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#lets see if this miraculously gets a lot of notes

evertidings · 24 days

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— MARCH 2024.

accomplishments.

erm. hi. it's been a while, i know. i skipped last month's update, so i'll give you a lengthy one for march. truth be told, i haven't been able to touch when twilight strikes for a while. this is not because i don't want to, but mostly because i've been busy with school and/or have been struggling with writer's block. because of this, i made the decision to scrap what i had written for chapter eleven and start (kinda) from scratch. now, before you go and panic, let me explain.

the reason i've been taking so long on this chapter is that, well, i screwed up. i found a (rather large) plot hole that i've been trying to fix, and the solution i came up with was, uh, interesting. definitely not my greatest idea. but because i had already written so much, i kept pushing forward, hoping that things would straighten out and i'd miraculously like the chapter by the time i finished. haha, very funny. as you can tell, that didn't end up happening. i didn't particularly hate what i wrote, i could just tell that it was absolute bullshit. and while sometimes that works, it just was not doing it for me here. so i cut it.

i was able, however, to save a bunch of it for the new draft, so i didn't completely start over, but i am definitely down a lot of words compared to what i had written initially. i'm not super bummed out about it, but i am upset that that means i'm again behind on getting this out to you. i know it's been a while since i've published any updates and hearing that i've pushed things back is probably not very fun, but i promise, now that i've got my plot hole sorted out, things are going much smoother.

i'm currently in the thick of final exams so i haven't been able to write as much as i've wanted to lately, but the good news is that i'm graduating (WOOOOO!) so i won't have any more school work to distract me anymore. once mid-april hits, i'm free everybody.

(on that note, thank you for being so patient and sticking by me. i see new fans joining every day and it warms my heart that so many of you continue to enjoy this story. i appreciate you so much more than you know).

#update #when twilight strikes #the midnight hours #interactive fiction #twine game

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crushmeeren · 6 months

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Bokuto SFW/NSFW Headcannons

Everyone involved in this fic is aged up/18+; continue scrolling or block if you aren’t into this

Warnings; oral sex (blow jobs/pussy eating), car sex, riding, small amount of anal play (Bo teases your ass while he eats you out), mating press, kissing, praising

Note; I wasn’t originally planning on posting but I’ve had a rough night and I just love Bokuto 💕 This is my first time writing for Haikyuu so I hope I can do him justice. Please enjoy 🪽

Second Note; I think I’m gonna have to write one for Kirishima next, s-so many ideas about him 😮‍💨

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Koutarou who is the sweetest man alive, who you’re unconditionally in love with, but…is an airhead (i.e. he loses his phone all the time, forgets plans he’s already made, somehow drops his wallet down a hole at the top of a parking garage that’s 30 feet deep while planking—but miraculously finds it laying on a car below??) who you’ll always help find his shit either way—he needs AirTags

Koutarou who likes to wear lots of colors, whose favorite color is blue, who once got his face painted with a rainbow on it at the fair (he did look pretty, plus the vibrant colors represents how bright his personality is)

Koutarou who practically vibrates with excitement when he sees you watching his games from the stands, who smiles so wide his cheeks may split, who waves at you in the middle of a play (he ran into the net by accident, but he didn’t miss the next spike!!)

Koutarou who turns a sweet shade of pink when he sees you wear his jersey to his game, who picks you up in a sweaty, bear hug (squishing the air out of your lungs) after they’re finished, chatting excitedly in your ear as he carries you a few feet (he only sets you down when Hinata rescues you by reminding him they have to go change)

Koutarou who gets into certain self-deprecating moods sometimes, who lets you help him feel better, letting him talk it out, spending time with him, whispering words of support and encouragement as you poke the dimples on his cheeks (which gets him to smile and giggle almost every time)

Koutarou who likes listening to hip hop and surprisingly—hair metal, who loves singing in the car, who has an astonishingly good singing voice (you love watching him as he drives, he gets so into the music, wiggling in his seat—it’s like your own personal concert) and who loves Paramore—because you showed them to him

Koutarou who takes up half your bed when he sleeps, he’s so fucking tall—and thick🫣(but you love it and use him as your own personal blanket, but he does get really sweaty in the middle of the night so you have to roll away before you melt to death)

Koutarou who loves holding your hand, lacing his warm fingers through yours and tugging you in different directions, no matter where you are, who leans in so close to speak to you, you can see his eyelashes (it never fails to make warmth thickly pool in your belly, traveling up and making your cheeks burn—he always looks at you with stars in his eyes)

Koutarou who is literally always the life of the party—everyone loves the fucking ace, he radiates positive and happy energy—people are drawn to him like moths to a flame, they always want to talk to him and you’re proud of it (plus you don’t mind—besides he always comes home with you at the end of the night)

Koutarou who introduces you to Kuroo, who he has remained friends with after high school, Kuroo, the sly bastard who you’ve grown quite fond of & have become close friends with (instantly clicking over your combined efforts to tease Bo)

Koutarou who loves, loves taking hot showers with you, he likes to hug you under the warm spray, letting it relax both of you and talk about his day (sometimes you end up on your knees, but who can blame you?)

Koutarou who looks so unbelievably hot when his hair is down, no gel in sight as the soft strands frame his sweet face (you can’t help but stare at him until he asks if there’s something on his face, you tell him just how goddamn good he looks—which in turn makes him flush bright pink, dragging you into his lap to make out with him)

Koutarou who really loves when you call him by his given name —don’t get him wrong, but…he can’t help but feel a flash of heat shoot between his legs when he hears your sweet voice calling him Bo (you absolutely know what it does to him)

Koutarou who loves you so fucking much he feels his heart may burst at the seams, who is your best friend, who you can be completely yourself with, who supports you in everything you do, who you know, in your bones, is your one and only, who has been secretly planning on proposing to you for awhile now (FYI— you say yes, Bo definitely cries)

💕NSFW Below This-You Have Been Warned💕

Koutarou who is fucking buff, who is wayy taller than you, who is packed with muscle and his cock is, to say the least…thick, but just long enough to keep from hurting (but lets be real, the thickness is what counts)

Koutarou who gets rock hard so damn fast whenever you kiss his neck, gasping, whining, squirming underneath you when you sink your teeth into the muscle covering his pulse point, tilting his head and melting when you leave a couple hickies (he really tries to cover it up the next day, but Miya Atsumu teases him at practice anyways—he takes it in stride, only blushing a little bit)

Koutarou who only really curses during sex, unable to stop the nasty words from leaving his mouth (you think it’s the biggest turn on when he can’t help but whimper a soft f-fuck when he gets his dick inside you)

Koutarou who loves when you suck his cock, who likes when you’re laying on your back and he straddles your chest, controlling the pace as he thrusts into your mouth, who loves when you grip his ass and help him fuck your throat, who braces a hand against the wall, one hand in your hair as he watches his dick shine with your saliva as it repeatedly disappears between your warm, soft lips, who sees stars when he fucks along your tongue like a track made to make him blow

Koutarou who likes to suffocate between your thighs, always asking you to sit on his face, who grips your hips and forces you to rub your clit over his tongue, who covers his finger in your slick, teasing your asshole until you cum on his tongue, fisting his hair between your fingers (you choke on your moans, pleasure sticky and gooey gushing through your limbs)

Koutarou who was nervous at first when you suggested having sex in his car, but now he’s addicted, who can’t do anything but hold your waist, whimpering mhmm—fuck, that’s it pretty thing, as you hold onto his shoulders, using your feet & thighs to bounce on his cock in the drivers seat that’s been pushed all the way back

Koutarou whose toes curl, cock twitching as his eyes either stayed glued to where your pussy sucks him in or the way your tits bounce in his face (you love it just the same, tilting your head down to watch while you fuck yourself on his dick)

Koutarou who likes to let out high pitched whines & moans in your ear when he fucks you in missionary, who tells you your fucking pussy’s s’good, so tight, gonna make me cum so hard, while he has you folded into a mating press, shivering while he tries to hold back from cumming too quick (it feels like he’s in your throat, he makes you squirt in this position, thumb rubbing your clit roughly)

Koutarou who sits back on his calves, gripping your tits, fucking into you and curling his hips upwards, who makes you inhale sharply, gasping Bo! as you cum, fingers gripping his forearms, who says love when you cum on my cock baby girl, taking my dick so fucking well (you groan through clenched teeth as warm tingles take over your body)

Koutarou who almost cums instantly when you tell him he’s so good at fucking you, making you cum so many times during one round of sex (bro definitely has a bit of a praise kink)

Koutarou who whispers how much he loves you, face flushed when he starts to cum, whose heart thumps wildly in his chest as he groans about how good it feels to fill you up, pussy hugging him so tight (you tell him you love him just the same when he buries his sweaty face in your neck)

Koutarou who can never resist resting all his weight on you afterwards, snaking his arms around you and snuggling you tight as you both soak in the post orgasm glow, who helps you clean up and gets you water before you both take a nap or go to bed for the night

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bigfatbreak · 1 year

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I love reading about all your AUs so much! They’re all so creative!

I’m curious about the people of Paris in your villains AU. Like obviously Adrian and Mari are the villains but how do the people of Paris fear them. Is it similar to Hawkmoth in the original timeline? Or are they considered more or less of a threat?

Keep up the good work and make sure you’re getting plenty of rest!

the issue is, Paris is really split on the whole notion. Nekydallon and Pavo clearly are willing to go to strange lengths to find the "miraculous" they're looking for, but neither of them attack citizens, and Nekydallon exhausts herself helping the people of Paris.

They cause trouble, but, nothing that... can't be fixed? Meanwhile, Felix Furvus and Coccinella seem to act as though they're Paris' defenders, but- some citizens ask - defenders from what?

Many people see Nekydallon as a faceless entity who's worth admiring, with Pavo as her stalwart representative into the world. Those who've been her champions don't lose their memories like they did with Hawkmoth, and note that she sounds soft and quiet, and delicate. She never demands anything, and she feels like a friend who's letting them borrow her power to do what they need to do, but, easier.

Doctors and Nurses find that, being bestowed with a power grants them to operate with better accuracy or with steadier hands, or they're capable of clotting and healing deathly wounds with mysterious powers. Some Akuma are capable of healing life-threatening illnesses or diseases, or at least helping people cope with the pain.

Firefighters find themselves with the power to spring water from their fingertips or to smother fire with the flick of their hands. Some can suddenly carry six people at a time without breaking a sweat to evacuate a house.

Retail workers in the middle of getting robbed suddenly have the power to fight back. People being kidnapped are suddenly granted the power to escape. Victims have a butterfly bond to them and they find the strength to stand up to their abusers and/or escape their clutches.

Marinette works very hard as Nekydallon. She can hear Paris' woes, and doesn't hesitate to try and assist whenever she can. The rest of Paris sees butterflies as a good omen for the most part, though some are deeply suspicious. However as a whole, its the black cat and ladybug that people are most suspicious of, as they hear a lot of talk but don't see results like with Neky.

#villain au #villains au #in short:#marinette is fucking pushing herself with the butterfly miraculous #and now a massive part of paris is indebted to her #so felis and coccinella are under scrutiny

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judasgot-it · 3 months

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Kaldo x Reader - Can I kiss you?

Side note - WHEN IS HE GETTING HIS ANIME EPISODES are not ENOUGH IMAGES OF HIM OMG

word count - 1.5 k

It first started when you were paired up for potions class, paired up with the mysterious boy from the powerful Ghenna family.

You heard a lot about him, how he was excellent with fire magic - how he was guranteed the position of the Fire Cane, just like his mother before him had. Everyone had known this about him though, he wasn't exactly hard to spot, with his rather noteable hairstyle and weird hobby of carrying a giant sword with him.

“So, is it true that you put honey on your sushi?”

His face stayed concentrated, trying to remain hard at the task at hand - his hand expertly waving his wand as if he had done this spell thousands of times before. He probably had, considering his lineage and all. You didn't even bother to participate, seeing as he had rather handled it all himself.

“Where did you hear that?” His voice was deep for you would have thought, rather smoothe and thick than what his stature gave the impression of. Kind of like honey. Ironic.

“I heard it from your roommate. But do you?“ You had taken your nails and started to draw simple patterns on the desk, making little animals made of light that danced along the wood. They entertained you in the lieu of the awkward silence.

”So what if I do? It's not weird.“

He had mumbled the last word, his closed eyelids twitching as he somehow watched your 'group project' bubble over into a perfect reaction. It was an easy A, wasn't it.

“No, it's not. I think it's kind of cute how sweet you like everything, actually.”

