, let’s not do this right now.”

Blinking a few times at the male, you are once again struck by lightning that is his weird attitude to things. If this was how he behaved with Yunjin, you can’t blame the girl for breaking up with him– everything about the smug look on his face and the fact that he chose to take your favorite seat in the classroom makes your blood boil with annoyance. 

“W-what?” you stutter out, still not quite believing your ears. 

The man doesn’t reply to you– it’s too much effort, it seems– only making you angrier. Why did he even choose you as his partner if he didn’t want to work on the project in the first place? You’re no stranger to procrastination and leaving work for last minute, and you’re also not really a fan of the feeling of stress creeping up your back whenever you give in to the inevitable action of procrastinating; so if it comes to a project that is quite literally 70% of your grade, you would rather not do everything the week before.

Seeing that you’re getting ignored again, you put on your brave face as you fold your hands on your chest, determined to do something about the issue at hand. “Can’t you just put in some effort, man? I’d rather not do this last minute. I know that you probably don’t give a shit, but I do care about my grades, y’know,” you get out, seeing as the man next to you finally straightens his back and looks at you sharply– as if he has any right to point you with the killing look in this dark eyes– before he squints in mock agony.

“Do you really have to be such a fucking perfectionist?” he snaps at you, taking you by surprise. 

This is not how you imagined Huang Renjun to be. Looking at him over the course of the years, more often than not, you always saw the boy with a welcoming smile on his face. Whenever he was around Yunjin, he was all sweet words and gentle touches, erupting laughter whenever he was around his friends. When you were a freshman, somewhere in the back of your brain, you even envied the circle of friends he had around him, daydreaming about fitting in with them when you were lonely at lunch break. That was before you met Jimin at volleyball practice– the extracurricular you lasted in only for a week with the intention of making some friends (at least it worked) – and moved in with her in your second semester when both of your roommates decided to drop out. The girl provided you with undeniable love and care, and while you no longer desired to fit into a circle like Huang Renjun’s, talking to him now makes you feel like a child with crushed dreams.

“I’m sorry?” is all you get out as you stare at him with shock. If you were in a better mood, you would’ve searched through your brain to find a snarky remark to bite back at the boy. It’s too early in the morning and you weren’t prepared for his attitude, though, so you only opt to stare at him as he sighs in what you presume is annoyance– or defeat– as he scatters through his backpack and takes you a notebook, opening it to the first page and clicking his pen he found somewhere in the depths of his bag so he can write with it.

Too taken aback from his sudden change of mind, you wait for him to initiate any other action. You really don’t feel like getting screamed at again, so you chose to play it safe as you watch the man scribble the words Final project at the very top of the paper, underlining it two times and circling it five, the weird ritual making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“25 pages. We split half and half, so you can come up with whatever you want. We can do the design together and I really couldn’t give less shit about who works on the cover, so if you really want to do it, you can. Good?” he says, not once looking at you as he writes the words down on the paper. 

“Amazing,” you bite back with irony, shuffling your chair closer to the table so you can take a look at his notes, “the magazine has to have a coherent theme, though, doesn’t it? If we work on the pages by ourselves and just do whatever, as you said, it’s gonna be shit.”

You chose to accommodate yourself to the pattern of his speech– a habit you always do with new people, but in this situation, what feels the most safe. Seeing the man sigh again, twirling the ballpoint pen in between his fingers, he shrugs at your point and offers you a half-assed solution.

“We can figure that out later.”

Biting back a chuckle at his comment, it’s now your turn to sigh. Why was he being so difficult? Is it really that hard to make an effort on something important, especially when he was the one who said he wanted to work with you in the first place? Shaking your head in disbelief at his actions, you lean back in your chair and take out your own notebook, set on the decision of brainstorming as much as you can, hopefully coming out with some solid ideas you could incorporate in the magazine.

You have no idea what direction Renjun would go with. You don’t know anything about his interests or hobbies, and you surely don’t know what would inspire him or what he would want to write about. And with his new change of persona, you find him even more unreadable than he’s been in the past– and you can’t say you like the way he treats you right now. It seems like his sudden metamorphosis managed to change his brain synapses as well, because this is not the idea of Huang Renjun that you knew until now.

Chewing on the end of your pencil, you take a glimpse of your seatmate. He is messily scribbling something down onto his paper, seemingly realizing that the sooner you start working on this, the better, and with how full his paper seems to be, you wonder if this project won’t be that hard to complete after all.

“We’re doing the cover together,” you mumble out, seeing as the boy tears his eyes off his paper, glaring at you instead.

Almost expecting him to snap at you again, awaiting his suggestion that you will be the one doing all the work, you’re left with an answer that satisfies you with yet another surprise. “If you really insist…”

“Are you really sure you want to do this right now?” Jimin asks you as you put on your shoes at the door, slinging your backpack containing not only your laptop and notebooks, but also snacks just in case you get hungry. Looking at her through the hair falling into your face that you efficiently get out of the way with a poof of breath coming out of your mouth, you chuckle at her distress. The girl’s been watching you get ready for the last 15 minutes, with her robe on and bowl of guacamole in her right palm, eating up on the tortilla chips every once in a while as she squints at you with disbelief.

“Yeah, why not?” you shrug. “If he’s initiating this, I don’t see a problem. Besides, I think that if I don’t take every chance I get, I’ll end up working on the project alone, and I really don’t like that idea.”

Humming in agreement for the first time since you told your roommate that Renjun texted you if you wanted to work on the project today, Jimin motions to the phone sitting at the entryway table next to the front door. “Well, just make sure to text me if anything goes wrong and I’ll come pick you up,” she suggests, making you giggle at her noticeable worry. 

“Okay, mum,” you shake your head in disbelief, finally slugging the backpack over your shoulder and walking out of the door of your apartment. 

The truth is, you can’t really blame Jimin for her over-protective behavior. Ever since you retold her everything that happened that one time in Journalism class, she’s been wary of Huang Renjun. You would agree with all of her arguments of how much of a dick he is when acting like that, but you also don’t really think you have to put more energy into hating him at this moment, since it won’t really help you with your assignment and you don’t have any other choice. You are stuck with a grumpy project partner and that’s how the rest of your semester will go– you just have to learn how to live with his annoying remarks and snarky comments at whatever you say. Who knows, he may be in his ‘hating all women’ era, considering the breakup and all��

You can’t say you weren’t surprised when he added you on Instagram and messaged you about the project this afternoon, though. Considering that you were always the one initiating the talks about the final assignment over the course of the last few weeks, you weren’t expecting him to finally be the one reaching out. You would be stupid to not take him up on the offer, since you don’t know if it will happen ever again– who knows, he might have accidentally smashed his head into something and get a sudden revelation that is only a one time type of situation– and that’s exactly why you responded to him almost immediately (to which you admittedly, got a bit of an ick from yourself) and agreed to meet him at 6 in his apartment.

You were pleasantly surprised to learn that his place was only a 15 minute walk away from yours when he texted you the address, and after a few more minutes of scrolling through his Instagram that was private– and therefore hidden away from your eyes until now– you set yourself on the difficult journey.

Upon arriving at the apartment building, ringing the door bell and texting him to let you in just in case, so he knows it’s you, you start to feel a bit nervous, though. The truth is, you don’t really know what you’re getting yourself into as you walk into the elevator and press the button that takes you to the fourth floor– as he texted you the moment the door to the complex opened– and you think it’s safe to imagine you could be running out of that apartment at any given moment. Maybe Jimin was right and you should’ve taken at least some self-defense tools with you. You never know these days.

Once the elevator door opens and you step outside of the small space, you get prepared to take out your phone again to text him and ask which door leads to his apartment– the right or left– when you’re surprised with the sight of Huang Renjun already waiting for you in the doorway, loose sweatpants, messy hair and all, expecting your arrival.

Clearing your throat, you tightly smile at the male. “Hello.”

“Hi,” is all he responds as he moves away from the door and disappears into the apartment, seemingly thinking you're going to follow him and get inside, no questions asked. You expected at least an invitation to his premises, even a wave of his hand would be nice, you think, but you guess you can’t really have expectations that high when it comes to men– especially if the man in question is the insufferable Huang Renjun.

Taking your shoes off at the entrance– because even though your host doesn’t have good manners, you still do– the figure of Huang Renjun suddenly appears in the doorway of one of the rooms, watching you put the sneakers into a corner that seems to be designated for footwear. Looking up at him with expecting eyes, he finally breaks the awkward silence as he takes a step inside one of the rooms, calling you to go after him.

“We can work here, I guess,” he mumbles, leading you into what you presume is a living room connected to a kitchen– the place is not that big, but you are a broke university student too, so you don’t have it in you to judge. The place is surprisingly clean and adorned with multiple plants all around the corners of the room and windowsills, the only thing out of place being some dishes at the kitchen counter, waiting to be either used or put away, since they look washed. There’s a sofa in the shape of an L in the middle of it all, a TV sitting right opposite of it on a small TV stand, and when you notice an opened laptop on the coffee table, you presume that this is your work station for the day. You half expected him to invite you to his bedroom, but you guess that you can’t really complain– this feels much less awkward anyway. 

Nodding at his words, you move to the sofa and rest your backpack against the foot of it. Taking out your laptop as well, you sit crossed-legged at the soft cushions as you watch Renjun walk over to the kitchen side of the room, opening up a cupboard and taking out two glasses, bringing them to the crowded coffee table alongside with a bottle of soda. You think this is his way of welcoming you in as your guest, but you don’t have it in yourself to thank him– he’s the one being silent all the time anyway. You won’t put effort unless he does.

The boy silently takes a seat opposite of you, but chooses the carpeted floor instead of the sofa– a sight that almost makes you chuckle in amusement when he struggles to fold his legs in the small space– sighing and bringing the laptop closer to himself, rubbing a palm across his face in presumed tiredness. 

“Did you work on the ideas for the articles?” you ask, voice low, as if you were afraid to speak first, now that you’re in his space. “If they’re too different from mine, we can make like… sections… in the magazine… or something like that. But I think it would be easier if they correlated, you know.”

Renjun hums, not giving you many words this time either. He’s always difficult to work with, but today, it irritates you twice as much– maybe because you’ve gone out of your way to meet him at his apartment, when it was all his idea to work on the project today in the first place. Sighing in disappointment, the boy takes it as a hint that you expect more of him than tired hums and silent nods, and so he opens his mouth to speak, soft voice echoing through the silent apartment.

“I did,” he says, “don’t really know what you’re going for, but I have a short list.”

Satisfied with his answer, you nod. “Can I see it?”

Shrugging, he looks around for a while, eyes searching through the place as he finally finds the paper peeking out from the bottom of the coffee table– so much for the seemingly clean space– and offers the A4 format to you, scribbles in blue ink almost unreadable as you squint onto them, bringing them closer to your face. Once your eyes finally get adjusted to his handwriting, you manage to decipher a few of the words he’s written down; some of his ideas are neatly described, yet, some of them are just a simple word that barely gives you any idea of what he truly meant to say.

The difference between more thought-out ideas like ‘Karaoke songs (history, questionnaire of favorites across the campus…)’, ‘The importance of art in education’, ‘How to really use wikipedia’ and simple words like ‘campus’, ‘festivals’ and ‘soccer(?)’ almost makes you laugh out loud, but you note that the boy actually took the time of his day to work on the project like he promised you he would the last time you spoke about it in class, so you can’t really say anything mean to him, for you truly think it would hurt his pride. Nodding as you finish reading over the list, you offer the paper back to him, noticing him watching you with eyes full of undeniable expectancy.

“Satisfied?” he asks, irony seeping through his voice. 

Rolling your eyes at him– because of course he has to be annoying about everything– you choose to not play by his rules, opting to nod instead and let the tiniest bit of irritation show only through your ironic smile as you reply to him. “Very, actually.”

Seeing as he’s satisfied with himself, you choose to continue to lead this meeting with the same energy as to this moment. You think it’s the safest choice, and it’s also what he seems to be comfortable with, so you don’t beat around the bush and speak up again. “I think it won’t be that hard to combine our lists, since our ideas aren’t that different,” you note, cringing at the suggestion that you and the man in front of you actually kind of think alike, “but I think it would be nice if we chose a few topics and wrote about them together. I bet the professor would like to see some articles written by the both of us, so it shows that we actually worked on it together, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” he mumbles under his breath, taking you off guard. See, maybe you got ahead of yourself when you thought that this afternoon might go by smoothly– you forgot for a moment that Huang Renjun enjoys the idea of being a total ass to the people around him (or you, at least) these days. Huffing at his response, you furrow your brows in disbelief.

“Why not?”

“Just… don’t wanna,” he answers shortly, shrugging in nonchalance.

The sight of him in front of you, not even sharing eye contact as he points his gaze towards his laptop, makes your blood boil. What does he even think of himself? You were starting to think that Jimin was right– you should’ve rethought this interaction over and spared yourself the trouble, because this was surely not going anywhere.

“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you were clearly the one that told me we were project partners, so I don’t know why you’re being so difficult about this-” you huff, but are instantly cut off by your partner.

“I’m being difficult?”

“Yes,” you jump in, “yes you are! And I don’t get why you even invited me over to work on this, when you clearly don’t have the slightest intention to do so in the first place!” you complete, almost ready to stand up from your place on the light-brown sofa and storm out of his apartment. 

He chuckles at your outburst, rolling his eyes. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not in the mood to work on a stupid project after arguing the whole day on the phone with my cheating ex-girlfriend,” he mutters.

The moment those words come out of his mouth, it seems like the already silent apartment gets even quieter. Staring at him in dumbfoundance, the spark that ignited the anger in you suddenly dies out as you ponder on your next actions. Because what does one do when your project partner suddenly overshares possibly one of the most traumatic and heartbreaking facts about himself so casually, in between snarky comments and a petty argument? Sure, you do feel sorry for him now– because no matter how shitty a person acts to you, nobody deserves to get cheated on– and you suddenly wonder if the whole change of atmosphere in his character isn’t the direct result of this very fact. 

You can’t tell him that you’re sorry– because frankly, you know that Huang Renjun doesn’t want your pity. He doesn’t want to hear that you feel sorry for him and what happened, because you’re not friends and you’re not close enough for you to express such feelings towards him. A question arises in the very same essence, though, making you wonder why he even chose to share this information with you in the heat of the moment in the first place, and even though you could excuse his lack of motivation to work on the project by this fact, it still doesn’t change the reality that he was the one initiating the whole thing, and suddenly, you feel confused. 

He invited you over to work on a project, even though his mood was shitty and he didn’t have the motivation to do so. One would find that ridiculous, but if you really look past the sharp eyes and the bleached mess on his head, you could see the true intention behind his actions– the poor boy just wanted a distraction. And with how empty his apartment seems to be right now– his roommate, Donghyuck (a person that Jimin shares a Finance class with, as you learned this very afternoon) is nowhere to be seen– you only bet you were the last option he had instead of wallowing himself in pity and terror. 

Jimin would argue that you’re stupid for your next actions– you would even agree, because this truly doesn’t feel like you– but still, despite going against yourself in a way, you close the laptop sitting in your lap and reach over to the soda he placed in the middle of the coffee table, pouring yourself a glass. You don’t leave his apartment like you fantasized of doing just a few minutes ago; instead, after downing the sickeningly sweet liquid, the bubbles hurting your throat, you rest your back against the sofa and watch the boy in a new light.