You had gone back to watching your little light animals dance around each other, too distracted too see how Kaldo's face flushed. That had been the first time he had heard himself be called 'cute' let alone his 'weird' eating habits.

It was something about being called that, in his mind, would never be replacable.

After that project, what you had once known as the rather intimidating 'kid from the Ghenna family' had become some weird shadow that wouldn't leave your side no matter what you did.

Even when he became the Fire Cane, or when you had both graduated - he hadn't ever left your side, running back to you every moment he could.

He was still cute, drenching his sushi in honey every chance he got. Although now he was half a foot taller and had a new outfit, it still made you giggle watching him eat with honey smeared all over his face.

“Kaldo, you kind of look like a cute bear.” Reaching over, you wiped the honey off of his face with your thumb, giving it a taste yourself. It was strangly salty as well, although that was probably blamed by the mixed-in soy sauce.

”Wh' d' m'een k'nd 'f?“ Whatever Kaldo had said, you didn't understand a word of it. Simply nodding, you went and took a sip of your water, watching as he had no trouble swallowing the swathes of honey and bits of fish in his mouth.

“You know, Y/n - you've always called me cute.“

He was serious, facing his entire body towards you. His posture was relaxed, although you've known him long enough to see how his eyebrows crinkled in a sort of nervous tension.

“Do you ever…mean, anything by that?“

The pearl haired man swallowed nervously after saying this, trying to stay calm as his eyes watched for your reaction. You simply blinked back, taking all of him in at the moment.

The Fire Cane, one of the most powerful magic users in the continent, was torn to shreds by flirting. His face said it all to you.

”Kaldo, what do you think I mean by it.“

He looked down to his plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the world - as if the well dead fish had miraculously could answer for him.

“Um. I don't know, it's why I asked. I've been wondering, it just seems, you know…“

”You know? What?“ A smirk pulled across your face as Kaldo struggled to say the word out loud. Romantic. Like a child who just learned a naughty word and was too scared to hear it out loud.

Maybe you should go easy on him, though. Afterall, you did like him. Even if he was taken down so easily by mere words, it seemed. And had more than strange tastes.

”I'm flirting with you. I've been doing it since highschool, actually. Did you just notice?”

The great Fire Cane himself had curled into himself, his tall figure trying to hide into bar seat as best as he could. It didn't work, but seeing a peak of his bright red face and mock of white hair was more than entertaining for you.

It took him a while to bring his composure back, his face still flushed and his posture still taught as he looked down at you. Hard to believe he could be embarrassed so easily.

”So does that mean you like me?“

”I thought it was obvious. Do let anyone else lick honey off of your face?“

”No, but you aren't just anyone.“

Kaldo tried to keep his face serious despite how his embarrassment was still very evident on his face.

”And what do you mean by that?“

You leaned over, your nose almost touching his as you enjoyed watching him fall apart at the realization. He only leaned away slightly, not enough to have your shoulders no longer touch his chest though.

His body was warm, even through his layers of clothes. It made you press up closer against him, continueing your teasing tirade. You had never gone this far before, and you could feel your own blush creep along your cheeks as you felt his hand brush along the back of your neck, pulling you closer-

”Are you going to pay for that, sir?“

The both of you jumped, staring at the disgruntled chef who was glaring at Kaldo's honey covered sushi. His eye's were dark and cold as he watched the two of you awkwardly unentangle from one-another - you even having to scoot back into your chair, after having almost sitting in Kaldo's lap for that near kiss.

You were now the one embarassed, trying to hide your face by staring at the table and hoping no one would notice as Kaldo smoothely paid for both of your orders, as if it made what happened between the two of you any better.

It did not, as the chef's eyes were still felt even as you walked far out of his line of sight.

”You know, we should do this again sometime.“

The two of you were walking the same as you always had, side by side - Kaldo slowing his steps to match yours, while you stayed just close to his shoulder, letting his mere status clear your path.

“That chef was so mad at us, though!” You were still freaked out about the look in his eyes - how you had almost kissed Kaldo, had it not been for that guy. You could still imagine the warmth of his gloved hand along your neck, and it made you feel even colder as the wind blew against your face.

Kaldo just laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to his side. His confidence had returned, the embarrassment from earlier only seen by the small blush still visible in his cheeks.

”No, I mean, this. I think we should go out again. Like this.“ He shook your shoulders for emphasis, groaning as if to shake sense in your head.

”We do go out like this.“ You were fighting a blush on your cheeks, as well as trying to keep your walking even with his as he pressed his weight on top of yours. He was heavier than it seemed.

”No, but not in this way. Telling each other things, and when before the chef came over. It's nice.“

”Do you just want to kiss me?“

Kaldo blinked his eyes open, staring right at you. His face had turned into the same color as the ribbons in his hair, although you were not one to talk - saying that sentence had made you so weak in the knees you had started to rest your weight against Kaldo's chest, greatful he worked out.

His arm pulled you in closer by the shoulders, forcing you to stop in your tracks. His eyes nearly glowed in the dim streetlights, scanning your every feature.

“I can't help it. You look kissable.”

“Well, I was going to kiss you before, wasn't I? So do it now.“

He didn't need to be told twice, his gloved hand taking your face and pressing it against his. It was messy, your noses mashed against one another and his teeth gnashing against your lips.

You took your hand to card through his ivory hair, thumbing over the red ribbon holding it all together. You gave yourselves room to breathe, and moved against his frozen face as you tried to salvage the awkward kiss.

Kaldo pulled away first, heaving a large breath and eyes wide and blown out. He looked as if he had ran a marathon in that moment.

You tried to catch your breath as well, gaining your footing again as you still felt his warm body pressing against yours. It was either that or the kiss, that had started to make you sweat.

”That was great.“ Kaldo looked insane, coming down from a high that had essentially left breathless. His hair was messy, and his face was broken into one of the widest smiles you had seen in a while.

Sorry y'all, not my best but I think there's some demon that's taken over me and it made me write for Kaldo. Also sorry to the Mashle community.

#mashle x reader #kaldo gehenna x reader #kaldo x reader #kaldo x you #kaldo gehenna x you #mashle x you #kaldo gehenna

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katakaluptastrophy · 5 months

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So, it's the last days and a weird-looking guy called John is yelling about the end of the world.

AKA, it's Advent and we've reached the stage of Alectopause where I'm apparently writing Bible studies for the weird goth teens that hang out in graveyards... So let's talk about portentious guys called John and why a nun might have joined a necromancy cult.

Anyway, you know Advent, the cheerful and cozy time when we all think about cute baby Jesus as we get ready for Christmas, right?

WRONG

It's currently the second Sunday of Advent, and in lots of churches that follow the liturgical year, people will have been hearing about John the Baptist today (Me: "John". My phone: "Gaius?". Me: "John the-". My phone: "Necromancer?").

Without going into too much detail, John the Baptist is important because he's a prophet that points to the coming of Jesus. He first does this rather impressively in utero, but is probably best known for wandering the wilderness wearing camel hide and eating locusts, shouting about how the end is nigh and, hence the name, baptising people to cleanse them from their sins. People are pretty impressed by all this and start asking him if he is the promised messiah or one of the great prophets come again. He answers no, his job is to point towards one greater than him. He baptises Jesus, the heavens open, and not long afterwards John annoys the authorities and ends up with his head on an ornamental platter.

Now John the Baptist obviously isn't the main Biblical John evoked by John Gaius. That dubious honour probably goes to the beloved disciple John the Apostle, also known for The Gospel According To and The Apocalypse Of, aka the Book of Revelation, the Bible's account of the end of the world.

But John the Baptist (no, autocorrect, not "John the Necromancer") is relevant too, and not just because he's a guy called John, chosen by a higher power to lay the groundwork for better things to come and who falls afoul of the authorities with dramatic consequences.

Let's cycle back round to Advent for a moment. The reason Advent can both be aww cute little baby Jesus and also WHERE ARE YOU GOING WHEN YOU DIE?! is because in Christian theology, Jesus' birth and the end of the world are linked: the first and the second coming of Christ.

In Nona The Ninth, we learn that John and his friends are living in a world on the edge. Without some incredible plan - the cryo ships, the promise of FTL - everyone is going to die. Humanity has rendered the world uninhabitable. Although we get very few details of the broader geopolitical situation, we have to assume it's one rife with natural disasters and conflict.

In the Bible, Jesus talks about a world with famines and earthquakes, wars and rumours of wars, where to find yourself in those days with children would be a tragedy and to be pregnant even worse (maternity problem, anyone?). Specifically, this is when he talks about the signs of the end of the world and his second coming.

So what about M-'s nun? The first time we meet her is when she's advising John against his all-day Jesus Christ Superstar healing ministry.

And John's anxiety about meeting her is pretty apt. He says: "I was worried I was going to get the Antichrist bit from her too". Note the "too" - by this point, John has already been accused of being the Antichrist. Why? Because alongside those rumours of wars and earthquakes, Jesus gives another sign to watch out for: false prophets.

But M-'s nun saw John and his powers and - for reasons we never learn - believed they were miraculous, a gift from God. She appealed to the Vatican to investigate and recognise this. And her presence and this campaign apparently made a significant impact in reducing some of the issues they were facing. Somehow, she met awful, smarmy John and his corpse buddies and thought she was seeing the hand of God miraculously at work in the last days.

This bears repeating, because I've seen suggestions that she believed he was God, or was somehow converted to the cause of necromancy, but at least by John's narrative it's much simpler than that: right to the end she's praying for him in very Catholic terms to find clarity in his purpose.

This is the last we see of her:

She just smiled at me. She said, John, don’t misunderstand. I want to help you. I truly believe that in our most terrible hours we don’t instinctively reach out to God; we push ourselves away from Him. Don’t feel bad for not rising heroically to the occasion right now. Fear doesn’t help us achieve a state of grace; it deafens the heart. John, I truly believe you can save everyone. So concentrate, please. She said, Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. And she shot herself.

While obviously you are probably not walking a straightforwardly orthodox path if you're shooting yourself to help the leader of a self-proclaimed necromancy cult locate the soul, her language here is very focused on the Catholic understanding of sin and death. A "state of grace" refers to the condition of your soul when it's not burdened with serious sins. It's the state you're in after you're baptised or after you've been to confession. Being in a state of grace is one's soul being on a wavelength with God; it's the necessary state to enter heaven.

And the Hail Mary? Catholics believe that Mary has the power to intercede for them with God. And the most important moment at which she could intercede would be at the point of death where the state of your soul determines your eternal destination. This isn't a wacky necromancy cultist talking. I suspect she sees this less as a suicide (which the Catholic Church has historically not had the most nuanced views on...) than a fulfilment of Jesus' teaching to keep his commandments and that there is no greater love than to lay down your life for your friends.

We're not privy to exactly what she thought, and I don't think anyone's suggesting her approach was entirely orthodox, but if he's not the Second Coming, and he's not the Antichrist, and there are wars and rumours of wars and floods and earthquakes...did she see him as a prophet of the apocalypse? A sort of John the Baptist of the end times, who in demonstrating the reality of the soul would bring people to Christ before He came again?

Unfortunately for M-'s nun, John was not what she fervently believed him to be. And unlike John the Baptist, who said no when asked if he was something he was not, John used M-'s nun's death as a springboard to claim the trappings of both divinity and Catholicism for himself.

Unfortunately for John, judgement is coming in the form of an angry teenager Harrowing Hell and the very power he usurped, armed with a very big sword.

#the locked tomb #tlt #tlt meta #john gaius #cristabel oct

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malarign · 1 year

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ur probs insanely busy but I just had an idea based on a TikTok I saw (typical)… basically I think it would make a really good heeseung angst where he thought it would be fun to play around with his partner and make them a little jealous - either cause they were unintentionally being too friendly with someone else or whatever you feel like coming up with - but it just turns out going bad and his partner gets super upset and there’s a lot of comfort. anyway now that I typed it it kinda sounds cringe but go wild if u want

jealousy, jealousy

(when you get jealous of his co-worker)

contains: idolbf!Heeseung x gn!reader | genre: angst, fluff | tw! kissing, mentions of food, the reader is insecure about their looks, please remember, everybody is pretty in their own way | wc: 1,1k

reblogs, likes and comments are highly appreciated!

author’s note: thank you anon and sorry for the delay, i was in fact pretty busy 😵‍💫 also! no hate to the anon who sent this request but if you want to make your partner jealous intentionally just don’t get into a relationship! 🤭

“Have a lovely day, dear! I’ll let you know when I’m done with work today and maybe we’ll grab some dinner together?” Heeseung said in a rush, putting his shoes on.