“Okay, let’s not work on the assignment, then,” you calmly say, “wanna watch something on Netflix instead?” you ask, seeing him staring at you with confusion in his expression.

“I don’t-”

“It’s okay if you don’t have it, I can log in with my roommate’s account. She’s probably watching Single’s Inferno right now, but I’ll text her to find something better to do instead,” you don’t let him finish his sentence– because you already know that he’d try to protest to your suggestion– shrugging in nonchalance as you reach over to the TV remote you find sandwiched between the sofa cushions.

Turning the TV on, not even sparing a glance to the grumpy-looking boy sitting on the floor opposite of you, the shuffling of clothes and socked-feet on the ground lands into your ears, a figure taking the remote out of your hand when you can’t figure out how the TV works, a low mumble full of fake offendance masking the shameful, yet clear gratitude in his voice.

You don’t miss it as you look over at him with a tight-lipped smile, though, seeing the Netflix app suddenly come up on the TV, his shoulders relaxing as he settles into the cushions of the sickeningly colored sofa. 

“Of course I have Netflix, what do you think I am, poor?” he grunts.

…and the old Renjun is back.

Arriving at class the next week, you’re finally met with less nervousness than the last few times. After interacting with Huang Renjun more and seeing him break his stone-cold demeanor in front of you as you two watched Netflix– he even made popcorn after the second episode of Unsolved mysteries you decided to watch when you saw the show in his ‘continue watching’ list and gushed about how it’s your favorite (to which he told you that you’re weird, but he’s the one binge watching it too, so you really don’t know why you’re the problem and he's not). Thankfully he doesn’t seem as smug and insufferable as he did before. It’s not like you’re suddenly best friends or anything, but you can feel the ice between you melting with every word he sends your way that isn’t laced with irony– not that there's many of them, since Huang Renjun loves his sarcasm– but it’s progress in your book.

Walking over to your usual seat in the classroom, making your backpack fall to the ground next to your desk with a soft thud, you sit at the chair and take out your things for the class when you notice something standing in the way of your notebook and pencil case in the middle of the table. 

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you move the cup of coffee out of your way, closer to your seatmate’s side. Sighing, you mumble under your breath. “Don’t you have enough space for your things on your side of the table?”

“That’s yours,” he deadpans. Gaze switching between the cup of iced americano from the coffee shop at the corner of the campus (you know it by the plastic cup with their logo on it– it's too tacky for your liking and you even gushed about it to Jimin the day the café opened) and the blonde boy next to you, confusion doesn’t seem to leave your insides as you let out an unfocused hum, showing him that you’re still not following. 

“Do you not like coffee or something?” he hisses, seemingly annoyed at your expression. If you saw yourself in the mirror, maybe you’d understand his frustration– your brows are furrowed and there's a crease in the middle of your forehead from how hard you're racking your brain to come up with answers– but now, you’re just in utter disbelief. Maybe you are a little slow– it’s only 8 in the morning, to your defense– but you really don’t remember bringing coffee to school today. Especially not an iced americano– you don’t like the bitter taste, opting to choose a sweeter drink like a caramel macchiato or the infamous pink drink that Jimin teased you for the last time you got it. So how did this strange cup of coffee end up on your table?

Looking around the space, noticing another half-empty cup of coffee on Renjun’s side of the table, the label on the plastic the same as the cup that was waiting on your side, you finally connect the dots. “Did you get that for me?”

“Yeah,” he nods, not even looking at you as he agrees, taking another sip of his coffee instead. 

Now, you do finally know where the strange cup of coffee came from. Why did Renjun buy you coffee in the first place, though, is still a mystery to you, but you guess with how he’s avoiding your gaze, eyes glued to the white board and an uninterested expression sitting on his face, you think it’s better to not ask him any other follow-up questions. He did something nice for you, and with how your thoughts and rationalization are the only clues you can use in figuring out the reason behind it, you wonder if this was his way of apologizing for being rude to you and thanking you for hanging out with him last week.

“Thanks,” you mumble out instead, smiling at his humming figure that barely acknowledges your spoken gratitude. Taking a sip of the drink, while trying really, really hard not to scowl at the bitter taste, you shift your focus on the class instead, taking notes from time to time. Drinking the coffee as if it was a disgustingly tasting medicine your mother forced you to take when you were little– you hated the taste, but had to get through it anyway– you eventually finish your iced americano somewhere in the middle of the lecture. You feel kind of proud of your acting skills, but there’s also an annoying voice somewhere in the back of your head asking you why you even forced yourself to get through that drink anyway and why is it that you didn’t want to hurt Renjun’s feelings by refusing it in the first place. 

But like anyone in your position would, you shush that voice out of your head.

“Did you finish watching the whole season last week?” you ask instead, suddenly interested in having a conversation with him. After you told Jimin about how your weird hang-out with Renjun went, she practically scolded you for not going home right after he let out the first snarky comment out of his mouth. And maybe she’s right and the whole thing you’re trying to do– but what are you even trying to do in the first place? – makes you seem like you’re out of your mind, but at the end of the day, you did finally progress in watching the TV show after putting it on hold for multiple months because your dear roommate wouldn’t stop begging you to watch all of the seasons of Too hot to handle with you instead, so it’s a win in your book.

“I didn’t,” he replies, his voice quiet enough only for you to hear, not interrupting the rest of the class, “Hyuck, my roommate, didn’t come home until like 11pm and I got too creeped out to watch it alone after you left,” he completes, his face completely serious as he utters out the laughable words.

Chuckling at his response, you see him crack a smile from the corner of your eye. The sight is a rather pleasant one, for you think you've  forgotten how it looks in what seems like ages since the obvious breakup with his girlfriend happened, the reminder of his squinted eyes and full cheeks making you feel accomplished, in a way. “Didn’t think you were the type to get scared so easily,” you tease him.

“Not scared,” he huffs out, offended, “just creeped out. That’s different.”

“Did you wait for your roommate because you were too scared to go to sleep?” you test the waters with more teasing, your tone light and playful.

“No, I waited for him because the last time he got home late and I was asleep, he came home drunk and broke down the door to his room and we had to get it replaced,” he announces, making you cover your mouth with the palm of your hand as you almost burst out into a loud giggle. 

“You know what? Yeah. Valid.”

Your conversation falls silent after that, and it makes your spirit fall for a split second. You don’t even know why you wanted it to continue– you don’t know your seatmate, and frankly, you shouldn’t have the desire to do so in the first place. But the sudden act of service thrown your way, although the coffee was disgusting and he could’ve presented the gift to you in a different, more welcoming way, made you get your hopes up– about what exactly, though? 

Jimin always told you that desperately wanting to be everyone’s friend (despite being socially awkward and kind of nervous around new people), is one of your best and worst qualities at the same time. Best, because it means that you’re nice to people– worst, because you’re nice even to people that don’t deserve your kindness; and you also get too disappointed when people don’t share the same enthusiasm with you. Maybe some friendships are meant to keep at surface level, and if this was the type of relationship you and your project partner are about to have, you’re going to have to let go of that annoying voice in your head that keeps telling you to get deeper than that level.

“Why did you dye your hair, by the way?” you ask him nonetheless, after a few heartbeats of silence, curiosity getting the best of you. The moment this question leaves your mouth, you regret it– thinking you somehow could’ve made the boy uncomfortable, your words annoying to his ears– but instead of rolling his eyes at you or telling you to shut up, he replies instead. The reaction surprises you– he really conditioned you to think that every question of yours is going to be met with spite and tantrum, didn't he?

“Dunno,” he says, shrugging, “they say blondes have more fun, so I think it’s only natural to go blonde when you’re sad. To cancel it out, or something,” he snickers as he looks at you, realizing the implication of his words makes the whole statement kind of embarrassing, his tight-lipped smile being the proof of his internal battle not to cringe at his explanation.

You understand, humming in acknowledgment. You’re just a simple woman, after all– you very well understand the urge to change your hair after a breakup. While it is a visible proof of his mental breakdown, you guess you can’t really blame him for trying to feel like there are things that are under his control; even if it’s just the color of his hair.

Walking along Renjun, the atmosphere is thick and a little awkward. Your bag is heavy on your back and you’re slowly starting to feel a bit of an ugly sting in your bones from it; you mourn the fact that you decided to ask Renjun to walk there with you instead of having to take the bus by yourself, too afraid of getting the address wrong and getting lost along the way. You’d love any kind of transport instead of your own two legs right now, since the walk seems to be never ending and you’re pretty certain that the backs of your feet have calluses from wearing your new shoes that you got from a clearance sale from the Nike store at the corner of the town. 

Clearing your throat, you decide to spark up a conversation. It seems like you always have to be the one to initiate things when it comes to Renjun– it’s kind of ironic, though, when you think of the fact that he was the one that made you be his project partner in the first place.“Why did you wanna do the article about the shelter? I didn’t know you were an animal person,” you hum, testing the waters with a casual question. 

Looking up at you, furrowing his brows, the man offers you an indifferent shrug. “My friend Taeyong works there and he wanted to advertise the shelter a little, so I offered to take pictures for his Facebook page in exchange for me writing the article about it,” he mumbles, “he thinks that would give the shelter more exposure too, but I doubt it. Nobody’s gonna read our fake magazine anyway, it’s just an assignment…”

Humming, you kick the rocks on the pavement, a tight-lipped smile appearing on your face. Huang Renjun must do a lot for his friends, you think. You remember him taking pictures for his friend Xiaoting once– she’s an influencer (a model, if you want) and well known around the campus. When you saw his instagram username in one of the picture descriptions one day, you were surprised at the quality of those shoots (and it also led you to stalking his instagram for a bit, but that’s not the main point of this conversation). You also remember seeing him with his friends Shotaro and Yangyang in a team when it was your school’s annual Sports day (you’d argue that you’re not high schoolers anymore and this day is useless, but your classmates seem to think otherwise) trying his best, despite not really liking sports in the first place– or so you heard and seen from how badly he did in most disciplines except from running– and if that’s not a sign of him doing everything he could just to make his friends happy, you don’t know what is. So to see him doing an article about the animal shelter Taeyong works at, despite being more of a plant person himself, you’re not as surprised as you thought you’d be. He does show affection to his friends, after all– you’re just not one of them to see that side of him often.

Walking some more, you eventually end up in front of a big building painted a light tangerine color, windows decorated with pretty curtains on full display to you. Renjun chimes in like a regular, crossing multiple halls and taking sharp turns before you’re met with the image of a taller man with dark brown hair putting small, pastel colored collars on necks of a few little creatures running around the room, despair clearly written on his face.

“No! Don’t run away, oh god-”

Chuckling at the view of yet another kitten running away from his hands, you admire the fluffy little cats crawling all around the place, your heart quickly softening at the sight of them. It’s been a while since you were around animals yourself– the dog you had back home died the summer before the semester started and you weren’t really in the mood to get a new one, since you weren’t going to be around much anyway. 

When yet another kitten escapes the man’s hold, you find yourself watching Renjun as he crouches to the floor and swiftly takes one into his hands, walking closer to the man with collars in his hands, grinning to himself. “Here you go.”

“Man, the cats hate me… where did you two get here?” he shakes his head in disbelief, putting a collar onto the small cat before he pets it on its tiny head.

“Just a minute ago,” Renjun says, “is that one Poppy?” he asks, reading the name tag dangling from the little band around its head, affection filling his words.

“Now it is. I got confused when they all started running around,” he shrugs, sighing as he looks around the room, counting the last few kittens that needed their collars. His eyes soon land on you, a welcoming smile spreading on his boxy lips. “Hey! I’m Taeyong. You must be Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile, trying to make yourself seem as nice as possible. You don’t know what Renjun told him about you, but if they were bad things, you only hope to undeceive the man with your warm attitude. 

Renjun then puts the kitten down, and while you’d expect it to run away from him and join its siblings in the corner of the room, the creature does quite the opposite– it stays by his side and lays on the ground close to him, making even Taeyong himself gasp at the image. “Wow,” he snickers, “you should start coming here every time I need to put these on them, you’re like a cat whisperer.”

While the two of them chat, you stay a little behind, not really wanting to intrude. You take off the heavy bag and take out your camera, deciding to take a few pictures of the shelter instead, so you can say you worked on the interview with him. You think it’s expected of you, since he asked you to come along despite being absolutely fully capable of doing the interview with his friend alone, so you do your work and zoom in on the two of them talking, snapping a few quick pictures. 

After a while, you take a seat on the ground– being the infamous enjoyer of sitting on the hard surface of it, earning yourself a lot of scolding screams from your mother growing up– and fully take in the interior. The walls are the same light tangerine color as the outside ones, and there’s a little enclosure in the corner of the room that would surely make Taeyong’s job much easier if only he had used it. There are bags of cat food in the other corner of the room, and while the shelter doesn’t look very modern or fancy, you think it’s kinda homey and welcoming. You bet kids would love it here– with the colorful atmosphere and the smiley worker running around catching kittens, and after a while of taking pictures of everything your eyes land on, you find your inner child healing, little by little.

The truth is, you always wanted a cat. But you were never able to get one, because your mother hates them. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how many times you petted strays on the street and begged her to take them home, you never won this battle– so you had to settle on a dog. And don’t get me wrong, you loved your dog, but at the end of the day, you knew you were more of a cat person anyway.

Reaching forward a little, noticing the kitten waddling your way, you think of petting it– it quickly jumps out of your reach, though, too scared of your touch, and you’re left frowning, the bubble bursts at the rejection from the small ball of fluffiness.

“Taeyong?” you hear a voice of a woman call from the door, the man swiftly turning to her with brows raised in question. “They need your help with the big dogs. They keep dragging Yeri on the leash and she’s too weak to get them to their cages.”

“Oh,” the man deadpans, scratching his neck for a bit before he turns to Renjun again, escaping the room in one swift motion, “I’ll be right back!”

The room falls silent after that, no longer having the background noise of their conversation playing as you observe the animals. You feel the atmosphere growing thicker again, and as time passes by, you find yourself taking short glances at your project partner, wondering what’s on his mind. One moment, he’s crouching down and petting the cats that come his way, the other, he is gazing out of the window with a soft frown that takes over his features like a dark shadow, and you wonder when this expression really settled into his face and made itself the default, and why is it not willing to leave. Not really knowing what to say or what to do to make the boy that’s still so out of your reach feel any better, you opt for silence, even though it does get quite heavy and thick over time– and the truth is, you don’t even know why you notice yourself feeling this way so often around him, when all he’s done was give you the cold shoulder so often and then offer you an iced americano you don’t even like in the first place.

Minutes pass and the silence slowly makes your ears ring; you desperately try to find a good solution in your brain– create a script where hanging out with Renjun is easier and less nerve-wrecking– but still, there’s nothing and you’re left with the awkwardness and hesitance. Sighing when another kitten escapes your grasp, you put your hands into your lap and give up on the task, settling on just watching them instead– there was no use in you trying to pet one when all it wanted to do was run away from you.

Watching the group of fluff jumping at each other and sleeping all around the room, your focus only shifts when there’s a kitten suddenly thrusted into your point of view, its big blue eyes staring you down making you awe. You wonder how it got there in a moment of full stupidity before you look up and see your project partner, the cat magnet himself, holding the cat up to you, waiting for you to take it into your hold and pet it. Gazing at him with mouth agape in confusion, he slowly puts the cat into your lap, petting the creature when it settles, and takes a seat opposite of you all in the span of a few seconds, the action making you smile uncontrollably.

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” he mumbles, watching as you pet the kitten in your lap, cooing at the soft fur. There’s a hint of you that desperately wants to adopt it once you finally pet the small cat, but you know that it wouldn’t be a smart idea– animals are banned at dorms and you don’t think you’d have enough energy to take care of another living creature right now anyways.

“They are,” you hum, “I always wanted one.”

“Why didn’t you get one, then?”

“My mum doesn’t like them very much,” you mumble, pouting at the small creature in your hold, as if to apologize for the words coming out of your mouth.

He hums in acknowledgement, picking up another kitten that waddles his way, putting it up on his thigh– his body now sitting cross-legged on the floor. Watching as the animal crawls up his body and tickles him with its claws, soft laughter erupts out of him, making you smile unconsciously at the boy. 

“I’m not really into animals that much,” he says, further proving your earlier claims. See– in some ways, Renjun is easy to read. Just by looking at him, you could tell he’s not a fan of sweet beverages; you can tell he enjoys black coffee– just like the one he brought you that day– and herbal teas, perfectly matching the image of him in your head that’s surrounded by plants rather than animals, just the bit of greenery you saw around the kitchen very clearly still alive and thriving making you believe you are correct in this assumption as well. One can say a lot about a person by the way they dress, and with Renjun’s casual, yet cozy attire, you can tell he dresses for himself, choosing comfort over style, but still looking effortlessly put together at the same time. You would never strike him as someone that makes spontaneous decisions, rather being more focused on a plan, so to see him dye his hair so randomly is a sign of the fact that there’s something crumbling inside of him– a sense of security, maybe a feeling of stableness– that he tries so hard to grasp. 

“They are into you, though,” you giggle when the kitten purrs at his touch, pointing at the cross-eyed creature. 

“What can I say,” he shrugs, “I guess I’m that irresistible.”

There aren’t many opportunities for you to laugh at his jokes. Mainly because he doesn’t make many, but also because you always notice them being self-deprecating, and you don’t want to support that idea in his head. At this one, though, you send him a soft chuckle and a roll your eyes, showing how you seemingly think the idea is ridiculous and his joke is corny, but deep inside knowing that you resonate with his words.

In a moment of selfishness– an indulgence you try to mask by the fact that you came here because of the assignment and this was your job in the first place– you take your camera and snap a picture of the boy in front of you, his hands holding the small kitten up in air and snickering when he sees you pointing the lens to him in order to capture him playing with the creature. You don’t know what it is that makes your heart warm up at the image that comes up on the screen shortly after, but you figure that’s a problem of future you and there’s no use in pondering about it now.

You don’t know how many minutes pass with just the two of you playing with the kittens, but when Renjun takes his phone out of his pocket and checks the time, you furrow your brows before he hums. “He’s taking so much time,” he says, sighing. 

All while playing with the fuzzy small balls, you didn’t even notice the time passing by so quickly. You don’t know how much time it’s been, but you assume it could be more than 35 minutes of the two of you left alone in the room, Taeyong seemingly too overwhelmed with the shelter responsibilities.

“Maybe we should go,” he offers, catching you off guard.

“Oh,” you hum, “well, maybe. But you haven’t even done an interview with him yet,” you mumble, your hands lost in the soft fur of the kitten still laying in your lap.

“I can just send him the questions to his email. Perhaps, I’m sure you’ve taken more than enough pictures of the kittens for his Facebook page,” he snickers, shrugging, “I don’t see why we should be staying here if he’s busy, we’re only putting more work on him.”

“I- I mean…” you mumble, trailing off at the end. You don’t really wanna say goodbye to the kittens, the healing in your heart not quite done yet, when the boy next to you laughs at what you presume is your emotions showing clearly on your face.

“Unless you wanna play with them more, of course. We can stay a little longer, then.”

The autumn season slowly fades into winter, time passing by quicker than you could even grasp. The shock and surprise of having to work on the lengthy project with Renjun morphs into a feeling of ordinarity, getting used to his mood slowly shifting from reserved and irritated to a one more pleasant, full of hesitant smiles and soft words when he notices you feeling down or disappointed with yourself, and a one more close to a brother-like teasing when he watches you arrive to his apartment to work on things. One would say you hit it off, your energies matching as you slowly get to know the boy, but still, there’s a hint of something inside of you that makes you grow nervous around him whenever he is too close to your figure, your body falling limp and your brain working on overdrive. You wonder if it’s the sheer fact of simply not being fully used to his presence; while Jimin says you’re down bad for the man. She’s wrong– or at least you’re convinced that she is– and that’s why you simply think the uncertain feeling of uneasiness that settles in your bones sometimes is the effect of the fact that you never truly know what to expect when you arrive at Renjun’s place.

Some days, when you arrive, there’s a mess waiting for you in the living room, where you usually work on the project with Renjun. There are pots and pans with dried food everywhere and your partner’s hands are foaming with washing liquid when he opens the door for you, and you giggle at the sight. Other days, the apartment is full of people you don’t know and Renjun has to throw them out with a scream saying that the group was supposed to leave two hours ago, and when you come on weekends, he lets you in wearing sweatpants and bed hair, as if he spent the whole day in his sheets. Dare you say, this is your favorite version of him– his eyes are half-lidded and he moves slowly, even his remarks aren’t as harsh as they tend to get. Jimin once argued and told you that you two don’t even need to meet that often for the sake of the project– and on a weekend as well– but you’d say it adds to the value of the magazine if you two can get opinions out of each other and review each other’s writing in real time. 

Some days, his roommate is home, and that’s when you join Renjun in his room so you two get a bit of privacy (not that you’re doing anything that requires privacy. His roommate Donghyuck is just very nosy and he keeps asking you questions you don’t have the time and energy to answer). 

Today is one of these days, with his energetic roommate roaming the halls of the apartment, but this time, you two don’t hide away in the comfort of Renjun’s small, yet very organized room. Sitting in the living room of his and Hyuck’s shared apartment, your bottom meeting the carpeted floor instead of the cushions of their couch, your laptop screen darkening when you don’t work on the device for some time and it puts itself to sleep mode. The reason for said action is your attention being somewhere completely else– on Donghyuck’s figure trailing in and out of the room, each time wearing a different outfit than before.

“What about this one, Y/N? Do I look good?” he asks, posing like a model that didn’t pass an audition in any modeling agency, their dream of flashing a smile on the title pages of Vogue fading out of their sight.

You burst out laughing at the weird combination. You don’t remember Donghyuck ever being bad at fashion from the few times you've met him before he left their apartment to attend a party or go to class– you’re quite certain that his habit to always tuck in his shirts into his skinny jeans, the stylistic choice showcasing his long legs making not one, but many girls, boys and others salivate over him. But when seeing him in a tragic combination of cowboy boots and a cow-print shirt, you can’t help but giggle.

“Hyuck, now you’re just taking the shit. That’s your Halloween costume from last year,” the boy next to you on the ground whines, running his hands through his hair in despair.

“Okay, but what if I really want to wear it?” he asks all innocent, his roommate now faking a cry in response, “besides, I was asking Y/N, so you shut your mouth.”

“I think it’s great,” you nod, wiping the corner of your eyes from the stray tears that fall off from the laughter you’ve been doing at the interaction. Your assignment was long forgotten the first moment Donghyuck decided to pay you a visit in the living room, starting with shitting on his professor for making him study on a weekend (which you argued that he could’ve started with earlier in the week, to which he glared at you and asked if he looks like a nerd), and then proceeding to do everything but study– starting with making a smoothie in the living room– while efficiently making so much noise with the mixer every time Renjun spoke up, annoying the short male– to giving you a make-shift fashion show.

“Do you want me to embarrass myself? See, I wore this to test if you were being genuine, but I see now that you’re on Renjun’s side,” he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief and escaping the living room, making you burst out laughing even more as you hear the door to his room shut with a loud thud.

He’ll come back soon– you’re sure of it.

And you’re right. After Renjun manages to let out a loud noise of despair at the fact that he has to live with someone like Lee Donghyuck– not only now, he complains about it every other day, when the latter drags him to parties only for him to be the designated driver for the night and get him home safely, or how he makes him pay for dinner he orders for the both of them without asking– the other man joins you in the living room again, now dressed casually in sweatpants and a loose shirt.

“Okay, the fashion show’s over. I think I’ll go with the first outfit, just by the way, because it matches my eyes,” he says, quite seriously, to which Renjun only sighs.

“Hyuck, your eyes are brown.”

“Okay and?”

“That what you wore was– you know what, never mind…” Renjun shakes his head as he stops himself mid-sentence, making you snicker at the mental image of the outfit Donghyuck’s talking about, because frankly, Renjun is right with his frustration. The shirt his roommate wore was blue, and while it didn’t clash in the slightest, it surely didn’t match the brown depth of Donghyuck’s orbs, and that’s what makes the whole thing that much funnier.

Turning your head around to watch Renjun’s roommate moving through the kitchen area, opening up the fridge and pouring himself a glass of milk– you don’t even dare to question him anymore– you ask. “What is the occasion anyway?”

“Jisung’s birthday party,” he mumbles, taking a sip, “you know Park Jisung, right?”

“Never heard of him,” you shake your head, seeing as the man widens his eyes at you with surprise.

“No? Well, you’re gonna get to know him soon, then,” he says, shrugging.

“That sounds like a threat,” you giggle, “what do you even mean?”

To that, Donghyuck shifts his eyes to his roommate sitting next to you on the ground, shrugging. “Well, I assumed you were invited…” he says, grinning to himself.

The man next to you audibly sighs– what is the reason behind his frustration this time, you truly do not know, but with Renjun, there’s always something getting on his nerves. He has a problem with having his anger in control sometimes.

Furrowing your eyebrows at the proposition, you shake your head. “Why would I be invited to Park Jisung’s birthday party?”

“Because it’s quite the event! Park Jisung’s turning into an adult, and to that, he’s throwing a big party, which means friends of friends of friends are invited,” he says, as if it was the most matter-of-fact information you’ve ever heard, “and since you’re a friend of a friend, I’d assume you get a pass.”

Shrugging, you mutter. “Well, I wasn’t invited,” you add, not paying the whole party much thought. 

The man squints his eyes at the two of you, eyes drifting from one figure to the other, humming to himself as if he was lost in thought. “Okay, then…” he mysteriously mumbles under his breath before downing the glass and putting it into the sink, completing his visit by exiting the living room.

“Would you come back and wash your dishes after yourself?” Renjun yells into the depths of the apartment, a sneaky remark being thrown his way almost immediately.

“No, thank you!”

And after watching the interaction, you come to the conclusion that if you were living with Lee Donghyuck, you'd turn kind of crazy too. You can’t even blame Renjun anymore. Truth be told, though, you didn’t get much work done that Saturday, and you think his sheer presence might be the reason why.

“What do you think?” you ask, turning your laptop towards Renjun, the two of you currently sitting in the library, working on your project. Originally, you had planned to go to your place– but Jimin texted you last second that she has a guy over, and Renjun said his roommate has a gathering of some sort at his apartment, so you settled on the comfort and silence your university library provides. Not a lot of people are here during this time of the year; the exam season isn’t that close yet and no one’s panicking about last-minute studying, so only a few responsible students are currently scattered across the spacious room on the second floor, working on their essays. You bet they’re humanities students– they always have the most shit to do when it comes to essays. You study Journalism, but your roommate is a Sociology major, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone write as many essays as Jimin in a single semester.

What you’re showing Renjun is an opened Microsoft Publisher document, your shared magazine shining from the blue light of the screen. Renjun sent you his copy of the pages he’s done with the animal shelter interview, and as you were looking at the columns of text and off-centered pictures, the perfectionist in you woke up and forced you to fix the tiny mistakes that didn’t escape your eye.

“It’s different,” he hums, eyebrows furrowing as he examines the two-page spread, resting his head on his hand, plopped up on his elbow, and pushing his rimmed glasses further up his nose bridge. “Did you change anything?”

“I just… played around with it a little,” you mumble, afraid of what he thinks. As far as you know, he could flip out any second and scream at you for doing his work when it was perfectly fine the way he sent it to you– at least the Huang Renjun you met a few weeks ago would certainly do that– and so you don’t think it’s that unexpected of you to be so nervous about his opinion.

“This picture wasn’t here before,” he says, pointing to one of the pictures you neatly slotted into the corner of the page– it was one of your favorites, you must admit with severe embarrassment– with Renjun holding up a baby kitten, looking at it with softened eyes. When you looked at the page spread he sent you the other day, you couldn’t believe he didn’t add that picture. Something about it being your favorite– finding yourself admiring it when you look through the pictures on your camera’s SD card– was enough to make you think it’s surely his favorite as well. It didn’t matter that it didn’t really fit the professional aura the whole spread radiates. For you, the magazine wasn’t complete without including it– think of that what you will.

“It was asymmetrical without it, so I had to add it…” you say, scratching the back of your neck. That’s a partial lie– you could make it work if you moved the pictures around a little bit, but Renjun doesn’t have to know that.

He hums, eyes scanning over the text, shrugging. “It’s nice. As long as you didn’t change the text part, I don’t mind,” he says, relief making your shoulders slouch down, not even noticing how tense you’ve become, “I actually got bored while working on this, so I get that it didn’t really look nice before. Thanks,” he completes, offering you a soft smile as he takes a sip of the black americano sitting on the desk.

“Good,” you nod, shaking off the nervousness from before, “okay.”

Scrolling through the document, moving a few things around, adding better punctuation here and there, the number of pages is still not hitting the criteria for your final grade. That’s okay– you still have a lot of time to complete the magazine and you still have plenty of ideas. To execute them is another thing, but you’re sure you’ll find a way.

“What about your interview?” Renjun suddenly asks, almost making you jump up from the surprise that is created by his voice suddenly cutting through the silence of the library.

“What about it?” you hum, looking at him. His hair is a little tousled– he’s been putting in way less work than you today, laying on the table occasionally when you don’t show him anything on your laptop for a while, acting more as your company than a help. It looks like the coffee on his table is the only thing keeping him awake, and you suddenly feel a little bad for insisting on working on the project even though your initial plans of doing it at your place fell through, because he seems to be exhausted.

“Well, I did the shelter, so you should do something too,” he says, shrugging, “or do something similar, you know… I think it would be nice to have you write about something from a reporter's perspective.”

“Oh,” you nod, “well, I dunno… I had a few ideas, but it’s…”

“Hm?” he motions for you to talk when your voice drifts out, eyes looking at you with patience and genuine interest. The change of demeanor that’s been happening with him lately slightly shocks you, but you welcome the new character in him with open arms. Still, it doesn’t mean you don’t get a little hesitant around him whenever he shows you this side of him– you don’t really know how to react, or what to expect of him anymore. It’s like walking on eggshells, but you can’t say you hate the strange anticipation.