“Sure, just don’t overwork yourself m’kay?” You fixed the collar of his coat and smiled.

“Anything for you, baby.” He left a last sweet kiss on your lips and bid his last goodbyes for today.

Closing the door behind him you decided to get to work on your assignments. You sighed seeing the workload you had. A sudden rush of motivation took over your body and mind and got to grips with everything. Closing your laptop you took a look at the clock on the wall in front of you. The day just started and you had plenty of time before Heeseung would come back home, so you decided to pay him a visit at work.

It wouldn’t be the first time you visited him at work, yet you always can’t help but feel anxious at the thought of your presence there among other idols. You were intimidated not only because of their popularity and fame but also because of their stunning looks which often made you jealous. His pretty co-workers didn’t have to do anything, in particular, to make you feel insecure, intimidated, and simply ugly. Despite your concerns you never dared to disclose them to your boyfriend, afraid he would laugh at your worries.

You arrived at his company and went straight to their practice room, but you met with silence and darkness. Confused you wanted to call Heeseung, but then a familiar voice caught your attention.

“Y/n?” You saw Jake at the other end of the hallway. “Heeseung didn’t tell me you’ll come over” He smiled after jogging your way.

“I finished my work earlier today so I thought I would surprise him but can’t find him.”

“Oh! He’s eating lunch right now with the rest of the guys. Come on, join us, they’re serving your favorite,” Jake laughed as he nudged your side jokingly.

You felt your stomach grumble at the thought of their cafeteria’s food and walked with him to the elevator. Before you stepped in, he excused himself as he had some other obligations and left you.

Opening the door to the dining area you were met with the smell of fried rice and chicken. Many people gathered to eat so finding Heeseung bordered on the miraculous. When you finally noticed him you saw he was talking to one of his co-workers, smiling widely and telling jokes as they both ate their lunches. You took a few steps back at the sight, a wave of fear rushed down your spine.

Their smile, their hair, their eyes, their figure. Everything about them screamed perfection, making you embarrassed about how you looked. They’re beautiful, talented in many ways, while you were just an ordinary person, who wouldn’t find their place on stage.

Heeseung raised from his seat after he finished his meal and made his way to the elevators, right where you were. You quickly turned around and pushed a button to close the door as fast as possible. Looking at the mirror you noticed a few teardrops on your cheeks and wiped them off your face.

“I’m back!” Heeseung’s voice echoed in your apartment as you quietly fidgeted with the hem of the blanket you were under. “Jake told me you were at Hybe, why didn’t you tell me?” he asked and made his way to the kitchen and took a bottle of apple juice.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled under your nose and continued playing with the fabric.

“I didn’t hear you, can you repeat?”

“I don’t know, Heeseung,” you repeated yourself louder, sounding a little bit too harsh than you intended to.

Your tone and the way you called him by his name and not one of many nicknames you used made him confused.

“Hey, are you mad?” he asked and sat next to you. “Is it because I didn’t call? I’m so sorry, my love, but I got caught up in so much work I didn’t realize it got so late,” he said and tilted his head as he spoke.

“No, it’s not because you didn’t call.” You looked him in the eyes and that’s when he noticed your tear-stained cheeks.

“Are you crying? Love, what’s happening?” Heeseung cupped your face as he scanned your features. “We agreed not to hide our worries from each other,” he reminded you.

His sweet voice and full of love words made you cry, leaving him even more confused than before. Quietly embracing you in a comforting and warm hug he waited for you to calm down. Instead, he heard your voice, full of distress.

“Why would you love me, when there are so many other people who are way better than me?” You spoke incomprehensibly, but still enough for him to understand what you said.

“Why would you say that? Love, where is that coming from?”

You pulled away from his embrace and wiped your tears to look at him.

“Why would you want to be with me, an ordinary person, who will never understand your struggles as a public person? Why would you want to be with me, who has nothing to offer but coarseness? I’m not as beautiful as your co-workers. I’m not as talented, as charismatic, as interesting as them, so why would you want to settle down with me? When will you realize that they’re perfect and I’m not enough for you?”

Heeseung listened to you attentively, keeping eye contact with you throughout your whole monologue. When you were done he thought for a second to gather his wits and took your hands into his, rubbing your skin with his thumbs.

“Love, why didn’t you tell me earlier you felt that way? Gosh, I don’t care that you’re not a public person. Why would I want you to be one? Y/n, nobody knows and understands me more than you do. What you offer is not coarseness but stability and my safe space. Nobody makes me feel so safe and loved as you do. You don’t have to be an idol to be the most beautiful, talented, charismatic, and interesting person in my eyes. I love you as you are and nothing will change that, okay?”

You lowered your head at his words, feeling embarrassed at your own jealousy.

“My dear, please look at me,” Heeseung spoke and brushed your hair off your face. Looking at him smiling reassuringly made you cry again. You fell into his arms and wrapped yours around his neck, as he left soft kisses on your skin. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you, Hee.”

thank you for reading! back to the masterlist

permanent taglist: (send an ask to be added) @nicholasluvbot

#kflixnet #enhypen #enhypen imagine #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen fic #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x you #heeseung enhypen #heeseung imagines #heeseung fluff #heeseung angst #heeseung fic #heeseung x reader #heeseung x y/n #heeseung x you #lee heeseung #lee heeseung x reader

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gvnvks · 11 months

Text

zb1 giving you partner privileges … !

> pairings: non-idol!zb1 x fem!reader

> warnings: lowercase intended, not proofread

> song recommendation: mori by dawid podsiadlo (its in polish but u gotta listen to it fr)

> note: i started my exams today … two more to go !!

김 jiwoong.

THE PRIVILEGE IS REAL

im being so fr 😭

when literally anyone tries to take something from him, JUST BORROW FOR A SEC he immediately turns D:

except when its you

you could take (over) this mans whole life (you already did) and he wouldn’t even complain

hes THAT whipped

girl TRUST ☠️

“hey jiwoong, i wondered if i could borrow your charger for a sec, mine just stopped wor-“ rickys sentence got cut short by jiwoongs whine

HOMEBOY SNATCHED THAT CHARGER AWAY FROM HIM

“jiwoong, my sweet !! i thought i could use your laptop. i need to get some work done real quick”

jiwoong immediately gives u the laptop no hesitations

trust me if he could give you his all time life savings along with that laptop HE WOULD

(pls do i kinda need money 💯)

“can i use ur cologne jiwoong pls” “no”

BUT IF ITS YOU

“hey jiwoong!! i thought your cologne smelt really nice and wondered if i could spray a little on myself too!!”

shows u all colognes he has ever bought

EVEN THE EMPTY BOTTLES

“u can choose. the one i used today is this one :D”

later gives u like 2-3 of his STILL FULL colognes that you liked the smell of cause “i dont need that many anyways”

장 hao.

he’s serious about his sleeping

trust me.

he gets so mad when someone disturbs him in his slumber

and he’s also very difficult to wake up 😭

seriously

“hao u really should wake up…”

*snores*

“hao pls we have a schedule in 30 minutes”

*snores*

jiwoong you should just give up atp 🧍🏻‍♀️

“literally wake up what the fuck”

and let me tell y’all

when someone other than you miraculously manages to wake his ass up

he’ll just straight up yell at them

“SHUT UP” yes throw that pillow hao ‼️

but you

your voice has something that immediately wakes him up in his best mood

rainbows around his head and allat yk yk

every time when it’s you waking him up TRUST ME you’ll never see a morning pout on his face

you could literally beat his ass awake and he’d have nothing against it ☠️

he gets all soft and allat … yeah cute babe hao

his members r fucking confused cause what he so whipped for

can u see the what the fuck expression on jiwoongs face ??

HE JUST SIGHS

HE OFFICIALLY GAVE UP YALL

he’s in love like that

giving you privileges LIKE THAT …

also his morning i love yous … hi I need a bf quick

he’s a 10/10 boyfriend btw 💋

성 hanbin.

the amount of privilege you get as hanbins partner …

he literally pays for your every single thing

u saw that new pretty skirt while window shopping ??

“honey, want me to buy it for you?”

no matter your answer he in fact always does buy it

ur on a date in that cute new caffe ??

“hey, choose what you want. ill pay.”

SO HOT 💔

“hanbin !! this necklace is pretty, isn’t it ??”

“yeah, pretty neat” and the necklace is at your door 2 days later

basically your human wallet

of course its not like u demand from him to pay for you, he just does

and hanbin really enjoys buying you things and making you happy btw ‼️

cute

but when it’s his members 😭

oh hell naw he ain’t having it

“hanbin could you pls pay for me I forgot my wallet”

AND HE JUST GLARES

sighs

and sometimes SOMETIMES he does pay for his members but it’s like

once in a blue moon literally

“hanbin do you maybe want to buy me that new, cool game (whatever games he fucking plays) ??” GYUVIN BABE YOU KNOW THE ANSWER

“no” LMAOO

“oh no !! i ran out of money on apple pay …” you just wanted to buy keys on subway surfers 😕

hanbin IMMEDIATELY charges your apple pay with … a lot of money. you can buy a lot of keys now. are you happy.

GYUVIN SEES IT ALL AND IS OFFENDED ☠️

석 matthew.

i get a feeling that as long as matthew enjoys physical affection, he’s not that big on hair touching ?? like yk

he probably won’t let his members touch his hair very often

i dont know i just feel like he wouldn’t like it

“matthew, u got something on your hair” gunwook tries to pick whatever shit landed on his head

MATTHEW GRASPS HIS HAND HALFWAY 😭

GUNWOOK LITERALLY HISSES IN PAIN MATTHEW CHILL PLS PLs pLS

“i can do it myself” okay mr serious ?? gunwook literally didn’t ask

its not that serious, it was never that serious 💯

BUT WHEN YOURE IN THE PICTURE

you really like touching his hair

it’s so soft and allat

and sometimes you just randomly place ur hand on his head

he tenses up FOR A LITTLE SECOND and then softens up cause he realizes it’s you

SO CUTE 💔

lets you touch it for however long you want

matthew just doesn’t mind

ALSO

when you kiss his hair while ur hand is on his head he gets all shy and covered in blush 😭

kisses u back …

can u imagine what he’d do if instead of you it was one of the boys

HED THROW HANDS I CAN FUXKING TELL

honestly i dont see matthew as an aggressive (?) type of guy but when it comes to his hair ☠️

김 taerae.

we all know taeraes fashion sense is a bit … yeah.

basically it’s kinda bad

but that boy doesn’t let ANYONE literally anyone style him

“taerae i dont think these red pants fit well with that shirt …” hao just tried to give him some advice

and taerae just ignores his words 😭

“no taerae, don’t but these shoes, they won’t go with anything”

“stfu” BYE

but you ………

of course you love your precious bf but

sometimes you just can’t stand how off his outfits look 💔

”hm taerae… i dont think this shirt fits these cargos! maybe you could wear this white one?”

changes in the blink of an eye ‼️

“do i look better, sweetheart ??”

YES YES YOU DO

he’s so cute pls

he’s ready to change his whole outfit if you ask him to

“taerae i don’t think this outfit suits a date night…”

it’s not like you demand him to change, you just simply share your opinion

WHICH HE FUCKING RESPECTS

maybe even a little too much 😭

so whipped

guess who has head over heels for you

definitely not taerae

“taerae, my sweet !! these pants have too many bright colors, don’t you think they won’t suit anything you have ??”

“oh! maybe you’re right. thank you, sweetheart”

NAH BYW

리키 ricky.

he’s so in love that the amount of privileges he gives you is fucking enormous, im fr

but we’ll focus on one

ricky never lets ANYONE go through his phone 🙏🏼

he doesn’t hide anything or sth

he just doesn’t like when people go through his things, especially without his permission

“what the fuck are you doing with my phone, yujin” in a matter of 0.5 seconds rickys phone is not in yujins hands anymore

poor boy just wanted to check the weather 💔

“hey ricky, can i check something in your phone ?? mine just died”

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, HANBIN

“no” as simple as that 😭

“oh ricky … i also wanted to check my gmail real quick but its o-“

he doesn’t let you finish and just hands you his phone

HANBIN IS OFFENDED (who wouldn’t 😭 this looks like some kind of prejudice)

oh my god how things change when it comes to you …

basically you have more access to his phone than ricky himself

sometimes it even comes to you literally using his phone all day. literally whole 24 hours 💯

AND HE DOESNT COMPLAIN AT ALL ??

like literally no complaints whatsoever. zero. none. 0. FUXKING NULL.

his members r like what the fuck because like

WHATS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOU AND THEM

yall sometimes also like to switch phones for a day

the amount of pictures you take on his phone 😭

so whipped that he deletes NONE of them ‼️🙏🏼

김 gyuvin.

yes i do know i use this theme a lot while writing for gyuvin but i just cant help leave me alone pls

okay we all know gyuvin likes gaming

but he’s real serious about that …

if you’re not (y/n) don’t even think of disturbing him while he’s gaming 😭

HED LASH OUT TRUST

“gyuvin do you want som-“ taerae can’t even finish because gyuvin starts fucking throwing hands at him

“im kinda busy yk.” yes. yes we know.