“Well, it’s stupid, but…” you start, seeing him roll his eyes at the beginning of your proposition, “my favorite writer is doing some sort of a fan sign slash q&a thing in the local library next week. She’s coming out with a new book, and I think it would be nice to get an interview with her, but she’s probably very busy and everything, so that won’t work out.”

Looking at Renjun, feeling shy of the sudden revelation of hopes and dreams, you chew on your bottom lip in anticipation. The range of answers he could give you is truly big– he could laugh at you, tell you to go alone, or he could tell you that it’s a stupid idea, a boring one, even, or he could be supportive– the least likely response, you think. Sharing your idea with him makes you a little hesitant again, feeling a little naked in front of him, and you even avert your gaze towards your laptop and aimlessly scroll through the document to avoid his gaze, to seem more nonchalant and not at all bothered by his lack of words, when he gives you a tired hum.

“Well, you could at least do an article about the library, then. To advertise sustainability, and all… And kids these days don’t read much, so I think it’s nice to talk about it,” he says, once again folding over the table and burrowing his face in the space between his folded arms and his chest, half sitting, half laying down on the furniture, “wanna go next week? Maybe we can catch that writer of yours.”

Allowing yourself to look at him, relief once again washing over you at the acceptance, you can’t help but smile at his slurred words of affirmation. “I mean, I’m down…”

Doubting you could get the interview– not even trying to reach out to the writer, already setting yourself up for the expected failure– you make plans to visit the library the said day with Renjun anyway. You’ll get your camera and maybe get some nice shots, maybe ask around for an interview from one of the nice, old librarians instead. It’s not a bad idea, and it fits the vibe of your magazine quite nicely.

Who knows, maybe you could even get your book signed. Doesn’t hurt to try.

You think it was safe to say that you didn’t expect to see a text message pop up on the screen of your phone one afternoon, the black letters shining darkly on the bright screen with a hesitant, yet a little hurried invitation to Park Jisung’s birthday party. The whole interaction you had about it with Renjun and Hyuck was awkward, and so to see getting an invitation for yourself the day of the said event was a shocking concept, leaving you scrambling your things from various places of your apartment and putting them into a handbag before getting dressed for the occasion. 

Quickly learning that Lee Donghyuck is a man of his word– meaning that he never lies, especially when it comes to big parties– your mouth hangs open when you arrive to the address Renjun texted you in the afternoon, the big mension-like building full of people you’ve never seen before, leaving you to acknowledge that friends of friends of friends must have been invited to fill up the whole place, since it’s not possible for poor Park Jisung to know everyone at his birthday party. The fact makes you feel less special; the invitation not really making you feel like you were wanted there, the place breaking in its seams making you internalize a thought that you were there just to fill up the blank spaces and Renjun invited you only for the sheer fact of needing a lot of people for his friend’s party. A little disappointed, yet, still kind of amazed at the size of it all, you walk out of Jimin’s car– she offered to drive you there– and hesitantly set your foot to the  grass that divides the land from the sidewalk. 

Feeling a little lost, turning your head in various directions to try to find anyone you’d know– Huang Renjun being the best alternative, since he was the one who invited you, after all– you start to feel a little out of place when no one pays you any attention and the loud music filling your ears only acts as a distraction that slowly makes you oversaturated with stimulus. Just when you go to take your phone out of your bag to call either Renjun or your roommate to come back to pick you up and drive you to the safety of your apartment, a hand lands on your shoulder and makes you turn around in your tracks, a strange sense of comfort enveloping your insides when you see the short blonde peeking at you from under his carelessly styled bangs, a grin sitting on his face. “You’re here!”

“Yeah. I told you I’d come…?” you mumble, observing Renjun’s sudden enthusiasm at your arrival, letting the man drag you inside of the building. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel all the eyes of the guests on you. While you were a stranger to all of them, you are almost certain the popular Huang Renjun was one of the more known people of the bunch, catching attention of multiple friends of his and also friends of their friends, and suddenly, the feeling of his touch on your wrist as he drags you inside makes your skin burn, your brain almost overheating when you realize this might as well be the first time you’ve had any sort of physical contact with the male. Fixing your gaze on his back, enveloped in an oversized leather jacket, you start to wonder if he’s drunk.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks, finally turning back to you when you arrive in the spacious kitchen. You wonder if this house is rented, or if Park Jisung’s one of the wealthy kids in the town. You truly have no knowledge on the man, and when you hesitantly look around the room, trying to sort out what alcohol they have in store– while mentally thinking of what would make you the least hammered, considering your low alcohol tolerance– you feel Renjun’s eyes glued to you, heat inevitably rising to your cheeks. “What’s that in your hand?” he asks, making you jump out of your haze.

“Oh,” you stutter, “I brought a birthday gift for Jisung,” you mumble, seeing Renjun’s glossy eyes blink at you a few times, his lips suddenly twitching up in amusement. In this moment, you think he truly must be drunk, his fingers reaching towards the gift bag in your left hand as he peeks inside, noticing the handwritten card and a box of chocolates you brought to the boy you’ve never seen before. Your project partner cracks up as he puts the bag away to the corner of the room.

“You’re too sweet for this world,” Renjun giggles as he looks back at you, making you widen your eyes in surprise at the affectionate words falling off his tongue.

“Why?”

“Nobody actually expected you to bring a gift, you know,” he says as he walks through the half-empty kitchen, eyes roaming over the solo cups filled with alcohol, “you don’t even know him. Half the people here don’t know him and I’m pretty sure half of his actual friend group didn’t give him anything.”

“Oh,” you blink, suddenly feeling stupid. “Well, I didn’t want to seem rude…” you sheepishly mumble, scratching the back of your neck in hesitance. Maybe you did go a little overboard– nobody can really blame you, though. You’re not a big party goer, and since it’s someone’s birthday, you only assumed it’s socially expected of you to bring a gift. And it’s Renjun’s friend, on top of that– one would say you wanted to give off a good impression, as his plus-one to the party, whatever that means. If you were considered that, to be exact– with the amount of people here, though, you were starting to feel a little lost in the situation.

“See, you’re too sweet,” he says, shrugging,  eyes still fixated on the kitchen counter as he seemingly searches for a specific drink. Arm motioning towards one of the red solo cups, he suddenly turns to you and offers you the contents, smiling. “He loves chocolate, though, so that gift’s gonna be his favorite. Well, if it even gets to him in this whole mess… rum and coke?” he asks, and without much thought, you eagerly take the cup from his hand, nodding.

“Thanks,” you say, tasting the alcohol on your tongue. You don’t tell him that rum and coke is your biggest enemy– not because it tastes bad, quite the opposite, actually. You enjoy the mixture too much for you to control yourself sometimes. You can only pray that you don’t get too loose tonight.

The man’s eyes stay strangely glued to your figure as you sip from the cup, and you almost open your mouth to tease him about it– or ask if there’s something on your face, either or– when there’s a chant coming out of one of the rooms outside, incoherent screams slowly forming into one recognisable word– a name, to be exact– the voices calling Park Jisung, tonight’s birthday boy. Renjun’s eyes widen at that, his body moving fast as he tugs you by your hand again, almost spilling your drink in the process, your figure suddenly standing in a living room seemingly bigger than your whole apartment, the sight in front of you making you laugh.

A tall, lanky boy is thrown up in the air by the arms of multiple men– one of which you recognise to be Hyuck– as the whole room chants Jisung's name, the sight  a little comedic in your eyes. Rose tint settles on Park Jisung's face as the whistling only gets louder, a few phones with the flash turned on pointed to his face, the moment captured in time. You wonder what the boy did in his life to get this amount of popularity, but you can only imagine that, as one would say, this could very well be a core memory for him. You only turn adult once in your life, and for some reason, the thought of Park Jisung doing so surrounded by his friends that threw him perhaps the biggest birthday party in the history of your university campus, you get a little emotional for him. Maybe Renjun was right with you being too sweet for this world– in this moment, though, you think you’re too soft instead.

After a while, the men get tired of holding up his weight and the boy slowly comes down from the high, the hollering getting more quiet as it turns into the birthday song, making you join in with the singing. The thought of being an outcast, just a random person in the crowd slowly seeps away when you feel included in the moment, worry leaving you as you watch Donghyuck– the biggest hype man of his friends, or so it seems– shake the birthday boy vigorously by his shoulders before he lets go and plants a sloppy kiss to his cheek, which leads to the two of them chasing each other around the crowded place.

Watching the whole scene unfold right in front of your eyes, you find yourself gazing at Renjun from the corner of your eye, the bright grin on his face making your heart squeeze in a weird way. He seems so happy in this moment, dragging you from room to room excitedly as if he was a regular in this place, the joy of celebrating his friend making his flushed face glow in a healthy way. You got used to seeing his face clouded in a shadow; the worried crease in between his eyebrows and the darkness under his eyes regular visitors in his expression, so to see him seep in the ugly orange lights of the luxurious house tugs at your heartstrings in a way you choose to not recognize or name. 

“Y/N!” you hear your name screamed from somewhere in the room, making you tear your eyes away from the man standing by your side. Looking at the source of the yell, you find Lee Donghyuck striding towards you with his long legs, the action almost threatening, yet, his face beams in an excited aura.

“Hyuck!”

“You came!” he yells back in the same energy as last time, although his body is now only a few steps away from you, making you giggle. You recognise his outfit to be one of the multiple he showed you back at their apartment before he started acting all silly, the memory making you laugh in fondness.

“I did!” you nod, “I got invited,” you say, voice almost sounding proud of the achievement. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says as his eyes drift from you to Renjun, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively before he earns himself a punch to the shoulder from his roommate, a sharp, over-exaggerated scowl escaping his lips at the motion. “Come meet Jisung!” he quickly switches up the topic, dragging you along with himself like a rag doll in an instance. He must be drunk; you think. 

You wonder why you keep being dragged around the house– maybe it’s a sign that you’re too weak and should probably start working out more so you can stand your ground. Nonetheless, you follow the man as you look around, as if to apologize to Renjun for leaving him, when you see the blonde following you to the small group in the corner of the living room, recognising them to be the ones holding up Jisung just a few minutes prior. 

“Jisung! This is Y/N!” Donghyuck utters out as soon as you get to the small gathering, all eyes suddenly glued to you. You wouldn’t say it made you feel comfortable or even invited– quite the opposite, to be honest– but the man that was addressed cutely turns to you, a shy smile plastered on his face when he greets you.

“Ah! Hello!”

You doubt Park Jisung even knows who you are. You doubt any of these people do– with how they’re looking at you in examination, but you still bite through it as you force a smile on your face. “Happy birthday,” you say to him, earning yourself a bright smile from the recipient.

“Thanks!” he beams. “You’re Renjun hyung’s friend, right?” he asks  in response, almost making you choke on your spit in surprise at the fact that the boy knows who you are, which leads you to believe that you were talked about in this circle before.

“Sort of,” you nod, forcing out a giggle.

“Sort of?” the annoyed voice of Huang Renjun himself fills your ears from your right, making you jump up at the proximity of him that you weren’t aware of before, the mock offense on his face making you giggle when you think of the remorse he treated you with when you first met. He looked like he never wanted to speak to you in his life, and now he’s acting offended at you not fully calling him your friend? Yes, you did that to spite him– because if you weren’t friends, you truly don’t know what you were even doing here in the first place– but you still think the whole thing is a little ironic. “You’re at our house at least once a week and we’re not friends in your eyes?” 

“Well, that’s only because I have to,” you argue, when the man only shakes his head at you in disbelief.

“Okay, you’re not allowed to eat our snacks when you come over anymore,” he says, shrugging in nonchalance. Laughing, you find yourself looking over the group you’re standing with, the discomfort slowly fading away when you engage in conversation with Renjun. You catch a few names you can’t really place to their respective faces– mainly because Jisung was the only one formally introduced to you– when you notice a girl staring at you in examination, her figure not noticed by you before. 

The longer you stare at her, the longer you start to recognise her, and before you let panic overtake you– in all honesty, you don’t even know why you’d panic at this fact– you realize it’s none other than Huh Yunjin, your friend’s ‘cheating ex-girlfriend’ looking at you with something resembling spite in her eyes, her jaw clenched and her look glazing from your outfit to your face, as if mentally scoring you on your attractiveness, judging every detail of your body, all while a tall boy hugs her to his side– whom you presume is her new boyfriend.

He looks nothing like Renjun– he is quite the opposite, if you really think about it– and even though you tear your eyes away from her figure, your brain still screams at you with arguments that you look nothing like her; even though it shouldn’t really matter. You’re not Huang Renjun’s new girlfriend– not even the object of his desire, or the new girl by his side– you’re just his project partner, a classmate he’s grown to calling a friend, but still, you can’t help but notice her radiating beauty, the outshining features on her face and the charismatic aura she radiates– the polar opposite to everything you’d describe yourself as; and the comfort you felt while talking with Renjun’s friends is suddenly swept under the carpet, long forgotten when you still feel her eyes burning through your skull, her gaze making you like an intruder, someone who’s not supposed to be here, someone who doesn’t belong. 

And to make things even worse, you suddenly feel Renjun’s hand around your waist, and when your eyes lock with his you swear you see a hint of understatement in them, something that lets you know that he’s aware of his ex girlfriend’s burning stare; his protective side kicking in, yet still making you question the matter even more.

You bet he did it to soothe you. You can even clearly read his intentions in the warm smile he sends you when he squeezes your side, hugging you closer to himself, but the more you’re aware of his burning palm on your flesh, the more uncertain you become, the less engaged in the conversation you get, and the more uncomfortable you feel under the orange lights of the living room.

“Wanna go outside? I’m pretty sure they have a karaoke machine there, if you wanna play,” you feel Renjun whisper into your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin, the hint of vodka in it supporting your earlier claims and that he was at least a little tipsy after all. 

Nonetheless, you nod and find him leading you outside, not before you turn around to look at Yunjin for one last time, though, seeing clear jealousy shading her expression; making you wonder if you were invited just because she was too, and if you just fulfilled your designated role for the night.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” you ask, looking at your companion as the two of you sit on the stairs outside of the university building, your bags carelessly placed at your feet. It’s getting quite dark out, the winter days still being insanely short even though it’s the middle of February and spring is slowly approaching the town. The two of you had worked on your assignment in the library before Renjun told you that he has to wait for his friends Jeno and Donghyuck to pick him up, since they are meeting up with their friends from high school, their friend group living out of town requiring the two of them to take a drive there.

“Of course not,” Renjun shakes his head, “I offered to drop you off, so why would I mind?” 

“What about your friends–”

“If they have anything against it, I’ll make sure to choke them, so don’t worry about that,” Renjun softly laughs at his own joke, trying to ease you. Still, there’s something inside of you that makes the atmosphere heavy and thick, having you crack your knuckles as you sit in silence, chewing on your bottom lip from nerves.

“What’s up? You’ve been acting weird lately,” Renjun hums, looking at you from his place on your left. 

You tried hard to mask your hesitance, especially because you think the worries inside of you are stupid, but you can’t help but feel a hint of discomfort whenever you think of Jisung’s birthday party. Sure, you had a great time– his friends were nice to you, Hyuck even dramatically sang a song at the karaoke with you when Renjun got tired, the two of you taking shots together when you were done. You danced with Renjun after, the music keeping you close, and when you got tired, he walked you home. Everything felt normal between you– except from the weird closeness and occasional touches he sent your way– but you presume that was the effect of alcohol, so you didn’t ponder on it that much.