HE DOESNT EVEN LET ANYONE TOUCH HIM ?? LIKE AT ALL ☠️

oh such a discord mod he is (im joking btw..)

but if it’s you …

oh girl i envy you this kind of boyfie 😕‼️

when you’re near him while he’s gaming he’d literally play with his headset only half on

yk in case you need something from him

so cute and so hot at the same time 🧍🏻‍♀️

he’d abandon his game for you

AND IM SERIOUS WHEN I SAY ABANDON

GIRL TRUST 💯

and ..

he lets you sit on his lap too ??

oh lawd have mercy 🙏🏼

when u sit on his lap he would literally play with one hand just to rub soothing circles on your back …

pls i need a therapist 💋

박 gunwook.

gunwook really doesn’t like when someone disturbs him while he’s focused on something

i mean its kinda obvious ??

probably no one does lmao 😭

he’s ready to throw hands even if it’s something way more important than the thing he’s focused on

IM SERIOUS ONG ‼️

“gunwook, can you stop what you’re doing for a while?” jiwoong asks with a pretty serious tone

“i can’t” WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING UP FROM HIS BOOK ?

not good … 💔

jiwoong im so sorry you’re probably so done by now

but if it’s you … !!!!!

“gunwook…” you whine, feeling kinda bored and alone today

AND HE IMMEDIATELY SHIFTS HIS WHOLE ASS ATTENTION TO YOU

god, teenager in love ‼️

he doesn’t really want to abandon what he’s doing rn as gyuvin does so he just

divides the attention 💯

…

sits you on his lap

OR SOMETIMES EVEN ON HIS DESK 😭

holds you by ur waist and just simply

plants kisses all over your cheeks

do I need to say his members r kinda disappointed ?? ☠️

hi i need a cute boyfie rn 💔

한 yujin.

okay so

there’s a lot of things yujin would let you do without you noticing it’s a “privilege”

because he wouldn’t complain if others did those things too ??

i mean like … its yujin so

but when YOU do these …

he encourages u so much 😭

ong…

im so serious … ‼️

“yujin can i try your food ?? it looks so good” ricky asked waving his chopsticks at yujins face

“oh… yeah go for it, i guess” WITH THE BLANKEST STARE EVER LMAOO

PLS TRY TO SEE IT WITH UR IMAGINSTION

“yujin! can i see your necklaces? it’s so cute!”

YUJIN IS SO SO XONFUSED

“oh… well… yeah”

now imagine you doing it 😭

“can i try some of your food, yujin ??”

HIS EYES IMMEDIATELY LIGHT UP ‼️

“yes! this here is rice with chicken and sour sauce and these ones there are some fried vegetables! eat as much as you want, cutie!”

okay yujin… 😭 not THAT serious babe

“yujin, my sweet! can i see your necklace?”

SO SO IN LOVE

“of course! i can help you put it on if you want to! you’d look so good in it!”

bae is so cute

#zb1 #zerobaseone #zb1 x reader #zb1 headcanons #zb1 reactions #zb1 misc #boys planet reactions #boys planet headcanons #boys planet x reader #zb1 imagines #kim jiwoong #zhang hao #sung hanbin #kim gyuvin #han yujin #kim taerae #park gunwook #ricky shen #boys planet

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vampiretendencies · 1 year

Note

for my mental wellbeing PLS PLS PLS PLS write dad to be jj again

i beg of you. i was literally in a depressive episode and reading ur last jj fic was such a pick-me up. (ps ty for that 😭)

i LOVE u & i hope ur okay love

pairing; dadtobe!jj x pregnant!fem!reader

warnings; fluff, mentions of pregnancy, throwing up, talk of feet if thats a trigger for some, suggestive

authors note; came up with this earlier. hope this helps you, even if it's a little bit.

Hell has frozen over and JJ Maybank is folding laundry.

Really, he's only doing it so he can see the small animal patterned baby socks and the wholesome footy onsies. You'd washed them in preparation, as the nursery is adorned with all things baby, and your due date is to come any day now. Creeping it's way in, however pregnancy has been somewhat of a breeze with JJ at your beck and call.

Even if you are blowing chunks in the morning, he's breaking his rest in bare skin to hold your hair and press kisses to your spine.

"S'okay baby, still so pretty.” Is something along the lines of what he typically says, unbothered by the miraculous bile that ejects from your insides— using the nearest towel to clean you up earnestly and eagerly, he couldn’t fathom his baby appearing so helpless. Carrying your limp body back to bed, in his broad, bulky arms, insisting that you rest and not move a muscle.

He is so overly passionate when it comes to soon to be family.

He’s adapting to being a father, but he’s still the same old JJ.

“Do you think babies know they’re babies?”

You sat beside him on the fluffed out couch, nose crinkled in a manner of ‘what the hell are you talking about now’. JJ awaits your answer, absentmindedly folding a small pair of new born pants. The clothes basket is about half way full now and it’s taken him an hour to simply get that done, admiring the baby clothes and dreaming of when he gets to swallow the child whole with his enamoured ways.

“What, JJ?” You sighed exasperatedly, his antics peeling beneath your skin as he’s been doing this the lot of the time being seated here. Though he’s folding laundry his finger tips still find their way to your inner thigh, squeezing at the flesh with ease. Unable to go through extended periods of time without the proximity of your fiery being.

Always touching, explains the reasoning behind you being pregnant.

“Like what if our baby thinks-“

“JJ …” he knows he’s irked those pregnant hormones a bit too far from the rolling of your eyes and the way you keep saying JJ in protest for him to ‘stop talking about something so overly stupid’. Usually there’s so much patience in your voice when a ‘J’ rolls off your tongue calling his name. “I don’t know what you’re talking about … my fuckin’ feet hurt, my head is pounding, and I feel like a Goddamn whale.”

JJ eyes bulge, gesturing his hands in a surrendering way for he knows that any little thing that agitates you in the slightest will send you over the edge— breaking closer and closer to being dilated and in a hospital room. But, he never holds it against you, acknowledging that you mean no harm, merely in aching pain every growing hour.

Kind of like a shut up while you’re ahead sort of thing.

“Sexiest Goddamn whale I've ever seen," he tries to compliment, throwing a onesie to the side, the darting of your eyes makes the mischievous smirk on his face grow all the more wider.

There's always an urge of neediness behind every smirk.

His index finger traces your cheek bone to gain your full attention rather then the slim phone in your hands, a pout is beginning to form and it's making JJ's heart burst.

"M'not in the mood J, my belly's just gonna' get in the way."

"Never, your belly would make it even better ... but that's not the route I was taking baby, let me show you, yeah?"

And you nod willingly letting him take the pain away. JJ's dropping to his knees, keeping your complaint in mind that your 'fuckin' feet hurt.' Though your eyebrows furrow, you decided not to question, wishfully hoping for his contact despite it.

Pushing the throw blanket that was in your lap to the side, he puckers his lips around your knee. Practically worshipping the legs in front of him. Peering up at you with sensuous eyes, short-lived as he molds his mouth with the skin of your calves, granting each and every inch of skin with solicitous osculating kisses. Delicate with the way his large hands hold them upright to meet his mouth. Suctioning and delving all he could possibly reach.

"Thank you for carrying our sweet baby."

His voice sent goosebumps, vibrations of his heavy voice elevating to the point of you not being unable to muster a 'you're welcome' or 'of course'. Instead, your head falls back to collide with the couch cushion, eyes closing. Relishing in every empyrean like movement your lover ignited; heaven bled through every sullen kiss.

It came to a halt and know he's kneading your feet, oh so soft, lathered thick of a vanilla musked lotion. From the big toe to the heel his knuckles massage the foot, almost melting the swelling away like clockwork.

"Feel better, baby?"

"Feels so much better, J."

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autisticlancemcclain · 6 months

Text

“C’mere, squirt.”

The great pine forests of East Texas have been, for the most part, miraculously spared of Empire destruction. The American Southwest was largely destroyed, along with countless other hugely important geographic landmarks on Earth, but East Texas — and all the memory it holds — seems to have fared just fine.

They will rebuild, anyways.

His son straightens immediately at Keith’s gentle beckoning and toddles over, climbing on top of his bent knee. He smiles softly, placing a balancing hand on his back — his palm spans the entirety of the kid’s back, holy shit, he’s so tiny, how was Keith ever placed in charge of something so tiny — and uses the other to point at a brown smudge high up in a Loblolly. Cory squints. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith sees Lance press his hands to his face and muffle a scream. Goober.

“That’s a red-tailed hawk,” he murmurs. “That’s the bird you hear in movies.”

Cory hums in understanding, although he probably doesn’t. They don’t watch a lot of movies. Keith once read about how detrimental screens are for developing children in one of Shiro’s many parenting books, so they don’t watch a lot of T.V. (Back when Cory wasn’t even with them yet, and Keith was panicking nightly. Lance had to fish all their devices from the garbage. It was a time.)

“Caw,” says Cory sagely. Keith snorts.

“Yes, buddy. Caw. If you sit real still, the bird might even move.” He hears the echo of his father’s voice, decades old, in the back of his mind; a memory, frayed at the edges, of Keith in this very forest, held in the same way he’s holding his own son, listening his Pa quietly name all the birds and rocks and trees. Hanging on his every word, even though he didn’t get it all. The smell of the pine trees, the rumble of Pa’s low voice. He swallows the lump in his throat, brushing a kiss into Cory’s hair. “That’d be cool, huh?”

Cory babbles something Keith can’t understand. A sticky hand comes up to pat Keith on the cheek, making him smile despite the sting of his eyes. “Daddy, caw. Birdie! Caw.”

Keith turns his head to press a kiss to Cory’s palm. He giggles. Keith wiggles his eyebrows, blowing a raspberry, just to make him laugh harder. The pain in his chest begins to loosen, ever so slightly.

He catches Lance’s gaze over Cory’s head, and takes the time to memorize his dark eyes all over again. Lance lets him. He always does, even though it makes him blush and fidget, lets Keith trace his thumb along his lash line and study the flecks of Earth brown and ash black in his eyes, of sun gold and deep amber; he likes Keith’s attention on him as much as he refuses to admit it.

That’s Lance, though. Tries with every inch of him to be cool and mysterious and suave and can’t manage to save his life. His twitchy enthusiasm sparks in everything he touches, no matter how hard he tries.

When he started digging through Keith’s collection of atlases and running around the house with stacks of blankets and sleeping bags and camping supplies, Keith had said, “Planning something, sweetheart?” and Lance had stuck out his tongue and responded, “Blah blah, nosy.” But Shiro had texted him to let him know that Lance had asked for Keith’s old photos, and one day Keith caught him with a bulletin board and dozens of pins of pictures of pine trees and booking receipts and dorky sticky notes until Lance screeched and kicked him out.

Lance is bad at secrets. And he is a dorky and kind weeper who loves to do anything but mind his own business and muddle things up.

And Keith knew that all when he married him, and loved him for it then, too.

“Hey, mijo,” Lance suggests, “how would you like to sit on daddy’s shoulders so you can see the birdies better?”

Cory gasps, looking rapidly between his parents. He bounces excitedly in Keith’s lap, attempting his own cawing noises, pointing up at the nest.

Keith smiles wider, quickly swiping under his eyes before straightening. He shifts his hold on Cory and winks at his husband, who rolls his eyes in fond understanding, and then his tilts the boy back until he’s giggling, leaning in close until their noses are brushing.

“Munchkin,” he says, playfully nipping the tip of his nose, “you know how you can get even closer to the birds?”

Cory gasps. “How, Daddy, how?”

Lance chuckles. When Keith glances over at him, his smile is so wide it forces his eyes near shut. Keith’s chest aches, it aches so good, and the little Keith that lives in his chest holding himself tightly and swallowing past the perpetual lump in his throat is soothed and comforted and held lovingly. Something cracks and heals in his heart.

“Like this!” Keith shouts through all the emotions bubbling up all over him, and tosses his son in the air, careful not to go too high out of his reach.