The eyes of his ex girlfriend on you the whole evening is what made you feel a bit itsy about the situation, and even though there was no hint that would further prove your previous claims, you can’t help but think about Huh Yunjin from time to time, and that’s what makes you feel at least a bit awkward about the whole thing.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you say, trying to play it off.

“Come on,” Renjun sighs, “tell me. Is it something I did?”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes at his insisting. The shift in dynamic is ironical, to say the least– 4 months ago, he wouldn’t care about what was making you feel so down, he wouldn’t even care about you walking home from university alone in the darkness of the evening hours, but now, the crease between his brows almost makes him look worried about you, and you can’t say you hate it– even though in this moment, you’d rather have him not care at all.

“Okay, so I’ll just play a guessing game, then,” he scoffs, humming, lost in thought. “You’ve been weird since the party. Something happened there?” 

“No,” you disagree, tone of voice almost sounding desperate and harrowing, not really wanting him to keep asking about the reasoning behind your mood.

“Okay, so that’s a yes. Did someone make you feel uncomfortable? Do I need to beat somebody up? Oh god, was it Hyuck? That fucker said something to you, right? I’m gonna lock him out of the apartment, I swear to god–”

“It wasn’t Hyuck,” you giggle at his outrage, deciding to save his roommate’s life.

“It wasn’t?” he asks, seemingly genuinely surprised, expecting his devilish roommate to be the reason behind all the bad things in the world. “Okay, so it must have been me, no? What did I do?” 

Sighing and shaking your head in disbelief at his insistence, you grunt. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jun, can you just stop asking?” you say, the nickname rolling of your tongue automatically, without much thinking. 

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you. It does nothing to help you relax or feel better about the situation, but at least you think Renjun finally dropped the topic and won’t ask you about it again. You’d rather have the ground swallow you whole than to admit what’s been bugging you, especially when it’s Renjun himself you’re talking to about the matter.

You were, once again, wrong in your assumptions. Renjun did not drop the topic– no, he just took his sweet time to hit the nail on the head.

“Was it because of Yunjin?” 

The question opens a pit in your stomach, the embarrassment creeping out of your body and making you heat up not helping your case. Hands clammy as you shake your head and gesture, trying to prove your disagreement with the question to the best of your abilities– but only making yourself look stupid and like you’re trying too hard– your words come out weirdly high-pitched, only further proving Renjun’s point.

“No, it– it’s not that, I– I–”

Renjun scoffs at you, shaking his head. “It’s okay. Did she– did she make you feel uncomfortable? I know she’s been staring a lot the whole evening, I’m sorry about that…”

His words do a little to comfort you. You wouldn’t say you were perfectly fine with the fact that he knows that it was his ex girlfriend that’s been on your mind the past few days– because you two aren’t dating, and realistically, this shouldn’t matter to you– but his understanding eyes bearing into yours make you calm down a little when you sigh and avert your gaze, chewing on the inside of your cheek before you speak back up again.

“It’s okay,” you hum, “I– It was expected, I guess?”

Renjun hums, eyes focusing somewhere into the unknown. Picking at the skin on your cuticles, you think the conversation is over and you’ve done a good job at playing it off, half of your worries now soothed, but Renjun is a man full of surprises, it seems, when he looks at you again, licking his lips in hesitance.

“But that’s not all, is it?” he asks, but he gets no answer from you. It doesn’t matter– your silence is enough of a conformation. “Look, I didn’t… I didn’t invite you to make her jealous, or anything, if that’s what’s running through that brain of yours, okay? I didn’t even know she would be there.”

Blinking a few times at him, not expecting him to read you so well, you let out the breath you didn’t even know you’ve been holding, nodding at his reassuring words. “Oh…”

“I invited you because I thought you’d have fun… and because I kind of wanted you there. And so did Hyuck, actually, he thinks you’re his platonic soulmate, or something–” the man rambles, explaining his intentions to you, the frantic words coming out of his mouth making you giggle. Relief washes over his face at that, noticing the ease in the atmosphere, his hand gently squeezing your knee when your laughs get quiet. “Everything’s good now?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “thanks. It was silly, but– you know,” you shrug, awkwardly grinning to yourself.

“Yeah,” he sighs out, looking back in front of him, the moment of silent sincerity between the two of you having him open up to you, “it wasn’t like that. me and her… it wasn’t quite the same for a while, you know? Like, I knew it was over before it really happened, but nonetheless, I didn’t expect her to… to do what she did to end it.”

You hum, not really knowing what words you could offer him to console him. Not really wanting to ask any more questions, you wait for him to talk by himself, to assure you’re not insensitive or prying too much. You’ll let him tell you how much he wants, and you’ll silently thank him for the trust he has in you when holding up his feelings to you on a silver platter, naked and vulnerable for you to see and examine. 

“It’s like… I wanted to end it, but not with her cheating on me. That– that hurt more than the actual break up, I think. And maybe it shouldn’t matter, because I wasn’t in love with her anymore anyway, but it still… left a scar, I think,” he hums, and by the way he plays with his fingers in his lap, you can tell he didn’t expect himself to open up to you like this– maybe this is the first time he’s even sharing this with anyone, and the urge to protect him and his heart is suddenly stronger than ever before, even though it’s been somewhere there, deep inside of you, all along.

“That’s valid,” you say, “nobody deserves that to happen to them, no matter how your relationship looked at the time. You were still together, and she shouldn’t have done that,” you mumble, hoping to provide comfort to him, but also hoping your words aren’t unwelcome at this very moment.

The blonde looks at you, an appreciative smile appearing on his face. “Thanks,” he says. There’s nothing to thank you for, you think, but perhaps those are the words he needed to hear for a while now. Perhaps your sentences just mended something in him, perhaps you were the voice that finally made him admit that what he’s been feeling about the situation wasn’t stupid or irrational.

In a moment of weakness, a selfish masochism, even, you let out a prying sentence slip out of your lips– a sentence that could hurt you, have you not been prepared for the outcome. And maybe you were going too far, maybe you should’ve stayed quiet, but you can’t turn back time and the words were already spoken. “Do you ever miss her?” 

Renjun thinks for a while– a heartbeat of a second that makes you feel like you’re falling into a deep abyss– before he shakes his head. “Not really. Not her, I don’t miss her. I think that sometimes, I just miss what we had, but… that’s long gone.”

Humming indifferently, you accept his response in a quiet solace. 

You don’t know where this conversation brings you, but you bet it’s a step in some direction.

After a while, with Renjun’s head soundly resting on your shoulder when the silence gets too long, yet a comforting aura still shades the two of you sitting at the stairs, there’s a black Ford Fiesta honking at the parking lot, the two of you jumping to your feet. The boy drags you to the backseat, your bags hitting the floor of the vehicle, as Jeno looks back at you from the front, smiling at you with moon crescents in his eyes.

“Hello!”

“Hi,” you breathe out.

“Is Y/N tagging along?” Hyuck gasps from the passenger’s seat, turning towards you two, a face of a pleasant surprise written all over his face. You know what, maybe Renjun was right and you and his roommate are platonic soulmates of some sort. Or at least that’s how Lee Donghyuck’s been acting ever since the day he met you.

“I’m not,” you giggle, shaking your head in disapproval.

“Jeno, can you drop Y/N off at her apartment?” Renjun hums, and suddenly, the previous worries leave you as soon as the tall man nods and tells you to navigate him to your place. There was no reason why you’d be rejected by Renjun’s friends– for more reasons than one, you just aren’t aware of them yet.

The ride to your apartment is filled with laughter. Squinting at your project partner sitting next to you at the back of the car, you notice that he’s glowing brightly in the reflections of the lampposts shining through the windows of the car, a stolen galaxy swirling in his eyes when your eyes meet when you pay your goodbyes to the guys while getting off at your driveway a few minutes later.

And it’s quite funny. You don’t even live that far.

–

Clapping when your favorite writer completes the little interactive Q&A at the local library on a Monday afternoon– all throughout you didn’t have any courage to ask any questions yourself, even though you had plenty– you stand up from your place at one of the little, lanky folding chairs in the back of the room and smooth your hands over the skirt of your dress, getting the creases out. You’ve learned a lot about the author today– all from how she started writing, what inspired her to write your most favorite novel, and where she finds her inspiration for writing. You have a lot of information, yet, you still bet you could master more questions, if you were to do an interview with her– you wouldn’t even have to try as hard. 

Reading is one of your passions, it’s something that brought you to the love you have for writing, and although you didn’t stick with fiction for long, finding that the world building and creating plot and characters got boring for you after a while, you found your love for writing shining through when you type articles; making sure your headlines are captivating, that your articles are well-structured and bring something new to the table. It’s a completely different branch– some would say a less creative one– but it’s undeniable that the love for it started in you when you first started reading books, when you were little, in the quiet and comfort of your room.

Glancing back at Renjun, the boy follows you like a lost puppy (you bet it’s his first time at the library, despite him owning quite a few books himself– you noticed so while examining his room one time and found classics in his bookshelf), he offers you a soft smile, nudging you to keep walking. There’s a line forming towards the head of the room, where the writer is still sitting, numbers of passionate readers and fans of her work waiting to get their books signed. There’s a little stand in the middle of the far right wall, containing numerous books written by the person currently sitting in the same room, breathing the same air as you two, and you don’t hesitate to buy the latest one, the one you haven’t had the chance to read yet, with the intention of getting it signed.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Renjun asks, standing close to you and pointing towards the stacks of books on the stand.

“That one,” you hum, bringing his attention to the paperback cover at the very corner of the stand, watching as the man takes it into his hands and flips it over, reading through the summary. He looks like one of those Pinterest boards you’d title ‘Dark academia’ with a series of emojis that fit the ‘aesthetic’, with his plaid coat layered on top of a knitted, light brown sweater, the blonde fringe slightly falling into his eyes. 

“I’ll get this one, then,” he looks at one of the ladies behind the stand, smiling at her as he gets his wallet out.

“Don’t you want the latest one?”

“Nah,” he shrugs, smiling at the lady once again when the book is back in his hold, paid for and now in his ownership. His eyes are back at you when he offers you the explanation. “You said you liked this one, so I wanna try it. And you don’t know if the latest one is any good, so at least I’ve heard a good review on this one and don’t have to be afraid of buying a shitty book,” he snickers, making you roll your eyes at the tone of his voice, but still, there’s a little man in your brain screaming at the top of his lungs– screeching, even– at the action, the gears in your brain turning faster and faster as you let yourself indulge and overthink his words. He bought it because it’s your favorite– so he said– and in a split second of delusion, it doesn’t matter to you if it was just because he wanted to be sure the book is good, or if it was just him wanting to read your favorite book as a way of learning more about you.

“As if any of her books could be bad,” you mumble, moving slowly through the line. You’re the last ones waiting for the autograph, and while there’s still a lot of people in front of you, you can’t help but feel a little nervous at the promise of an interaction with the author.

“Well, you can never really know. Everyone has bad days.”

Snickering at his argument, you shake your head in disbelief and move a few steps forward again. You’ve taken a few photographs of the library while you were sitting and listening to the talk; a few of the author– to capture the nice memory– and some of the interior as well, showcasing the numerous shelves filled with books of different genres that the library provides. Still, you take the camera into your hands again, taking a few more– you were sure to get permission from the smiley and welcoming librarians when you arrived– trying to capture the atmosphere and the heartwarming aura of it all. A little selfishly, for your own memory, you turn to your companion and point the lens towards him, seeing as he poses with the book, acting a little silly when you take the picture, and when he breaks into an amused grin after, you take another one– a moment captured in time, his toothy laugh on full display. When you look at the picture again, your heart warms up a little at the image. Maybe you could get it printed out and add it to your memory book alongside the pictures you have from your first university parties and moving into the new apartment with Jimin– just so you have something to look back to.

Soon enough, you reach the front of the room, your bodies only a few steps away from the author. When the last guests in front of you leave, paying their goodbyes, you take a step forward with a little sigh, trying to encourage yourself and also calm down the erratic beating of your heart, ready to face the idol you’ve been looking up to since you were 11. With Renjun on your side, you put on your most picture-worthy smile, clammy hands offering the book to the writer when you reach the long table, choking on your words.

“Hello,” you greet, not really knowing what to say. You would be lying if you said you didn’t rehearse this in your brain seventy different times ever since you talked with Renjun about going to the library last week, trying to make up the perfect scenario and find the best words to use when you finally meet her, but in this very moment, the whole script flies through the window and you’re left silent and hesitant, heat rising to your cheeks when you can’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Hello,” you hear Renjun greet shortly after you, bumping into you a little with his hip when he stumbles to the table, seemingly more calm than you, trying to save the day, “my name’s Huang Renjun,” he says, and you want to kick him in his shin– because who even does that? Who tells their full name to a stranger, an author he’s never heard of before actually attending this meet and greet, acting as if he was an old friend of hers, meeting the famous writer after a long time? You almost thought he’d save you from the embarrassment and lead the way, from the way he approached her, but after hearing those words come out of his mouth, you almost go to scold him for his behavior.

To your surprise, though, the writer’s eyes widen in what seems to be realization, nodding to herself. “So you must be Y/N!” she says, looking back at you, a welcoming smile appearing on her lips. 

“I- I-” you stutter, suddenly feeling really confused. Is this a dream? Are you asleep? Or is your favorite writer suddenly a psychic too? What are you missing?

“Yeah! She’s just a little nervous right now,” he grins, taking a short look at you before he turns back to the author, “so… I take it as you haven’t changed your mind about the interview?”

“Not at all! I’m actually really happy to hear that students are taking interest in my writing and that they want to interview me,” she says, quickly signing your books on the front pages, offering them back to you, “I usually don’t give interviews just to anyone– you know, it would get a little too busy if I did that– but your passion really caught my attention.It reminds me of myself when I was your age… Just give me a few seconds, I have a phone call to make right now, but after I’m done, I’m all yours!” 

“Of course!” Renjun nods, watching as the author stands up from the table and disappears in one of the back rooms, seemingly to take care of the call. Turning back to you, still finding you dumbfounded from the interaction, he can’t help but let out an amused laugh. “Are you okay over there?”

“I- What-” you stutter, shaking your head as if to make your brain reboot, dragging your hand through your hair to get it out of your face, “how did you even manage to- she doesn’t even-” you fail to create coherent sentences, shock and surprise overshadowing your otherwise good choice of vocabulary, confusion spreading over your face like a shadow.

“I have my ways,” he shrugs nonchalantly, as if this was the easiest thing to accomplish, once again breaking into a grin when he sees your stoic face, “maybe try to smile a little? She might think you’re terrified of her if you keep frowning like that.”

“I am,” you mumble, still not quite comprehending the situation.

Rolling his eyes at you, he snickers. “Come on,” he says, “I bet you have plenty of questions for her up in that brain of yours,” he points to the middle of your forehead, shaking his head at your frozen figure.

“I do, but-” you mumble, catching yourself mid-sentence, “how did you even-” the words stream out your mouth, a puzzled expression not leaving your face.