Cory shrieks with laughter, tiny fingers scrabbling for purchase on Keith’s jacket on his way down. Keith hardly lets him settle before he’s tossing him up again, higher this time, laughter louder and squealing. The bird has long since flown away, disturbed by the sound, and probably every other animal within a thirty foot radius. But Keith can’t bring himself to care. The bugs can’t move far, and no doubt Cory will want to dig around for worms with his Papa like always. (Keith knows for a fact that Lance has three spades in his backpack and several see-through containers.)

For now, he has time to toss his son in the air. He has time to lean into the hand his husband slides into his back pocket. He has time to smell the pine trees, to think of his father, to feel the bounce of packed Earth under his feet.

To the tiny him that lives buried in his chest, he whispers, we made it, ace.

———

keith and cory in the forest

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spdrvyn · 9 months

Text

that dreaded time — MIGUEL O'HARA

SUMMARY: you're out on a nice date with miguel before the thing that you've been dreading all week has finally happened.

THIS FIC CONTAINS: fluff. hurt/comfort. minor angst. period stuff. so much kissing oh my g. oh my god!!! f!reader but this can probably be for anyone with the bits yk

NOTES: went to see the barbie movie and i wanted to write this one for the girlies out there! i don't really see people talk about how miguel would be like if you were on your period (unless... its... sexual...) so i valiantly decided to take that role. enjoy!

You were well aware of the amount of stress that Miguel was put under practically everyday as he almost tried working himself to death on his job. It was clear how he'd at times come home at the wee hours of night when you're already comfy and cozy in bed.

With that, you wanted to show exactly how much you appreciated him. Besides you were sure if he worked any more late nights then his eyes would fall out from how deep the bags under them are.

You had booked a nice fancy restaurant, dressed up in the best looking dress available in your wardrobe, spent hours in front of the dresser trying to get your makeup look just right, and miraculously able to convince Miguel to take one night off. Just one.

You wanted this to be perfect, and it was.

The almost concerning amount of studying you did for this restaurant was definitely worth it, Miguel had his jaw on the floor when he caught sight of your outfit and appearance as a whole, most importantly you were having conversations you think you were going to remember for a long time.

But, it had to end eventually.

That feeling in your gut was all too recognizable, you've been praying all week that it wouldn't happen but when you entered the restaurant thirty minutes ago and your insides were squeezing themselves, you had hoped that it was just the excitement.

Your suspicions are confirmed the moment that you shy away to the comfort room, your groans of pain and frustration echoed off of the walls. The worst part of it as well was that you didn't have any pads, tampons, or anything to help you out right now.

To make it even worse somehow, there was a very noticeable stain on your dress. You couldn't think about what to do, aside from asking Miguel to get the bill, and bring your 'perfect' date to an early finish.

Once you pulled out your phone, thumbs shakily and hurriedly typing down your explanation in a sea of typos from the tears that just threatened to break out from your waterline. Before you could even think, Miguel was already right outside the restroom with his jacket in hand for you.

Embarrassed wasn't even what could begin to describe how you felt as you walked out that fancy restaurant, with Miguel's jacket tied tightly around your waist - you were sure that anybody who caught sight of you knew exactly what was going on.

You were dead silent the entire car ride home, it worried Miguel. A lot. Not even twenty minutes ago, you were so energetic and peppy, more than happy to finally get to sit down and actually talk to him after he had been so swamped at work recently. Now, you couldn't even spare him a single glance. Instead, opting to stare blankly at the turtle-paced cars in front of you.

Let it not be said that he was irked by it, he understood where you were coming from one hundred percent and more. Once the car got stuck in traffic again, Miguel put his hand on yours in a reassuring gesture. "Are you okay?"

Quite frankly, Miguel was stumped on what to say. When it came to talking about feelings, his mind blanked so the most he could offer you was a listening ear. When you had finally turned your head to him, giving his hand a slight squeeze, "I just wanna go home." It didn't quell his worries any further.

Nevertheless, he wouldn't press further into it. For now, at least. He gives you a small smil, getting the car in motion again when the light turns green.

Once you both got home, Miguel immediately got to work.

He lit up a few candles in the washroom as you tried to find some nice sleepwear, while that was going on he decided to prepare you some food. He knew you had cravings but he wasn't even sure if you had the appetite after what happened, so something simple like popcorn or a sandwich would probably do. Probably both.

He had distracted you with a nice and refreshing bath, when you insisted that he joined in, he told you that he wanted to do a few things around the house and kissed you on the forehead when he saw the small pout that had formed on your face because of it.

The bedroom was all fixed up, like the bathroom - multiple candles lit up, lights turned off, he would've sprinkled some rose petals on the bed for that romantic effect but he had to work with what he had.

He turned on the TV in the bedroom, trying to look for a movie that he thought you would enjoy in this moment, or a show that you can rewatch and binge in one sitting, at least until you fell asleep in his arms. He was leaning towards a rewatch though.

Once you finally finished up with your bath, Miguel was behind you with a hand covering your eyes. You made a disgruntled, but mostly confused noise.

"Miguel, what—"

"Shh," He whispered in your ear. "Trust me."

You protested a bit. A lot. However, after some short reassurances and Miguel's pure insistance, you begrudgingly let him lead you blindly into the bedroom.

He removes his hand, letting it fall onto your shoulder instead as he pulled you close to him. Leaning forward just a little, watching and reveling as your jaw practically drops to the floor, eyes sparkling like the city lights right outside the window. A view like that couldn't compare to the one of pure joy on your face right now.

"Oh my god." was all you were able to get out as you slowly walked over to the bed, eyes darting back and forth towards the cleanliness of it all, the snacks placed upon the bedside drawers, the TV that already has your favorite show set back to the very first episode. Each small detail caused your heart to throb with love for Miguel, bit by bit, and you were not complaining in the slightest.

You let yourself sink into the soft and familiar mattress of your bed, a sigh slipping past your lips as you do so, and it causes Miguel to chuckle. He sits down beside you, to take in every feature of you. Your smile, your eyes, your brows, everything.

When you open your eyes again, there are already some tears streaming down and Miguel's first instinct is to cup your cheeks out of concern, the warmth from his hands spreading across your face. "Hey," It comes off as a little sharper than he intended, but you know he only means well. Only means to snap you out of whatever sad trance that you're in.

"If this is about what happened in the restaurant, then you don't need to worry about it anymore. I don't think any less of you." His thumbs swipe under your eyes, trying to catch the tears that just seem to keep falling. You giggle dryly at his comment.

"You know me too well," You bring up the sleeve of your sweatshirt to wipe away the remainder of your tears, before letting your head collapse against one of Miguel's broad shoulder's, burying your nose into the crook of his neck. "But thank you."

You press a small kiss right under his ear and he gasps, wrapping his arms fully around you. He tugs at your hair lightly, only so that he can pull you off of his neck, and admire your face for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. Humming as he closes the distance between you two, lips molding against each other's.

It practically swallows you whole, almost literally in that sense when you feel Miguel's hands exploring the expanse of your back, teasing the hem of your sweatshirt before his fingers slip under it and you shudder, breathing heavily into his mouth.

You separate before he even gets the chance to go any further, placing your index finger over his lips, and he looks at you a little confused to the point where you find it cute. But, you always find him cute so what's the fucking point in clarifying that anymore?

"How about we pick up this date where it left off first?"

You can feel his mouth curl into a smile. A certain softness invading those rugged features you'd gotten used to over the course of your relationship, he brings a hand up to your wrist and places tiny pecks onto your knuckles.

"If that's what you want, nena."

requests closed, masterlist here

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crispywisp · 10 months

Text

managed to find a cel and its matching sketch from my favorite scene in lupin iii: farewell to nostradamus (showing the tagalog dub with my translation because it's genuinely great, also "defective" is not a typo, it's lupin's nickname for detective zenigata in this dub lmao)

being able to obtain a cel that i instantly recognized from a movie/scene i love was one of the things on my bucket list, so im extremely happy to have found this!!

more photos and notes about the artwork under the cut:

the cel and sketch came in one packet, i was initially pretty worried because the package didn't have any sort of hard surface like cardboard to prevent it from bending a lot, but fortunately it's in great condition

whoever previously owned this stapled the cel to the sketch (😭), so i was bracing for the cel's paint to be stuck to the paper since it's 20+ years old, but i let out the biggest fucking sigh of relief when i saw that it was miraculously still separated, so i went ahead and carefully removed the staple

back of the cel

close ups of the cel (zenigata's legs are completely cropped out in the final film, a very strong clue that this is authentic)

the cel shows very early stages of vinegar syndrome (slight deterioration on the cel structure, though no wrinkling, and super faint vinegar smell) and has light fading in the lineart, but it's still pretty well preserved for its age (made around 1994 or 1995), this cel will have to be stored separately from the rest of my collection to prevent it from spreading to them

close up on the sketch

back of the sketch, you can see the tiny pieces of paint from the cel stuck on here

this is most likely a key drawing rather than a breakdown or inbetween drawing based on the circle around "13" in the top right corner of the sketch (breakdowns are usually marked by a line underneath the number, inbetweens are usually unmarked); im surprised this cel didn't cost more since it's a really nice key drawing from a feature film, but im guessing it was cheaper since it's zenigata and not the other main cast characters

there is a tiny timing chart near the bottom, i've reached out to my animation lead co-worker to ask if she knows what this indicates since im not very confident in reading timing charts yet haha, will update this note once she gets back to me

EDIT: my co-worker has responded, she said that the timing chart on the sketch is most likely a very simplified version of a quarter timing, here is her note:

some more tiny notes on the sketch, if anyone knows what the japanese notes say, let me know!

EDIT: my co-worker also said that the X's in the sketch most likely indicate that those are empty areas, telling whoever is doing the cleanup to not color in those spots (i had noticed afterwards that there are more X's in other spots that are meant to be empty, so she's definitely on the money)

EDIT: @cultistzenyatta has informed me that the japanese note should read "shirt" シャツ, as in to distinguish between zenigata's coat and shirt sleeve for cleanup to color in

and here's the artwork in their separate storage packets, gonna add them to the portfolio binder :D

(also, im currently creating my own site to showcase my cel and sketch collection all in one place, so i'll make a post about it once it's nearly done 🙂)

#the wisp whispers #cels #zenigata #lupin iii #farewell to nostradamus

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lelengerine · 7 months

Text

sweet dream

pairing | jaemin x reader

synopsis | the time wherein you told jaemin about a dream, just because you felt like it — alternatively labeled as jaemin fluff stacked upon even more jaemin fluff.

genre | established relationship au, pretty much domestic jaemin because i am so soft for him pls, purely tooth rotting fluff, mentions of food, use of nicknames for reader (princess)

wc | 0.5k

notes | wrote this during my break since i had a sponty urge to write about jaem (even though im currently writing a fic for him that’s way longer than anything i’ve written so far), so take this as a little peace offering for the time i’ve been away hehe <3 thank you sm for the support you guys give me and i’ll be fully back soon!! likes, rbs, and feedback are always appreciated :>

m.list

“nana, guess what!” your presence floats over jaemin’s shoulder, his figure lounging comfortably on the couch.

he lets out a chuckle from your sudden burst of enthusiasm, craning his head to get a better look at you. from your appearance alone, he could tell you had just woken up from that nap you told him about an hour ago, hair fluffed up and cheeks slightly puffy. “what is it, princess?”

the overwhelming feeling of heat creeps up your face as you shy away, still not used to him calling you by that nickname. “i… i just wanted to tell you i had a really good dream while napping is all.”

“oh? you told me you haven’t experienced any good dreams in a while.” you seem to have piqued his interest as he gestures you to sit on his lap. with hesitant steps, you shuffle your feet, rounding the corner of the couch before finding comfort in your boyfriend’s embrace. “now go on, tell me all about it.” he eases you in sweetly, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

you take a glance out the window, trying to piece together your story before saying it aloud. “i dreamt that we went to a pretty cafe on a windy day, much like the weather outside right now.” you point out, earning a small hum from jaemin. “we ate some macarons by a window seat, and you got this caramel macchiato to try, but you also said you kind of preferred one with a stronger hit of coffee, so i had you order another one because i could just finish your first order instead!”

you ramble off further, not forgetting to note any of the details that miraculously stuck to you in your slumber, and all jaemin’s doing is admiring you with a dopey grin. seeing you talk about the little joys in your life just warmed him up inside, even if you did go off track most of the time.

“hey- were you even listening to what i was saying?” you eventually catch him in the act, and all he can do is nod along to your words. “you were taking about how you wanted fairy lights in our home like in the cafe you dreamt about, right?”

“oh so you were listening.” you playfully poke at his chest, a satisfied chuckle leaving your lips, an action he gladly mirrors. “the dream was pretty mundane, yet it stuck out to me for some reason. guess i just like spending time with you.”

“i like spending time with you too, princess.” he mumbles out softly before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, and you feel the tip of his nose lightly brush against your skin.

“that tickles, nana!” you exclaim, trying to cheekily push jaemin away, yet your efforts are no to avail as he wraps his arms around you with no plans of letting you go.

“if you love spending time with me, then why don’t we just stay like this for a while.” he peers up, a mischievous grin on his face that only leaves you with one answer.

“i’d like that.” you bring your hands up to his cheeks, cupping them gently before placing a peck on his lips. “i’d like that a lot.”

#nct fluff #nct dream fluff #nct angst #nct dream angst #jaemin #jaemin fluff #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles

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lostuntothisworld · 2 months

Text

Okay so I think it's time for another spaghetti theory:

Lilamoth isn't collecting moms. She's collecting sisters (or siblings)

Let me explain my thought process here. So a big complaint the fandom has is that we don't have a proper rogue gallery for villains. It's just the butterfly, and nothing else. It worked for early seasons, but things might be getting stale for some folks.

Enter new characters connected to Lilamoth somehow.

So she has 3 moms so far (that we know about.) All but one have something in common: dark hair and blue eyes.

From left to right we have Mrs. Rossi (red), Mrs. Bianca (white), and her third mother who is deaf could possibly be Mrs. Verdi (green).

Then we have this fourth lady that we see Lilamoth watching on her phone in the season 5 finale. I would NOT be surprised if Odille is going to be her 4th mom. Dark hair and blue eyes, and she is also disabled, just like her third mom.

(And I would not be surprised if we find out her surname is Nero (black), or Viola (violet). More on that aspect of this crack theory in a bit...)

Anyway, back to the concept of a rogues gallery. In the finale we see Lila in a disguise that 's VERY reminiscent of one of her moms:

Certainly she can't expect to disguise herself as a woman in her 30's-40's, and especially not with glasses and bangs. But she can pass reasonably as a teenage girl with a dark bob and glasses. You know, a sister.

So we know a certain main character whose name is in the title and wears red with black polkadots has dark hair and blue eyes. We don't know Lilamoth's motivations and and end goal, but we can surmise that she wants to take the place of Marinette.

(And I KNOW I've seen at least one other person theorize this, and I cannot find the post(s) so if you can find it please let me know so I can link it here!)

The pictures we see is one of Marinette with her classmates on the Liberty where Zoe is accepted in the friend group, Marinette with her parents, 3 pictures of Marinette with Kagami, and one picture of Marinette with Luka.

It's interesting to note that there isn't a picture of Marinette and Adrien together shown to the audience. You'd think they'd emphasize that, but no, it's mostly Kagami. I know it's because it's because the episode focuses on Kagami, but still. Other than her, it's just Marinette's parents, Zoe and Luka (Luka! Marinette's ex!) showcased in the closeup screenshot.

I got sidetracked! Anyway, I think other than similar coloring (and color-themed surnames haha) Lilamoth is trying to find other teenagers who are willing to join forces with her. She probably will get her hands on some Miraculous for them, somehow. But I don't think the new jewels will be from the Chinese box.

Here's where things start REALLY going off the rails with this theory:

All of Lilamoth's rogue gallery of villains are her adopted sisters (or siblings) and they are all Luka's exes. He's got a type for Italians with dark hair and blue eyes...

Going back to the surnames, all the surnames have something in common: they share the colors of all of Adrien's various transformations over the course of the series so far:

Rossi: Mister Bug

Bianca: Chat Blanc

Verdi: Aspik

We're just missing Chat Noir (could possibly will be the surname Nero, as it's Italian)

and Ephemeral (it's interesting to note that the surname Lee in Chinese can mean plum, which of course, is purple)

So naturally, my crack theory circles back to Lukadrien is endgame.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

{{{{{{Edit as of April 3, 2024.}}}}}

I will NOT be surprised if this girl with black hair in an extremely recognizable style is a disguise of another sister.

Is Lilamoth collecting blackmail to manipulate them later? She's very obviously walking disguised in areas where there would be lots of cameras (The inside of the Agreste mansion, and the hotel).

(Edit as of April 27, 2024!)

Now we know the synopsis of the London Special, I believe the disguises are to hide Lilamoth's tracks because she knows Maribug's identity. Bonus points if these girls were previous Ladybugs in past time lines that Lilamoth stole the identities of...

#not gonna be surprised if one of Luka's exes is that Adam guy from the noncanon comics that have access to early plot points #he was akumatized with time manipulation powers and was defeated with a hand mirror #naturally I gotta point out the obvious: Viperion and Second Chance and Kagami means mirror #there's no way one of Luka's at least 4 exes isn't a dude #Someone ask me about the band Luka's exes form in dedication to Ladybug and how that ties back to Luka being Bob Roth's newest rockstar #miraculous ladybug #lila rossi #cerise bianca #iris verdi #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #cat noir #chat noir #luka couffaine #kagami tsurugi #miraculous ladybug theory #lukadrien #marigami #yeah marigami is endgame too #ml theory #miraculous ladybug season 6 #ladybug season 6 #miraculous world london #chronobug and the ghosts of the past

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bridgetotheskyyy · 22 days

Text

chapter five.

masterlist

Chapter summary: Your father arrives, the end of the month draws near, and you and Gaara hit some milestones . . .

Chapter warnings: 18+, smut (THATS RIGHT YOU GUYSS), lots of angst, physical sickness

Word count: 12k

A/N: full notes on ao3! Pls let me know if you find any errors tumblr hates me (and I hate tumblr <3333)

Read on ao3 here:

You knew it was him, though his back was to you. For you had been walking behind him all your life.

An entourage of personal guards surrounded your father. Cyclone. The strongest band of ninja from the Oasis village. All of them carried shields fashioned like scorpion pedipalps. Face masks covered all but their eyes. In the center was your father. The elders listened with rapt attention as he raconteured some epic story containing a dragon with arms outstretched and a stentorian voice. Baki sat among them, his eye shifting between you and Father. Neither Kankuro nor Temari were present yet.

“Ahh,” said Ebizo. “And here is Lord Kazekage now.”

Your father turned to see who had come, his eyes widening underneath the disk of his village head hat; they were devoid of the madness you were accustomed to seeing in them.

“(Y/n) …” Father ignored Gaara to marvel at you. He strolled, arms wide, to you. “My angel.”

He roped arms around you; you suppressed a flinch. He parted to caress your face. “I’ve been blind without the light of your smile,” he said.

“Father …” Your voice was high with hope. “I’ve … I’ve missed you.”

“Not nearly as much as I have missed you, my star.” His voice hadn’t been this gentle in addressing you since you were a child, lulled to sleep by the bounce of his knee. “How I managed in the dark, I will never know.”

Gaara bowed to him. “I have hoped to meet you for a very long time, Lord Boutoku.”

“Oh, son-in-law.” Your father strode toward Gaara, arms ready to embrace him. “You are the splitting image of the fourth Kazekage himself.”

He enveloped Gaara as everyone watched, not sure of what to say.

“Come,” Father urged. “There’s much to discuss.”

Your father’s Cyclone parted down the middle to admit the three of you. You followed Gaara to the table, but your father remained on his feet.

“It is a shame Lady Ikanago is absent,” Ebizo said. “She would have relished this the very most.”

“There will be more than enough time for me to become acquainted with the Sand’s dignitaries, surely,” your father said.

“Lord Boutoku was just telling us about the customs of your village,” Baki told you.

“Yes,” your father said. “Now —“

The door burst open. Temari and Kankuro came through.

“Don’t start without us —!”

“Kankuro, get off my foot —!”

“Ahh,” your father said, “and this must be Lord Kazekage’s eldest sister.”

Their eyes widened before they hastened to compose themselves, hands going behind their backs.

“Uh — yes.” Temari bowed. “A pleasure.”

“It’s very nice to see you again, Lord Boutoku,” Kankuro said.

“The feeling is mutual,” your father said. “Come, come. Now that we’re all here, we can discuss the wedding at last. But first.” Your father clapped his hands, and a servant knelt at his side, offering something in his hands. Your father took it to give to you. “Your mother made me promise to pass this on to you when the time came, and I infringe upon her memory if I withhold it from you a moment longer.”

A small velvet box. You opened it: a ring.

Your mother’s ring.

“It’s beautiful,” Gaara said.

You gawked at the miraculous rock for a few seconds longer before slowly raising your head to your father. He had loved no one in the world more than her. Hideo a close second (and you last, probably). Warmth blanketed over your entire being as Father squeezed your hand.

“I am sure Lord Kazekage had his own plans for securing a ring. I hope he does not mind,” he said, eyes soft on you.

“Not at all,” Gaara interjected. “The Oasis is very loyal to its traditions; I suspected something like this may happen.”

And he gently took the ring box from your hand as the members of the council watched, entranced by the sight of Gaara taking the ring from the box and sliding it over your finger.

You raised your hand to the light; the ring shone like a star he’d pricked from the sky just for your finger. You observed the scene, as if it had been plucked from one of your daydreams. Gaara before you, your father blessing it all, Kankuro, Temari, and Baki smiling.

“I’m … so happy,” You said, choked with emotion. “Thank you, Father, I — Thank you …!”

“What a blessed union,” Ebizo said. “Hopefully, Lord Boutoku will be open to answering a few of our questions?”

“Of course,” Father boomed. “Of course!”

Your father spoke of the traditions of your village. Dual colors were decided on, a mixture of the Sand’s beige with your village’s blue, along with the special foods that have become specialties in the Oasis. By the end, there was a layout for the reception, who would be coming and then seated where.

It was surprisingly fun for you. Temari had taken it upon herself to bring a binder to keep the information safe and at hand. You were waiting for your father to pause in the event of possible objections, but it obviously wasn’t necessary; the council was besotted with your father, hanging on his every word as he circled the council’s oval table as though lecturing them.

“Now,” Father sighed dramatically with a pat of his thigh, “if the council would oblige me, the trip here was excessive, and I am not as young as I used to be …”

“Of course,” Ryusa said. “A period of rest is warranted now.”

A Sand guard appeared by Gaara’s side to whisper, “It’s time, Lord Kazekage.”

Gaara nodded as you frowned, confused. It hit you: Matsuri.

“Gaara,” You murmured. “I want to come. I know this will be hard for you.”

“And I would like you to be with us.” Gaara lowered his head. “But perhaps it’s better for you to stay and reconnect with your father.”

A few seconds and you said, “Okay.”

“And,” Gaara smiled, “perhaps excise a few details?”

You chuckled. “Will do.”

You gave Gaara’s arm a reassuring squeeze before he raised from his seat, Kankuro and Temari following him.

“I’ll send one of them to tell you how things went,” Gaara said.

You nodded and watched the three of them leave. By the time you turned your attention back to the council, it was disbanding. Your father came to you.

“I finally have you to myself, my dove,” he said. “Lord Kazekage has fixed me with my own quarters. Come along. We have much to talk about.”

You didn’t know what to expect as you entered your father’s private room. Similar to yours, save for the luxuries yours didn’t possess (which, you were sure, was Temari’s doing in an effort to impress him). A fireplace crackled in the quiet space, dousing amber light on the sitting room floor as the curtains were drawn. Two plush loveseats faced each other, separated by a rug and a coffee table. A large bed sectioned off in the corner.

Your father followed you in, Chuuyou on his tail.

“These knees.” Your father sank into a couch with a pained sigh. “Never get old, (Y/n). Promise me that.”

“I promise,” You said simply to obey.

“Chuuyou.” Father turned to him. “I applaud you for protecting my daughter, as you have. You have made both your village and head proud.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Chuuyou bowed his head, both out of respect and, though he could not hide it from you, to conceal his guilty expression.

He’s still thinking about the beach.

Seconds passed in silence. You sat across from Father, feeling as though it was what he was waiting for, and remained stock still. Another sigh from him. He appeared aged in a way he never had to you before.

“Despite all my orders,” he said after a century, “you still have not tried to poison him.”

Oh no. You balled your fists in your lap. You shrank into yourself, desperate to make yourself smaller.

“I’m sorry.” You hung your head. “I’m sorry I disobeyed, I … I just couldn’t.”

“… Thank the gods.”

You looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I have been rash.” Father ran a hand over his face. “There is more benefit to you marrying the Kazekage than there could ever be in disposing of him.”

“But …” Hope, once again, sat tentatively inside of you, unsure of its place in this conversation. “What about Hideo?”