“You can thank me later. Now focus on your job,” he says, turning you by your shoulders and pushing you a little towards the author that has now emerged out of the back room, a welcoming glint in her eye when her eyes land at the two aspiring journalists.

On that Monday afternoon, with sweaty palms and tongue-tied as you stutter out the curious questions, making an interview for your imaginary magazine, you learn that contrary to the popular demand, Huang Renjun is quite full of surprises. 

The longer you know Renjun, the more you hang out without the purpose of working on your assignment together. Truth be told, you started working on it pretty early into the semester, and while others were now aimlessly pulling all nighters to complete the magazine, you and Renjun were pretty much done with it already by now, since you forced the man to start working on it as soon as it was possible. He didn’t say it out loud, but you can tell he was thankful for that– it would kill the both of you if you had to focus on the project now, when exam season is slowly, but surely in reach and you’ll have to start studying soon.

It was a little awkward at first– you still remember the first time you watched Netflix with him in the silence of his apartment, with his mood very apparently below zero– starting with the two of you taking breaks in between working on your assignment, talking about the latest episodes of the anime you two have, coincidentally, chosen to watch at the same time; later progressing into full on sessions of gossip with his roommate Donghyuck joining the two of you at the comfortable couch. You’d say your friendship started a little this way, with you and Renjun running to the convenience store when you ran out of snacks in the middle of your study sessions and the two of you randomly laughing at something in your Journalism class, earning yourself scolding looks from the professor. It was unexpected, but you grew familiar with the antics, flowing through the days together, filling the boring days with texts full of TikTok links and Donghyuck sending you random pictures of your project partner all zoomed in on Snapchat. You even invited Renjun over a few times, Jimin accepting the new man in the comfort of your home when she realized he’s not as bad as he used to be before, as you ate up all of your snacks this time around instead, having impromptu karaoke sessions in your room, trying to quiz each other on the lyrics of your top tracks of the last year on Spotify. 

Everything felt casual, growing more in tune with the man he was, learning his antics and all about his character. You quickly learned that when he’s feeling down, he gets a little snappy– a bad habit you made him recognise and try to eliminate, at least when you’re around. You found out that when he’s nervous, he bites his nails, and you choose to slap his palms from the proximity of his lips whenever you catch him in the act. When he’s annoyed– much like when you prevent him from the action of gnawing at his fingernails until the skin around them  bleeds– he rolls his eyes and sighs, sometimes even shakes his head at you in disapproval. He looks adorable while doing so, but to save both of you the embarrassment, you’d never tell him out loud.

And you’d even dare to say he learns about you too. He’s an observing individual, and you’d even argue that he cares about you at least a little. For one, he’s not rude towards you anymore, the way he was when you two first started talking, and also, he shows his affection towards you in the most Renjun ways possible. He’d argue that he’s not good with words, but he’s always there to affirm you with them in his true love language whenever you’re stressed or overwhelmed with responsibilities. He also remembers your favorite drinks and snacks, opting to save them for you whenever you come by his place, and even slipping some into your bag before you leave his apartment. He’s a caring individual, a big hearted man, delicate in all directions.

You believe it’s impossible not to fall for him at least a little. Not when you really know him– the way you do, from up close, in his most joyful moments and the ones where he tries to battle you away when the ghosts in his brain try to make him shelter himself away from everyone too.

But you wouldn’t tell him that. Never in a thousand years.

“I hate all this fucking snow,” you tell him instead, when you walk by his side with your groceries in hand, the tips of your fingers brittled from the cold. “Why is it even snowing in the first place, it’s the end of February, for fuck’s sake!” 

The two of you decided to go for a grocery run together, and while some would say it’s not a fun activity to do, you think you like experiencing mundane things with your close ones the most. If you enjoy someone’s company, you truly do not care what you do together– you always go pick up packages from the post with Jimin, or drive your little sibling to the store when you’re back home, even though the action itself doesn’t provide you any conventionally ‘fun’ experiences, most of these are a fond memory in your brain, because you got to spend time with someone you love. It’s the same right now– even though it’s snowing heavily and you can’t feel your feet from the cold– you went to buy groceries with Renjun when he texted you about it, realizing you could buy some things you ran out of as well, opting to walk there together.

“I thought you liked winter?” he snickers, seeing your grumpy expression. 

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you said you hated summer,” he says, matter of factly, making you giggle to mask the warmth spreading on your insides from the knowledge that he remembers the random fact you once told him when you were working on your project together.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I like winter either,” you say, shrugging.

“Do you even like anything?”

“No,” you shake your head, totally serious before you burst into laughter, “kidding. I like spring,” you smile at him, eloquently, shuffling your legs along the snowed-in ground, moving closer to the campus, near to where you both live.

“I like spring too, actually.”

“Because your birthday’s in spring?” you snicker, teasing him.

“Maybe,” he admits, laughing with you. “No, but I think spring’s neat for a number of reasons. It always feels… like a new beginning, perhaps? After months of silence, you can finally hear the chirping of birds in the morning, and the sun sets later too, so the days feel longer…” he says, and you find yourself observing him, admiring the love he has for the season.

“Exactly,” you nod, pointing your gaze towards the ground when you notice that he caught you staring, embarrassment creeping up your back before you shudder from the cold, heavy snowflakes falling on top of your head, drenching your freshly washed locks and making your cheeks burn with cold. You can’t remember the last time it snowed so hard– you were in for a couple of warm winters for the last couple of years– and as much as you hate to admit it because of your noticeable aversion towards winter, you must say it looks quite magical.

“Look, I know you hate winter, but you do have windows in your flat, right?” he jokes, making you roll your eyes at the nagging you know you’re about to hear. “Maybe look out of them before you go out, so you could dress for the weather the next time.”

“Very funny,” you snicker, “I’ll let you know, it wasn’t snowing when I was getting ready.”

“Okay then, maybe start using the weather app. It’s great if you want to know how cold it really is outside, and you’re quite good with technology, so maybe you could-”

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, but feel yourself grinning at the teasing.

The man lets out a sigh– a habit of frustration he does a lot whenever you’re around– before you feel him tugging something onto the top of your head, your ears suddenly shielded by soft fabric. Looking up at your companion in shock, you notice that the beanie that had been sitting on his head until now is covering yours instead; and although you appreciate the gesture with a giddy clench on your insides, you find yourself protesting.

“Jun! You’ll get cold,” you pout.

“Okay, but so will you, and as far as I’m concerned, I have more layers on than you right now, so you need it more than me,” he shrugs, all nonchalant, making you hesitantly smile at him and shut up, keeping the warm wool over your head. 

Next time, you’ll look at the weather app to save your heart some trouble. 

Or maybe you won’t.

Walking closer to your apartment complex, naturally accepting the fact that Renjun decided to walk you home– or just hasn’t realized he’s doing so yet– you fall into comfortable conversation, mostly consisting of you complaining and Renjun finding your tangent amusing.

“My groceries will get all wet! Fucking hell, Renjun…”

“I didn’t force you to come,” he laughs.

“Well, but you have the weather app, as opposed to me, so maybe you could’ve predicted the fact that it was going to snow soon,” you pout, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“And if I did?” 

“Then why’d you drag me out?” you huff, nearing the steps that lead up towards the front door of your building, being careful not to slip on them as you stand on the first one, towering above the man that takes his position opposite of you while you say your goodbyes. 

“Okay, next time get your groceries alone, if you’re just gonna complain the whole way,” he giggles at your fake offendance, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. Snowflakes settle on the tops of his cheekbones, the rosy tint in his face taking your breath away, something in his eyes captivating you and hypnotizing you into doing things you would’ve never dared to do as you reach out towards his hair, now wet from the snow that manages to melt away on his body, brushing your hand through the locks.

“It’s gotten so long,” you muse, “the blonde’s all grown out now.”

He hums, the eye contact making you heat up despite the coldness that’s been trying to seep into your bones. “Maybe I should dye it back to black, then.”

Grinning, you shrug as your hand escapes his scalp. “Yeah,” you nod, “maybe you should.”

“It’s a plan, then,” he says before he grins, poking you in your forehead with his pointer finger as he takes a step back from you, heading towards the direction of his apartment. “I’ll text you,” he adds.

Paying your goodbyes to him, you stumble inside and reach your flat, your whole body on fire even though you’ve been freezing until now as you take off your wet shoes and tug the borrowed beanie from your head. Putting away the groceries, you wonder if there’s a significance in his decision, if the change of hair is the same as the reason why he loves spring; if new things are beginning, or if you’ve just tricked yourself into falling for him too hard.

“You have to mix it together with this first!” Renjun whines, sitting at the edge of the bathtub as he watches you open the box dye you bought together at the drugstore a few hours ago, pointing his finger at the white pack containing the mixing solution.

“Oh,” you mumble, clammy hands flying around and trying to read the instructions instead, too worried to mess up again and accidentally burn Renjun’s hair off. After a few moments of you silently turning the big sheet of paper around in all directions, you hear your companion snicker under his breath, standing up from his position at the edge of the bathtub and mixing the dye with the solution in a little plastic container he got from under the sink himself instead.

“Let me do it,” he shakes his head, “didn’t know you were this useless.”

“If you didn’t want me here, you could’ve just said so,” you put the instruction paper down, crossing your arms on your chest as you take a step back and look at him with an offended pout, watching as he gets everything ready. His hair is sticking all over the place and the shirt he has on is stained with bleach– you suspect he wore this exact outfit a few months ago when he dyed his hair blonde– the fabric hanging loosely down his shoulders. 

“I’m perfectly capable of dying my hair on my own, if you didn’t notice,” he says, “me wanting you here is the sheer reason for your presence.”

Heart skipping a beat at the sentence, masking it off with a fakely annoyed sigh, you watch him take a seat back at the edge of the bathtub when he’s done, motioning for you to take matters into your hands and start dying his hair. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“I’ll do so just to spite you,” you argue back, taking the plastic container with the dye into your hand and standing close to Renjun, parting his hair down the middle as you get the chemical-smelling mixture into his growing locks. Focused on the task at hand, trying really hard not to get the dye all over the place, you almost get lost in the motion of playing with his hair and pay too much attention to each section, your touch gentle not to tug at his hair. It  makes you not notice the way you’re suddenly standing in between Renjun’s opened legs, your skin covered by fabrics of sweatpants touching.

His head suddenly moves, making you almost dye his whole forehead black, when he plops a gummy worm into his mouth and regains his previous position. 

“Stop moving or else it’s gonna look bad!” you scowl, frustrated with the fact that he made you lose your focus.

“Want a gummy worm?” he asks, looking up at you with an innocent smile instead– as if to make you forget all about his actions from before– and you reward him with an annoyed shake of your head that shows him disapproval which he seemingly chooses to ignore as he reaches into the pack of gummies again and holds one up to your lips, fingertips brushing against the skin of your mouth making you feel heat in your cheeks. You didn’t want a gummy worm, but with the proximity of his hand to your face and the starry gaze he offers you when you meet his eyes, you don’t hesitate to take the gummy into your mouth and chew on the candy, earning yourself a satisfied smile.

Turning towards his hair again, the last few strands left undyed waiting for your attention, the man suddenly squeezes your thigh, making you wince. “How is it going up there?”

“Good,” you choke out, suddenly hyper aware of his hand resting on the skin of your leg, as if to hold you in place, his other hand working almost on auto-pilot as he completes the symmetry and grazes your other thigh, his touch on you so gentle you could almost miss it if you didn’t pay enough attention.

“If it’s patchy, I’m blaming you and not the dye,” he teases, drumming against your leg with his fingers, each little gesture making you less and less focused on his hair and more on the way his eyelashes fan over his cheekbones from above, biting down hard on your lip to keep yourself from making any sound close to frustration or the sound of perhaps losing your mind. 

“Well then, maybe you shouldn’t have bought the cheapest one.”

“I’m staying on budget,” he says, making you snicker.

Forcing yourself to focus back onto his hair, you finally complete your task of dying the man’s hair back to its original color. Taking a step back from him and putting the plastic container onto the sink, you start to miss the feeling of his hand on your skin; his hair slicked back by the dye makes him look oddly amusing, though, so you let a grin slip out at the sight of your companion sitting at the edge of the bathtub like a scolded child, his legs outstretched right in front of him and a pack of gummy worms once again firmly gripped in the palm of his hand.

After cleaning up the mess you’ve made on the bathroom sink, with Renjun singing to himself as he put up a timer on his phone for 20 minutes, you find yourself in his kitchen, walking around and finding a pot in which you could cook some ramen for dinner. It’s getting quite late and it’s rare that you find yourself alone in Renjun’s apartment with him, his roommate finally getting out after the dreaded exam season to celebrate, and you can’t help but find the domesticity of sharing his space with him– although this is not the first time– overtake you in a deep feeling of intimacy.

Stirring the noodles around with a fork you found in one of the drawers, listening to the low hums of Renjun singing in the bathroom as he cleans up the skin on his forehead and behind his ears with a wet cotton pad, you wonder how you managed to get used to this– how you even managed to find yourself in the presence of Huang Renjun so often, after only hearing about him from gossip around the school halls and hating his presence when you first had to work with him. It’s ironic, but you don’t hate it quite as much as you would think. 

“You’re making ramen?” he asks as he finally reaches the kitchen, big eyes full of thankfulness meeting yours when he notices you getting out some plates to transfer the meal into, since you’re close to being done.

Humming in agreement, you see him lean on the kitchen counter from the corner of your eye, a satisfied smile reaching his lips. “I should invite you over more often.”

“I’m here like twice a week, Jun,” you mumble, focused on not spilling the meal all over the place.

“Well, if it means you’ll cook all the time, you can even move in, if you want to” he jokes, making you shake your head in disbelief as you take the plates and move them to the coffee table you are so used to sitting at by now, since the boys don’t really have a dining table in their apartment, making them (and sometimes you joining) eat all the meals at the coffee table, sitting on the ground.

“And where would I sleep? On the couch? No, thank you,” you shake your head, digging into the noodles and blowing on them to make them cool faster.

“I’ll kick Hyuck out, so you can have his room,” he mumbles in between bites, following you. 

“So you just want me to be your maid, got it,” you nod.

“That’s not what I said,” he looks at you with offense, before digging into the noodles again, mumbling under his nose before taking a bite, “although you would look nice in a maid dress-”

Kicking him in the leg, seeing as he chokes up on the food from laughing, you shake your head in disbelief at his antics. You think it’s the hair dye getting to his brain, so when his timer goes off in a few minutes after you’re both done with the food, you thank god for bringing you out of your misery. 

Listening to the sound of the shower as he washes the hair dye off, you take it upon yourself to clean up the dishes. You’d feel bad for leaving a mess in his kitchen, and you also think it’s a nice thing to do. It only takes a few minutes before he’s out of the bathroom again, hair damply sitting on his forehead, his figure twirling like a ballerina– reminding you of the way you did little fashion shows for your father whenever you came home from shopping with your mum– waiting for what you have to say about his new look, although in true reality, he looks just the same as a few months ago. 

“Does it look good?”

“I can’t tell ‘cause it’s wet,” you say, squinting your eyes at the mess on his head, “go blow dry it.”

“Fuck no,” he shakes his head, protesting, “I hate blow drying my hair.”

“Why? I can’t tell if it’s patchy this way,” you say.