There it was — the insane look common in your father’s eye rushed into his irises, all for it to disappear as quickly as it had come. Father lowered his gaze, his entire being depressed and deflated, and for a moment you felt the full weight of your father’s losses like it was yours. And in a way, it was.

“I have lost a great deal, by living in the past,” your father said. “I refuse to lose anything else … It was a mistake to send you here under such nefarious pretenses.”

“Father …” You were so quick to tears lately and now was no different. You couldn’t believe it. Relief and sympathy raised within you. The vice, wrapped around your heart always, fell away.

“Just tell me one thing,” he said, looking up at you finally. “Do you think you may come to love him?”

You thought, now, of Gaara, and the unobstructed path that now led to him.

“Yes.”

Matsuri was relocated to the Sunagakure prison later that day. Multiple accounts of her espousing her jealousy and displeasure of Gaara’s imminent marriage to you had reached a variety of ears, and, with all the evidence against her and no more cards to play, her guilt was obvious.

In the midst of all of this, all you wanted to do was go to Gaara — to be there for him and because, freed from your bond of violence, you ached for him — but you fought against it. Surely what he needed now was time to breathe. Despite knowing so little of her, you knew Matsuri had been his student, and to watch her fall into treason due to personal feelings had to be traumatic.

You just wanted to be out of the way. You couldn’t shake the feeling this was partially your fault to begin with. You kept to your room, unsure of what to do with all this free time and lack of anxiety. You couldn’t believe you were free. You admired the little piece of sky sparkling on your finger. You only had the slightest recollections of your mother wearing it as she held you, tending to your tiny body and needs.

You held your ring finger with a tenderness mirroring hers, sat at your windowsill as evening sighed into night, the soft whistling of the wind brushing past a village at peace, when a knock ripped you from your reverie.

You straightened. “Come in.”

You expected a maid who’d come to tell you dinner was ready, but —

“Are you all right?”

You startled. Gaara shut the door behind him, never taking his eyes off you, and let himself into your room. He was without his Kage robes, dressed in his trench coat.

“Gaara,” You said, astonished. A pause.

“I’ve not seen you all day.”

“I thought it best to stay away,” You said. “Are you all right?”

His eyes rounded with clarity. “You’ve heard.”

“Maids like to gossip.”

He was quiet for a second. He looked away. “It is done.”

“I am so sorry.” You removed yourself from the window seat and crossed the room to him. You folded your arms, having it awkward to have them simply dangle there, and you weren’t sure if Gaara would like to be touched.

Gaara’s head hung still. He looked so aggrieved, tiredness lining his face.

“What happened?” You asked carefully.

“There was an abundance of evidence,” Gaara began. “The elders were especially hard on her. Matsuri cried a great deal.” His hands clenched at his sides. “She kept saying it wasn’t her and that she’d been framed, yet there was nothing she could do or say to defend herself.”

You sat on your bed. “Sit with me,” You said, patting the space beside you.

When he did, he continued: “I forgive her.” Gaara turned to you. “Please do not let this taint your view of who she is. She is still a very talented and gifted shinobi.”

“I won’t.” You shook your head. Despite the anger you felt for Matsuri at the last meeting with the council, it had long since passed, and all you felt was a hollowness for the man beside you, his aggrieved bewilderment your own.

Gaara gazed into his lap, invisible brows furrowed by sorrow. “I … am still perplexed as to how this could have happened … Matsuri … But I also know love is a powerful force that can make people act contrary to themselves.” His hand inched toward yours, resting on your lap. “I know because … though I felt sympathy for Matsuri, I feel as though my heart wasn’t with her.” He looked up at you. “It was with you.”

“Gaara …” You held his hand. You were beyond flattered, and, with the new conditions you were under, you felt you could really lean into the reserved but true affection Gaara was giving you. You, now, lived in the serene turquoise of his eyes as the faintest of smiles crossed his face.

“I wanted to return to you to be by your side. All I could think about was you today, and the ring … Our future.” He rose from the bed, your hand still in his. “Come. There is something I’d like to show you.”

“Of course,” You said, curiosity lilting your voice.

Gaara led you down hallways. You realized you had never been to this area of the palace before. It was a more secluded part of the palace, quieter; nothing but a simple vase potting an enormous plant by the new, mysterious doorway you were led through.

He led you to a door, and all clicked into place for you.

His room. Gaara’s room.

At that moment, you realized you had never actually been to Gaara’s room. You couldn’t even tell anyone where it was in the palace. Sweat pressed against your palms. Warm light filled the room, but it was bare save for a simple wooden desk, a lamp, a bed, a carpet — but what caught your attention was the collection of cacti on the desk.

Definitely Gaara’s room.

He let you in first and you heard him close the door behind him as you took it in with a small smile.

You turned to him. “What do you want me for?”

“I invited you here because I wished to see you in private,” Gaara said. “I want to be alone with you. I’ve …missed having you by my side since the tent. I’ve never had anyone so close to me for so long.” Color came to Gaara’s cheeks. “As a couple,” he began, approaching you, “we should be sharing a room — and a bed.”

You turned to it, conspicuously wide enough for the two of you. You stared. Nothing was keeping you from Gaara now.

“Then perhaps we should make it truly ours.”

Gaara searched your face, your meaning lost on him, as you approached.

This time, you kissed him.

You cupped the back of his head, where crimson hair ran between your fingers. When Gaara reciprocated, your legs weakened, but he kept you steady with all the strength with which you’d been familiarized.

You had not realized your feet were moving backwards until the slight jab at the back of your knees.

With a whimper, you fell backward. Gaara quickly caught you. You sat on the bed, scooting away from him, which he took as a beckon to follow. You sighed when your head pressed into the pillows. Gaara blanketed your body with his, his lips possessing yours a second time.

You moaned, opened your mouth for his tongue to come play with yours. You welcomed the pressure of his body on top of you, your hands once again losing themselves in his hair as he flicked and nibbled against your lips.

“Show me,” Gaara moaned against your jawline, his tone raw and commanding as your hands scaled his back. “Show me everything from the books. I want to know everything.”

“That could take a while,” You hummed, your lips parting as he nibbled at your flushed skin. But we have time. We have all the time in the world.

“Then you should start now.” Gaara nibbled on your neck. Your heels dug into his calves as his wet tongue swept over the vulnerable skin.

You fumbled, pulling yourself out from under Gaara to work your shirt over your head, grappling with the deja vu you felt as you tossed it aside. You couldn’t wait. You couldn’t. Gaara awkwardly fumbled with the buttons of his trench coat until you assisted.

So many layers. You shed your pants away, now down to your underwear. You had never let another see you this naked before, let alone nude, besides your maids, and there were no secrets amongst women. But somehow, you were not nervous as you unhooked your bra. Gaara’s motions had stilled to a stop. Flutters went straight to your cunt with the way his eyes scanned you, hungry, as it slowly unfolded before him.

Your panties hung around one bare ankle when Gaara brushed a hand over your leg. He hooked fingers under your panties to pull them away himself and onto the floor.

“I want to touch you.” His tone was impossibly husky, low. His hand traveled from your leg to your inner thigh.

You laid back down for him. You were completely bare for him now, you realized, as his eyes roved hungrily over your naked flesh. Gaara’s head settled over your chest, pressing kisses against the valley of your breast, one hand preoccupied with your nipple —

“Mm …!” You arched into him. Gaara’s teeth grazed against another nipple. His curious tongue swirled against the rising bud. You heard the buckles of his uniform unfastening as your head sunk in the pillows, and you knew he was in the midst of shedding the remainder of his gear as he busied with your breasts. His naked skin pressed against your thighs. Your cunt throbbed, maddening you to be touched.

Thankfully, Gaara’s curiosity worked in your favor; his lips traveled down your skin, brushing over a nipple before sliding past the bones of your ribcage. His hands hooked over the fat of your thighs, the soft brush of your pubic hair grazing his chin.

“I remember, in the books …” Gaara’s thumb gently spread one lip, your juices surely leaking over. “The man tastes the woman. I want to taste you, too.”

Your heart skipped; Gaara’s hot breath hit your lips. “He licks up the valley of her lips …” .

You gasped. You realized what he was doing; he was quoting Icha Icha.

His lips flicked experimentally at your folds. You flinched, a knee knocking his head.

He paused to examine you. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes, Gaara …” You gripped one of Gaara’s shoulders to compel him forward, excitement causing you to flutter. “It feels so good …”

Not needing to be told twice, he sank down, gave your folds a series of licks. You could feel him pause to taste your juices before starting again.

“Good …” he murmured. “So good … If I’d known …”

“Keep going …!”

You lost a hand in his hair. Gaara was eating you. It was unreal. His hot breath on your lips, his open palms spreading your thighs open, was something right out of your wildest dreams. He ate you gently, experimenting with this new territory that was you. You were more than happy to oblige, spreading your legs wider to become more accessible to him in a way you have never been with any man before him. You gripped the sheets at his sudden kisses, the unsuspected swipes of his tongue. His fingers gently spread and kneaded at your labia, exploring you and overstimulating you in the process.

Gaara came up, accidentally brushing a nose against your clit —

You cried out. You pressed him into your cunt. A quick learner, he tested the tip of his tongue against the nub, coaxing another series of moans from you. Your eyes doubled back as he latched on to your clit, the suction of his lips driving you wild.

You writhed underneath him. Your hands rubbed over his hands as he lapped up your juices.

“Oh — use — Gaara, you have to use your — your fingers, oh!”

Gaara paused momentarily, as though something had occurred to him.

“She welcomed his fingers like old friends into her heat …”

You felt his thumb brush against your folds. It pressed farther in until it breached the entrance of your hole.

“Gaara …!” You pulled at his hair.

He grunted but did nothing to stop you, teasing your entrance with his thumb as his tongue swirled around your clit. Your legs trembled, your back arching off the bed and into his willing mouth. Your juices seeped past the fat of your behind, only for Gaara to reach down to collect it with his tongue.

His breath quickened as he replaced his thumb with a finger, pressing it in —

“Ahh! Ha—aha!” A familiar tightness was tormenting your abdomen. Close, close. You tried to think through your haze; if you could just get him to … “Another, please, and — and curl them up, oh —“

“I will …!”

He obeyed with a soft growl, adding another finger into your slippery heat. Your strangled breath coincided with his fingers sinking in. So full, but not enough. You ached for more, bucking your hips in desperation. As instructed, he brought his fingers up in beckoning —

“Aah!”

Gaara’s tongue returned to your clit, curling his fingers again and again, your juices seeping, slipping past his digits. You rocked into his fingers, finding a rhythm with him.

He sucked and kissed your clit, fingers beckoning one final time —

You cried out, clutching at him with both hands. You clenched over his fingers, the walls around them becoming rougher and tighter as your climax came. You shuddered, biting your lip. Gaara was not stopping, inciting wave after wave through you until you plateaued. Pleasure crashed back down around you, forcing you limp against the bed.

“Gaara!” You warned, pushing him away. “Stop, stop! I — I can’t —!”

Immediately, he pulled his mouth and fingers away. You fell to your side, squeezing your legs. You panted, face hot, and in your haze wondered, in the future, if he would do this to you: edge you without realizing — or maybe on purpose? Finger and fuck your poor insides to make you a fumbling mess, as long as it was what you liked. If you told him, he would do it …

A second or so more and Gaara’s hand brushed against your elbow. “Was that all right?”

You turned over your shoulder to look at him, stars in your eyes. “Incredible.” You twisted to face him, kissing his lips, tasting and smelling yourself on him.

It wasn’t long before you were throbbing again, desperate for more contact. Your overactive imagination made it so. He embraced you in the kiss, his warm cock poking at you. You broke the kiss, panting as you brushed him aside to admire him.

You salivated at the sight of him. Your dream to have him twitching and dripping his seed down your mouth was not gone, but … but you couldn’t wait any longer.

Besides, there would be more time for that.

“I need you inside of me,” You said.

He seemed to understand. You laid back down for him to topple you. Visions of the future — you topping him, bouncing atop his cock, swallowing his seed from under his table— filled your mind. Many fantasies that had already been revisited during your alone times. There would be so much time now. You just needed him.

You helped him position himself. Your excited cunt clenched around nothing in anticipation. You bit your lip as his cockhead brushed against your entrance.

“You will tell me,” Gaara began, both an assumption and an order, “if anything hurts.”

You nodded hastily, clinging to his arms. “Of course.”

“Good,” he said, “because I may not be able to stop.”

His cock slid into you, filling you in ways you couldn’t have imagined. You clung to him, nails digging into his forearms as he filled you to capacity.