“My hands get tired and I get bored and I just really don’t enjoy the experience,” he simply states, and he wins– whether this was his intention or not– as you drag him back to the bathroom and get out of him where he keeps the blow dryer, plugging it in and moving to do it for him. 

There it is again– that funny feeling in your stomach as you move your hands through his hair, brushing his bangs away from his forehead as you blow dry his locks. The feeling makes you weak in your knees as you look at the boy who now has his eyes closed, seemingly enjoying the motion of your fingers threading through his freshly dyed strands, and when you finally turn the device off and watch him open his eyes, looking at you half-lidded and seemingly a little tired, you once again notice his hands on your thighs as he sits at the bathtub, although now the touch is more firm, pulling you close to him. 

“Are you happy now that your hair is black?” you find yourself asking, your eyes bearing into him as you reference the dialogue you two had when he dyed his hair blonde, when you two didn’t know each other well just yet and he told you the wishful secret of wanting to have more fun as a blonde since he was sad when his hair was black. 

His smile looks a little drunk, despite the both of you being completely sober as he replies, acting as if he was getting tipsy off your proximity and gentle touch. “My hair’s black because I’m happy, not the other way around,” he mumbles, your eyes momentarily drifting to his pretty lips as he talks, their rosy plumpiness making it hard for you to unstuck your gaze from the curve of his smile and focus on other features of his face.

“Good,” you nod, your hands finding their place at his shoulders, almost going for a hug, but never really completing the action. 

“So how do I look?” he asks again, your conversation growing quiet in the intimate atmosphere, voices not wanting to interrupt the calm, yet tense harbor. 

Examining him, you find yourself once again attracted to the boy you see in front of you. He looks exactly like he did before his break-up– yet now, you’d argue and say he looks even better; healthier and more radiant, his features gentle, hair a little longer and his smile reminding you of an angel. Humming to yourself, you brush your hands through his black strands again, letting yourself indulge in your growing feelings for the man for just a second, before the moment is gone. “Really pretty,” you mumble, watching as his smile grows for a mere second before his eyes drift from yours down to your lips, making you forget how to breathe.

Your hands continue to get lost in his hair as you stare at each other for a while, silence in the bathroom making you listen in on each other’s breathing, before your brain fails you and you let yourself operate on auto-pilot, leaning down to his face, surprised to see him meet you in the middle. You kiss him as if you’ve been waiting ages to do so, your lips molding in with his in a perfect harmony, firm, yet still unmistakably gentle contact making you shiver. 

It feels like a century before you pull away, ready to face the consequences of your actions, when he captures your lips in another kiss, drunk on the action. Feeling him standing up from the edge of the bathtub and moving his hands to firmly grip your waist before he walks you backwards against the tiled wall, the coldness of it mixing with the heat spreading across your body makes you gasp into the kiss and invite his tongue into your mouth.

Your hands fall from his hair and find their way around his neck, tugging him close, while one of his gentle palms rests on your jaw, angling your face in a way that lets him take control and have you even closer, two bodies seeking each other’s presence.

“Renjun…” you gasp when his lips move away from yours, leaving kisses down your jaw, slowly reaching the delicate skin of your neck and the conjunction of your shoulder. 

He hums into your skin, a cold hand sneaking under the hem of your shirt making you wince, all of his actions making your senses hyper aware to the touch and feeling of his lips pressed against you, especially when he finds the sweet spot behind your ear and makes you squirm under him, the feeling of his smile against your skin turning you crazy.

Finding yourself tugging his face back to yours, taking back his lips, his hand travels up your side, leaving goosebumps all over your skin with the cold motions of his fingertips, you shiver under his caring, yet teasing touch. The kiss feels as if it’s one step away from heaven, letting out a satisfied sound when he softly brushes the underside of your breast.

Pressing him closer against you, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his neck, you feel him hard against your thigh, neediness overtaking you as you lightly move against him, hearing him choke out a breath. “Is- is this okay?” he asks, voice not louder than a whisper before you continue with your motions, answering with your actions before using your words, breathing growing quicker with the way the friction makes you feel.

“More than okay with me,” you mumble, seemingly encouraging him as he presses you firmer against the tiled wall, helping you guide your desperate movements. Foreheads pressed against each other, breathing mixing in the silent room, you can’t seem to find it in you to stop, completely losing yourself in him and in the way he makes you feel, selfishly chasing down release from all the butterflies and electric stares he’s been sending your way.

Grunting when you press up against him in a way that sends sparks down his spine, his hand reaches up under your thigh, almost on the skin of your butt, holding up your leg to make more room and get you even closer to him, before he heaves out a sigh. “Let’s go to my room?” he asks hastily before you nod and let him plop you up against his figure with your legs entangled around his middle, escaping the cold tiles of the bathroom and walking over to the his room smelling of fresh laundry detergent and vanilla, soft sheets enveloping your body when he lightly drops you into his mattress.

A giggle escapes your lips at the contact of your body with the bed, earning yourself a playful roll of Renjun’s eyes as he leans over you, plopping himself up on one elbow above you, caging you in his embrace. Maintaining eye contact with him, blissful smiles stretching on your lips, you almost think the moment is over, but he quickly brings you back to the neediness you felt before as he leans in again, kissing you painfully slowly while his hand reaches under the hem of your shirt, letting his palm travel against your body. His actions make you shiver as his fingertips softly tickle your side, moving towards the dip of your waist, then back up across your stomach as he traces mindless shapes against your skin, occasionally letting himself travel up towards the fabric of your bra. Cupping one of your breasts into his hand, you let out a soft grunt when he squeezes the flesh softly enough to make you yearn for more.

Mirroring his actions, your hand moves under his loose shirt, hypnotized by the heat of his flesh. Enveloped in his warmth and the smell of him in his bedsheets, you let yourself roam up his abdomen, embracing the way his muscles jolt a little under your touch, before your hand settles onto his back, fingertips dancing up and down his spine.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles, making you break into a blissful smile, before his hand lazily dips down your belly, seeking approval in your eyes, “can I?” 

Nodding, afraid of seeming a little too eager– although maybe he would welcome that with open arms– you feel his fingertips messily dragging down the waistband of your sweatpants a little by little, leaving you in front of him only in your underwear, his lips swallowing your sighs when he hesitantly brushes his thumb against your clit. 

His movements get more confident as he adds more pressure, making you let out a few more muffled sounds he welcomes with a cocky smile, demeanor shifting as he presses a wet kiss against your cheek when he drags your underwear down and gets back to where he was before, but now acting more gently– as if the contact of your bare core with his fingers made him afraid you’re gonna break in his hold. Softly nudging your thighs, opening up your legs and softly tracing his pointer finger down your slit, he makes your cheeks flush from the contact and the feeling of air against your naked bottom half.

He doesn’t say much as he tests the waters, dragging his digits along your folds, examining your reaction when he circles your sensitive bud and sees you crumble under his touch. Your hands grip his pearl white sheets, not really knowing what to do to ground yourself back to reality, the man above you finally finding enough courage in him to insert one finger, then two inside of you, watching you react to his actions.

“Feels good,” escapes your lips, and truthfully, you didn’t even catch yourself saying it. It left your mouth on itself, your tone a little fragile but full of eagerness, wanting more– and seemingly understanding, he moves inside you with more reason now, hitting the right spot that makes your eyebrows crease and your breathing hitch in your throat.

“There?” he asks, as if to tease you. In any other circumstance, you’d find it in you to bark back something full of sarcasm and irony, but now, vulnerable and sensitive to his every move, you only nod eagerly and meet his eyes which are now clouded with lust, a view you’ve never experienced before, but welcome with undeniable curiosity.

Angling his fingers inside of you just the way you need them, you quickly feel yourself reaching your high, one of your hands flying to his forearm as if to let him know or warn him, somehow. Judging by his actions, he got the memo– showing his experience when he continues with the same speed and pressure, keeping still– before he slowly trips you over the edge, having you clenching around his fingers as you let moans slip out from your lips, euphoria taking over your whole body.

His figure leans into you, holding you close as your breathing comes back to normal, his lips press soft kisses to your temple. It’s almost a hint that the act is over, his actions growing more tender as opposed to the way he had you just a few moments prior, but you find yourself not wanting it to end, tugging his shirt up and earning yourself a questioning look.

“More?” you mumble, looking at him, grabby hands helping him take his shirt off. Your please sound almost like a question– they may as well be, for you don’t know if he wants this too– but he reacts to you positively when you have your eyes roaming across his bare torso, hands flying towards your own shirt, taking it off before you chastly press against him, both of you sitting at his bed, meeting him in a kiss as you settle yourself into his lap. 

In this moment, there’s nothing but him. Your head spins with his essence, your brain painfully aware of everything; of your hands holding his cheeks when you tug at his bottom lip with your teeth, chasing after his neck in a desperate need of leaving a mark, wanting evidence of you being there the next morning, so you could remind yourself that this wasn’t just a dream or a product of your own imagination. When you press down against his lap, dragging your naked core against his hard on, his hands grip your sides, sneaky fingers trailing up after a moment as he tugs the straps of your bra down before slipping it off completely, leaving you naked in front of him.

Lifting you by your hips and moving you back against his pillow, laying you into his sheets, he lets you drag his sweatpants down, your fingers dipping below the waistband of his boxers and gently dragging along the sensitive skin, feeling needier at the sounds of satisfaction escaping his lips. Bringing him closer with your other hand, he takes a moment to confirm with you one last time. 

“Are you sure you… want this?” he doesn’t seem to find the right words, leaving you softly laughing at his puzzled expression.

“I am,” you nod, assuring him, “I- I want you,” you mumble, still loud and clear, and he wastes no time in freeing himself of his underwear and aligning himself with your entrance.

He slowly pushes inside of you, his whole length filling you up. He leaves you some time to adjust, checking in with you with a look to your eyes, fingertips gently dragging your hair out of your face before you confirm with him that you’re okay with a soft nod, making him move and gently thrust inside of you; painfully slow at first, but reaching deep, taking in every inch of you. Pleasure builds inside of you as his thrusts become more quicker, finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl and your hands fly to his back, scratching down along his skin when he hits your spot and your eyes shut in a spell of satisfied sighs.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss against your lips, a sentence sweet enough to make your cheeks flush under him– yet you think the heat you feel is more than shyness from his words, but from the contact of his skin on yours, driving you absolutely crazy.

His finger gently plays with your clit, slowly, but surely tipping you over the edge. You hold back a moan, head falling to your side on his pillow, Renjun’s lips pressing kisses into the now exposed areas of your neck, still going at a steady rhythm. 

“Fuck,” you let out when he picks up at speed, the imaginary glass of pleasure in you getting fuller and fuller, making afraid of it spilling out when he keeps going, your hand flying into his hair, tugging at it in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, “I’m close.”

He hums against your neck, softly biting a bruise into your flesh. He doesn’t say much, again– his loving is quiet, only occasionally letting out needy noises out past his lips here and there, grunts slipping out when you feel just right around him. You find it hard to keep up with the silence, blissful sounds escaping you when he takes you over the edge. Your walls clench around him as he’s still thrusting into you, chasing down his climax and making the most out of yours. You swear you can see stars, the tips of your fingers starting to tingle when you get a little too overstimulated, but before you can do anything about it, he slips out of you and warmth spreads on your stomach, his body crashing next to yours.

He doesn’t say much after either. The room falls into silence, your bodies heaving with deep breaths as you try to calm down the erratic beating of your hearts. Mindlessly threading your fingers through his hair, you stare at the ceiling, his arms draped over your middle, occasionally playing with the flesh of your hip, squeezing it with his palm and dragging his fingertips across the soft skin. Looking down at him, not seeing much other than the raven locks falling into his forehead and his closed eyes, you try hard to appreciate the closeness of his body, just in case you don’t get to experience it ever again.

Feeling his nose nuzzling into your skin, you wonder if he’s happy.

Dark, wallowing pit opens up in your stomach, the harrowing feeling you didn’t know you could recognise fills you up to your rim; your vision goes a little blurry at the sight in front of you and after a few seconds of torturing yourself by watching, you feel the bitter taste of blood on your tongue from gnawing at the gentle skin of your bottom lip too hard. That alone wakes you up from the weird transe you’ve been put in, making you turn on your heel and chime outside of the building, the iced americano in your hand thrown in the nearest trash can as you take the short way home, suddenly wanting to hide away from everyone and everything, too fragile to deal with the outer world today.

You open up the door to your apartment with a little struggle, your hand shaking not making it easy for you to put the key inside the keyhole, and when you finally get to the comfort of your little place, you’re met with Jimin’s concerned eyes waiting for you in the hall, her figure hesitantly walking over when she heard you struggle with the door.

Closing the door behind you a little too loudly, careless in your actions from how hard your heart is hammering against your ribcage, your roommate approaches you with gentle words. “What happened? Weren’t you meeting up with–”

“No,” you shake your head, cutting off her sentence before his name manages to come out of her mouth, your throat closing as you choke out the response; the soft gaze she offers you at the stern words of disapproval makes your eyes water even though you already promised yourself you wouldn’t cry over this.

“Oh, sweetie,” Jimin mumbles as her long legs make their way towards your shrunken figure, enveloping you in her arms. You let yourself be comforted, almost yearning for the slow strokes she gives your back, her long fingers threading through your hair. There aren’t many instances where you two had to hold each other in the entrance hall, too afraid of letting go before one of you breaks. You remember her breaking up with her boyfriend Jaehyun– they dated for a couple of months last year before he had to move away and a long distance relationship wasn’t something either of them was willing to put each other through– but that time, it was in the comfort of her bedroom and you watched the first season of Too hot to handle together after it was done to take her mind off things. You, however, don’t have much dating experience. Not a significant one anyway– you only dated in high school, and even though the boy you crowned your first in many things was sweet, you simply fell out of love with him after a few months and called it quits, with no tears shed and no hearts broken.

“I think I was just a rebound,” you get out in between your quiet sobs, the image of Renjun sitting at the cafeteria with Yunjin, his soft gaze offered to her as she leaned over the table and said something quietly to him before pressing a kiss to his cheek only further proving your claims.

And you guess you were the stupid one– you guess you were silly for thinking he was over his ex already, even if it’s been a couple of months since they broke up, even if he told you he didn’t miss her, but was sad to let go what they had– because the sweetness in his eyes when he looked at her hurt you more than you could’ve ever imagined, because you think you remember him looking at you like that the evening you dyed his hair black; you remember him looking at you like you hung up the stars on the sky, and you believed the gentle gaze– you believed there was something more than sex to it, you believed he felt the same feelings as the ones you’ve been harboring for the boy ever since you first hanged out at his place and watched Netflix with him to take his mind off the said girl.

Jimin doesn’t ask any questions– she knows you’ll tell her eventually, you just need comfort right now. Sniffling as you try to come down from the heartbreak you’ve caused yourself, you groggily get out a sentence that hurts to say out loud perhaps the most from the feelings freely roaming around your brain. “I don’t think it meant anything to him– I– I don’t think I meant anything to him.”

As if to torture yourself even more, the images of you two getting closer over the time flash through your brain– and you wonder if you were just lying to yourself the whole time. If his words weren’t what he made them out to be, if his gentle nature that overtook him when you were around was just him treating you as one of his friends. If he hooked up with you only because he was horny, and not because he cared for you enough to want to explore you further, deeper– if you were the only one in it for something more, if he was just keeping himself busy while trying to get over his ex.

And much like that time at the party, where he held you close and spent the whole night pretty much glued to your side, right in front of everyone’s eyes, you wonder if you just fulfilled your purpose in his life. 

“Shh,” the girl shushes you out of your self-destructive thoughts, still not getting any context on what happened, but being there for you anyway, “let’s just watch something, okay? We have the whole day off to ourselves, let’s watch this new anime I’ve been eyeing, what do you say?” she mumbles, seeing as you tiredly nod and she affectionately squishes your cheeks together, leading you towards the living room.

If you weren’t so numb right now, you’d even giggle. Jimin doesn’t watch anime– the amount of reality TV she watches is quite concerning sometimes– and her effort to aimlessly search through the internet for the first episode of an anime she randomly saw on Tiktok one day and thought would suit your watching style both amuses you and makes your heart warm just a little. Indulging in TV series is one of the only coping mechanisms either of you can ever come up with, it seems.

When the opening credits roll, you hear your phone’s notification sound pop up, your hand reaching for the device. You don’t even get an opportunity to look at who is texting you before your roommate snatches the phone out of your hand, swipes across the screen and turns it off with one swift motion, forcing you to focus on the animation going on the TV.

Sometimes, all you need is your caring roommate to take over everything. Today, more than ever, you’re more than willing to give yourself into her hands.

After that, you do what you think anyone in your situation would (or wouldn’t do, to be precise). You don’t text Huang Renjun random things throughout the day like you used to– you no longer laugh at weird memes he finds funny with him and you no longer read his texts that are full of random complaining, mostly about his roommate Donghyuck, throughout the day. You don’t meet him to work on the project together. It’s almost done and you still have time– you are planning on just finishing it by yourself and turning it in on the day it’s due, with no contact with the male. You also don’t call him when you’re walking home alone in the late hours of the evening, scared and yearning to find comfort in his saccharine words. You don’t even look at his messages– he sent you multiple– only letting yourself to check the contact name before you swipe the notification away without giving it much thought, making yourself ignore all of his calls the moment you hear your ringtone go off. Worst of all, you don’t even attend class anymore. You’re glad for the past you that managed to attend every single class, because now, you have more than enough absences to use up before the semester ends and you go on spring break.

You do everything in your power to erase him out of your life. It takes an admirable amount of self-control, you must admit.

And sometimes, it even feels silly. It feels stupid to react so much to seeing him with his ex girlfriend, because frankly, you two weren’t dating. No amount of touches, gentle words, hang-outs after the sun sets and intimacy means that you are a couple; it didn’t matter that you opened up to him so much when neither of you confirmed to this being inclusive. The day before you dyed his hair back, you two were just good friends, after all. Sex didn’t change anything– even though you thought it would. 

And maybe that’s what’s making you feel even more angstier about the whole thing. You gave him every last ounce of yourself you had, every inch of your body, from the inside out– so now, you feel thrown away, as if you were useless.

The cold nights slowly turn into warmer evenings, birds chirping outside waking you up in the mornings even more reminding you of the man you lost somewhere along the way. Spring was the favorite season of you both, but somewhere deep inside of you, you’re starting to dread it. Maybe it’s the fact that you were yearning for a new beginning for yourself in spring; for something to be born seemingly out of nothing– but it seems like you are supposed to bloom by yourself now, and you’re finding it harder than ever. 

It’s the beginning of the second week of March. Warm sunlight makes your feet spring up from your bed in the early morning, forcing you to take a walk. You’ve gotten used to going on these, as many call it, ‘mental health walks’ lately– you read on the internet that they help your mood, and even though it’s a slow progress, you’re willing to try anything, at this point. 

You chose a fixed destination you walk to every other day. It’s on the opposite side of the campus– where the Science buildings are– and you would be lying to yourself and everyone if you said you didn’t carefully craft the journey so you wouldn’t get in contact with the man you’ve been trying to avoid for the last two and a half weeks. It’s far away from your apartment, and even further away from his. There’s no reason for him to visit those parts of the campus, and you find comfort in the fact. 

Finding a bench under a cherry blossom tree– it’s slowly starting to wilt these days– you sit in silence for a while on some days, and on others, you put in your earphones and watch the world around you go by without you moving a single finger, trying to find comfort in the fact.

Listening to the playlist you made in the crack of dawn last night– Renjun always made fun of you for the fact that you once listed ‘making Spotify playlists’ as your hobby– you fall deep inside of your thoughts. When this happens, it’s hard to control your mind and think of something positive. The only thing left for you to do is to hope and pray you don’t spiral.

Why did it even matter so much to you anyway? It was just a kiss to his cheek. It’s not like you caught them in the act…

However, still, the image of them looking so comfortable together broke your heart; because somewhere along the way, you thought he’d always feel resentment towards the girl. She broke his trust, she made him feel worthless, and it was left for you to take all those broken pieces of him and glue them back together. You didn’t realize it back then, but just the fact that you didn’t give up on him back when he was being difficult was enough for the boy to feel at least a little better again. Your nagging, yet silent acts of meeting him somewhere in the middle, even on his worst days, was a source of comfort for him. And after a while, you started noticing that– you started noticing him warming up to you every time you met, you started noticing his gratitude towards you in the little acts of service he brought with himself when he bought you snacks or texted you if you came home safely after your meetings. 

You guess that seeing Yunjin talking so freely with him, seeing her kiss his cheek with such tenderness, made you feel so deeply, easily replaceable in his life. You guess you always feel like that with everyone anyway. It’s a bad habit you find hard to break– maybe you too, just need someone to be patient with you while you heal.

“What are you listening to?” you hear a voice, tone close to honey, ask from the place next to you. It makes you jump in terror, both from recognising it so easily and from not expecting him to find you here, so far away from everything, as you look at him with surprised eyes.

You don’t know what it is that keeps you silent. Perhaps it’s surprise. Perhaps it’s pettiness. Perhaps it’s shame. 

The feeling makes you stiff in silence, everything in you refusing to respond to his sudden casualty. “Okay, I’ll just stalk your listening activity on Spotify when I come home again, then,” he shrugs, his uninhibited demeanor making you boil inside. You feel like your insides are on fire, you feel like the whole world came crashing down on you because of mere seconds of seeing him with someone that he once held so dear to his heart, making you  feel replaced and forgotten, and yet, he comes to you so easily and doesn’t even acknowledge your hurt?

“What are you doing here?” you ask, voice soulless as you turn your music off and put your tangled earphones into your jacket pocket, finally choosing to recognise his presence. 

“Talking to you,” he shrugs, “I… brought you coffee,” he smiles, showing you the Starbucks take-out cardboard holding two drinks together, one iced americano and one caramel latte, the sight making your heart warm up quite dangerously at the thought that after all this time, he got your coffee order down, he noticed you sweetening your drinks, and he remembered.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you scoff. “How did you know I’d be here?”

The man shrugs. “I didn’t, at first. I… I came to your apartment to talk to you, but Jimin said you weren’t home, so after a few minutes of begging her to tell me where I could find you, she gave up and sent me here.”

You guess you’ll have to have a serious talk with your roommate when you come home.

“Why… why are you here, then?” you ask, still feeling the bitter pettines on your tongue when the words escape your mouth.

“Well,” he starts, taking a deep breath in, collecting his thoughts, “at first I thought I’d give you space. I thought you didn’t want to talk with anyone and you kept ignoring my texts and calls, so I texted Jimin to ask if you were okay, and when she told me you were doing fine, I figured it had to do something with me. And then– and then I thought I’d give you some space, since you looked like you needed some, but… but I think I need to face the problem now, since it’s clearly… something big, you know…” 

It’s undeniable that Huang Renjun is quite the smart individual. His ability to instantly sense your emotions and decipher the meaning behind them never fails to catch you off guard, though.

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you suddenly notice the nerves he tried to mask by fake casualty. He keeps chewing on his bottom lip and he’s picking at his cuticles so hard you think they’ll bleed at any minute, his frame small and hesitant as he turns away from you, afraid to meet your eyes. He looks so, so guilty, and you suddenly feel stupid for making such a big deal out of something that shouldn’t have mattered to you in the first place.

“What… What did I do to hurt you?” he asks, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Because you must be hurt, if you’re avoiding me this much.”

Taking a deep breath in, you shake your head at the whole situation. He’s right, though– perhaps it’s time to finally face your problems now, so you can move on. Maybe this closure is what you need, maybe you need to hear it from him– to hear that it didn’t mean anything to him, to hear that Yunjin apologized and he’s gonna get back together with her, because somehow, your brain convinced you this was the case– to finally let him go and stop mourning something that was never there in the first place. “I–” 

Your words fail you.

“Do you… regret it?” he asks, voice so small you almost don’t hear him. 

The sentence takes you off guard. Looking at him, you can’t even bring yourself to speak, confused eyes roaming over his tense features. Opening up your mouth to ask for clarification, he mumbles again before you get a chance to speak. “Do you regret sleeping with me?”

Blinking at him a few times, a crease appearing in between your eyebrows, you shake your head. Is this really what was running through his brain? Is this why he left you alone for more than two weeks? Because suddenly, it makes sense– the way he gave you space and let you avoid him for two weeks before he came to find you in person– but again, this is not at all what was running through your brain all these days. Never once did you regret what you two did, no matter how shitty you’re feeling about it now after your brain convinced you of things that weren’t even real in the first place. “No,” you simply say.

A hint of relief washes over his face, his shoulders relaxing just the tiniest bit– it looks like this was what he’s been scared of the most; it looks like he feared he hurt you in this way. Still, he insists on talking it out once and for all. “What is it, then?”

Shameful to meet his eyes, you point your gaze towards your feet. Convincing yourself that your feelings are valid and that you were right to feel the way you do, the same way you did to him all those weeks ago at the stairs in front of the university building, you confess to your worries. “I saw you with Yunjin the other day.”

Now it’s his time to stay silent, and somehow, your brain can’t find a way to deal with not getting a response from him, so you ramble to cope. “At the cafeteria, I mean. I– I wanted to surprise you, and you said you were getting lunch alone and I was at the campus, so I thought I’d come to keep you company, but then… then I saw you with her, and you two seemed so comfortable together, so close, and then she kissed your cheek and it made me… it made me feel like… like you maybe wanted to get back together with her, or something…?”

“And really, it’s fine, if you want to do that, I guess I just… for the sake of both of us, or maybe just me, I think… I think it’s better for me to keep my distance from you, then.”

Watching as his expression shifts to one full of disbelief, you swear that what you want the most in this moment is to disappear. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me those past two weeks?” he asks.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, suddenly feeling insanely silly and unreasonable when you say all of those things out loud, you avert your gaze from him, pointing it somewhere into the distance. 

“Is this really it?” he asks again, insisting, full of disbelief. “You made me feel like you regretted having sex with me, and this is it?” he chuckles, and you don’t know if it’s because he’s looking down on you, or if he just truly finds the situation funny. 

“Look, I–” 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gets out, looking as if every nerve and stress in his body finally let go, relief washing over his face like waterfalls, “I was so scared, and this is what’s been bugging you?” he asks, shaking his head in disbelief as he runs his hands through his hair. “She came to apologize to me. Not that it mattered something to me, and not that it made any difference, but I didn’t have it in me to tell her to fuck herself, you know? That’s what you saw. She told me she wishes me well and that she hopes I find joy in someone else too. She didn’t even– she didn’t even sit with me at lunch. She went to eat with her boyfriend.”

And here it is– the inevitable notion of shame intensifies. Finally having the explanation you’ve been wanting to hear, but purposefully avoiding for two weeks; finally feeling relief in your chest, your worries escaping out like the summer wind, and even though you should be happy, you can’t even bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“No, I mean– it’s just… I’m sorry too, it’s just…” he trails off, making you look at him with examining eyes, eyebrows raised in question. You don’t really know what he’s apologizing for. Maybe for leaving you space even though he was convinced that’s what you needed– had he approached you earlier, you wouldn’t have to avoid him for two weeks.

“It’s just…?”

“I find it ironic how you thought I wanted to get back together with her, when in reality… you were the one I wanted to get together with in the first place, you know?” he asks, and if you squint hard enough, you could still see hints of nervousness in his body when he asks the rhetorical question, soft eyes scanning your face when your eyes meet.

“Oh,” you hum, mouth agape in surprise.

“Yeah,” he nods, lips pressed into a thin line, “cause I like you… like, a lot, actually, so…” he mumbles, the confession reminding you of your first weeks with Renjun– tense and awkward, but with a promise of something new the more you got to know him.

“Oh,” you repeat again, your brain still not catching up to the situation.

Suddenly, the two weeks of avoidance feel even more silly. You don’t know what happened in you to cause this much distress for the both of you, but you’re filled with delight with the fact that even though you expected him to get mad at you– to call you unreasonable, maybe even a little stupid– he seems to be understanding of your emotions. He seems to accept them, willing to put up with them and everything that requires of him; he seems to be willing to find you even at the end of the world and try to get you back into his life. Because only god knows how much he appreciates your presence in it. 

“So…” he mumbles, a silent question hanging in the air, making you realize you were too caught up in your thoughts to really give him an answer.

“I… I like you too, if that… wasn’t obvious,” you snicker, shrugging as a wide smile spreads across your cheeks. The words fall a little bashfully off your tongue, the confession ringing strangely in your ears, but you don’t mind the little uncomfort the shyness in your demeanor brings you.

There are no long confessions, no deep words of love. Once again, Huang Renjun is a man of few words– he shows you his care through actions. 

He finds you when you’re avoiding him. He makes sure you get home safe. He tries hard to work with you on a project he originally wanted to avoid, only because he notices you finding interest in it, your passion slowly sparking up his. 

He keeps annoying the publicist of your favorite author for a week straight to let you make an interview with her, even though he got declined twice over an email with messages filled with bitter and annoyed words. He remembers your coffee order and he invites you to hang out with his friends to show you that you are now a part of his circle, that you are one of his close ones. He lets you make fun of him with your roommate, but doesn’t give you the same treatment he gives Donghyuck when he tries to bully him. He sends you all the cat pictures he gets from his friend Taeyong, sometimes even asking for some when he hasn’t sent you ones in too long, and he also thinks of you any time he sees the snow– because he gets reminded of the walk you two had in the midst of the snowflakes, even though you hate the cold. 

He reads your favorite book and finds pieces of you scattered all across the pages, he feels his love for you in the poetic words and metaphors hidden in the plot. He lets you dye his hair to signify that a part of his life is now over and a new one started– with you being the main actor of the subtle metamorphosis as he slowly shifts back into his old self, yet now a little wiser. 

He is a man of few words, affection coating them only sometimes, when he reassures you over a mug of hot tea in the evenings before you present your assignments in class and when you get too scared of crowded places; but somehow, the words he keeps to himself translate to you despite not being spoken.

In the beams of the warm sun, you gravitate to him like you’re two planets in the solar system, always sharing the same space. And when his smile meets yours in another kiss, you think that after all, you get the kind of new beginning you wanted in spring.

You and Huang Renjun may be the prime example that love, just like cherry blossoms, always blooms in patience. 

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