You nestled in the crook of his neck. “Gaara …”

Pain gave way to pleasure as Gaara succumbed to a thrust. Your head whirled with the novel sensations. The pain was alien but not immense. You stifled stammers out of fear they might encourage him to stop.

Under no circumstances could he stop.

Another thrust —

“Mmfm!” You threw your head back. Gaara’s lips crashed into yours as he moved against you, slapping his hips into yours.

You bit into his neck this time, nibbling at the hickeyed skin soon to bruise there. Gaara’s hand found your clit by accident — and upon seeing your pleased reaction, fixed his hand there and circled it.

He grunted with pleasure as your legs involuntarily wrapped around his waist. His pants puffed into your skin as he pounded you. “Ti — tight …!”

The pain at your core mingled with the pleasure in a way that was strangely pleasant. Your lips part to emit a confused moan-whimper. You wanted more, demanded more. So enamored with Gaara’s plundering of your cunt and his sounds increasing in volume, you didn’t feel him flinch away until his cock had left you.

Gaara pulled away, a hand glued to his cock with eyes squeezed shut. White spent spilled over your inner thigh with a frustrated cry from Gaara. You watched, mesmerized, as ropes of come spilled from his slit and onto your beaded skin.

“Gaara …” You murmured, cunt squeezing around nothing.

He opened his eyes to mere darkened slits, panting as he observed his work.

“I’m — I’m sorry …” He began to come to his senses, realizing what he’d done. “I didn’t know …”

“It’s okay.” You swept his spent from your thigh with scoops of your finger, disposing of it on the fabric. “They’re just sheets.”

Gaara glanced up at you. “Yes, but you …?”

“It’s okay.” You inched toward him. “I can’t get you back up, don’t worry …”

You caressed his cock, now turning flaccid. Gaara took a sharp intake of breath as your grip grew firm. You ran your tongue over your bottom lip before pressing a soft kiss to his head. You tested the waters, taking him into your mouth slowly to see how he would react. Another kiss and swipe of your tongue —

“Nnrgh …” Gaara fisted the sheets.

You resisted a smirk as you drew back, eyes flickering up at him. “Good?”

“Yes …” His breathing had grown labored, no doubt due to the gentle strokes you spoiled his overstimulated shaft with.

You leaned forward to run your tongue over the ridge of his head, outlining the span of it with your tongue. Gaara’s short, nearly inaudible gasps spurred you on to trap his head between your lips and suck.

“Ah, hah-ah —“

You took in more of him, feeling the veins trailing his cock grow more prominent with each new inch into your mouth. You grazed your fingertips over his balls as you dared another inch, hollowing your cheeks to serve his twitching cock.

“All right.” Gaara’s hand laid on your shoulder. “Enough — enough.”

You obeyed and released him with a pop. He was near fully erect now, his cock level with your face. You dug nails into your thigh. It had been so hard for you to resist tweaking your clit with him buried in your mouth.

“If you go on, I won’t last,” he explained.

You nodded and followed the gesture of his gaze back into bed. He returned to his rightful place above you.

“One day soon, I’ll be on top,” You rambled, cheeks red and hot, as Gaara repositioned himself above you. “I can’t imagine how good you’d feel.”

“That day will be today. I only want to get this right now,” Gaara said, and with the tiniest bit of fanfare, placed his head at the tight ring of your cunt and slid inside.

“Aah — AHAA!”

“You seemed to like this before,” Gaara said, voice raised with teasing tilt as he rolled two finger pads into your neglected clit, accompanying his play with deep, slow thrusts.

“Mm …!” You arched into him, your leg spasmed in his hold as he tapped at your clit, Gaara’s fingers dangerously close to where his cock and your opening met. “Gaara!”

“That’s it,” he said. “That’s what I want to hear.” His thrusts quickened inchmeal, but a simple step felt like a mile. “I won’t be a novice for long, (Y/n). I’ll learn everything.”

He slapped a hard thrust into you and stayed there, your hips to his.

“I’ll make you feel everything,” he said as your head fell back into the disarrayed pillows.

You clenched him hard without meaning to. He had to stop talking, otherwise … The encouragement of your cunt was enough to make Gaara rock into you, lustful grunts sounding above you. You closed your and looped arms around his; his clit play would not stop; three fingers tweaked and circled your clit now, your pleasure mounting.

“She finds herself at the peak of climax, and he would be the one to deliver it to her …!”

With a loud moan, you clenched around him tighter and relished the startled moan he gave. His frown rested against your forehead. He seemed to be battling both with the pleasure he felt and the struggle to understand you, how this was possible. Your clit fixed between his two fingers, driving you mad as he filled you again and again with his cock.

Tightness gripped you again, and you knew were you were close. Gaara’s hand abandoned your calf to knead at your breast, eyes closed as he lost himself in you.

“I — I’m …” he panted. “Again …!”

Gaara’s cock twitched inside of you. Close. How could he not be? You knew this wouldn’t last long, even with the help of your mouth. Your mind blared white, bright with the idea of Gaara coming so deep inside of you —

“Ahah …” Your vision gave you another pleasured throb you didn’t need. “Gaara …!”

Stupid, stupid. You couldn’t let him, you couldn’t —

But you wanted it. Wanted him. You gripped on to him tighter. “Do it,” You ordered. “Do it, I want you — want —“

Yet as he slammed into you one final time and the warmth of his come filled you, you could do nothing but hold him closer and take it. His fingers tormented you, the stimulation sending you over the edge as well.

Gaara pulled out, and you felt the slick of his seed seep from your hole onto the sheets. You moaned, clenching around his spent.

So good …

“Amazing …” he remarked, eyes on your drooling cunt.

You tried to wade through the pleasure thrumming through you to understand your mistake, but couldn’t. The after-sex buzz proved too profound. You could hardly register it as a mistake at all, what with how good you felt, pleasurable aches simmering underneath your flushed skin. You dragged Gaara close for another kiss.

Once released, Gaara said, “I’ve never experienced this level of closeness with anyone …” He wrapped arms around you. He lowered his gaze to your beaded clavicle while you played with the damp ends of his rustled hair. “It is strange, but wonderful, too.”

“Neither have I.” You grinned. He’s so grateful. You admired the light smile that came to Gaara’s face. “Was I good?”

Gaara glanced up. “Is it possible for someone not be to be good?”

You couldn’t discern your blush from the natural post-coitus flush you had. “It’s possible.” You wished you hadn’t said it; Gaara’s brows knit together, his eyes wandering with thoughts. Apparently, you’d given him a new worry. “But you were amazing,” You hastened to add.

His expressions softened. “Good. I’m glad.” He watched you pepper his hand and arms with kisses. “I want to be as good as the men in the books.”

“I think you’ve already achieved that, my love.”

Gaara nestled closer to you in the sheets. His hand flexed — open, close — as you left a kiss on his green veins. “Do we need to stop?” Gaara asked.

You met his eye, your mind drunk with him.

“No,” You said and pulled him forward — for the two of you to be pulled under.

You had very little appetite at breakfast, your mind still enamored with the previous events that had come to pass.

Gaara was, of course, not at breakfast; tending to sensitive Kazekage duties was of the utmost importance. So instead, you choose to eat with Kankuro and Temari.

Gaara had quite the … stamina. You were sure you had looked like murder for the rest of the night; bed hair and wild eyes as you walked Gaara through all the things you had only read about and heard from other noble ladies. Aches you fought to keep discreet restricted a lot of your movements.

The sounds of Gaara’s soft pants and whispers of praise were still in your ear long after they had faded into time. Warmth spread through your cheeks as you stared idly at the water remaining in your glass, looking but not seeing.

“So close, (Y/n) —“

“You feel amazing —“

“Don’t make me stop —“

“(Y/n)? (Y/n)!”

Temari tore you from your reverie, the images of last night turning to watercolor in your mind.

“Watch the salt,” she said, pointing to your plate.

You looked down to see your hand pouring a hill of salt on your fish. You sighed, put it away and shoveled the hill from your plate.

“I’m going to give a speech at the wedding,” Kankuro said, mind made up.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Temari sipped her tea. “Just as long as you tell me what you’re going to say.”

“What?” Kankuro crossed his arms indignantly. “You don’t trust me?”

“Oh, I wonder why, Mr. psychoactive cactus man?”

Kankuro sighed in defeat as you giggled. “All right, fine,” he replied.

“Do you have anything written?” You asked, desperate for something to cling to so you might live in the present.

Kankuro shrugged. “Not yet. I’m not as good with words as Gaara.”

“Nonsense!” You playfully slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure whatever you say will be lovely. You’ve got to let me read.”

Kankuro held up his pinkie. “Promise.”

“I hope Lord Boutoku’s quarters are to his satisfaction,” Temari said as you wrapped your pinkie around Kankuro’s. “We wanted only the best to make him comfortable.”

So it was her. You smiled. “He’s doing well. Thank you, Temari.”

“No problem!”

Better than well, actually; your father had returned to a softer version of himself, ordering servants to and fro and requesting to be served all of his meals in bed. You resisted an eye-roll, thinking about the prima donna that he was. As long as he was happy, you supposed.

“All right, I’m outta here.” Temari set aside a napkin and rose from her seat. “Long day today.”

“With what, exactly?”

“Lady Ikanago has requested details about Lord Boutoku’s arrival, and I said I’d go fill her in,” Temari explained.

“Gonna grab her some painkillers for that hip, too?”

Temari threw a bun at Kankuro’s head, which he aptly caught and bit into.

“Or maybe some purple pandemonium.” Temari snickered as Kankuro blanched. She left her chair. “So long, you two.”

You waved goodbye to her and returned to your breakfast, humming quietly before taking a sip of your water —

“So,” Kankuro began. “You and my little brother sure had fun last night, didn’t you —?”

— You spit out your water.

“Wha — what?” You dabbed yourself frantically with a napkin.

Kankuro’s laughter shook his shoulders, the bun becoming clearly too heavy to hold under the weight of the mirth.

“How do you —“ Your mind went to wild places. “He didn’t tell you —?”

“Are you kidding?” Kankuro said. “Of course not. He’d never; he’s ever bit the gentleman he seems.”

“Then …” You looked around helplessly. “Then how …?”

Kankuro tapped a finger on his temple. “A brother knows these things; I got a good look at him earlier this morning.” He took another bite out of his now crescent moon of a bun and added with a mouth full, “plus, the two of you are such virgins — all dazed and bashful. If this is you trying to hide it, then the whole village will know.”

“Oh, gods.” You hid in your soup. You had passed out long before Gaara and had woken up in his bed without him in it, accompanied only by a simple note telling you Kazekage duties had pulled him away and to go back to sleep full of good dreams.

Kankuro chuckled. “Don’t sweat it. Nobody heard anything.”

“That’s not helping me to not sweat.”

“It’s okay!” Kankuro couldn’t stop grinning. “Really! I’m glad of it.” He shook his head, his smile not having died. “I was worried it’d never happen for him, my poor little brother.”

You groaned, elbow supporting your weight as you ran a hand over your face. “Does Temari know?”

“You’re still alive,” Kankuro said, “so no.”

That earned a little dry laugh from you, a spark of mirth, and it was gone. You looked up through a crack in your fingers. “He looked happy this morning when you saw him, right?”

Kankuro’s expression sobered a bit as he looked into your worried face. “Of course.”

You sighed, relieved.

Kankuro scooped another egg onto his plate. “You gonna go see if he’s still happy?”

“He’s busy.” Both your arms folded on the table. You looked out the window at the faraway blue sky. “I don’t want to bother him.”

In truth, you had no idea what you were supposed to do after sex. Icha Icha was coming up dry on that front; the couples usually lazed in bed or fell asleep together and the time skips gave you no idea what was meant to happen the day after.

“You’re too timid, sis.” Kankuro reached over and pinched your cheek as you grumbled. “Don’t worry about that; we bug him all day with little things. He always says he doesn’t mind. Breaks up the monotony of the day.”

You smiled to yourself. “I don’t know …”

“Both of you think too much,” Kankuro said. “Do you even think last night would have happened if my brother was so sensitive to everything you did? Stop worrying.”

You chuckled. “Okay, okay. I’ll go myself.”

“That a girl.”

You straightened your back as you neared Gaara’s office. Despite your nerves, you did want to see him again.

“Do I look all right, Chuuyou?” You asked.

He blinked, as though surprised you would expect a reasonable answer about fashion from a shinobi. “The skirt complements your legs very well, my lady.”

You nodded, assured. You had opted for your precious fishnets again, with wedged sandals and a skirt to soften their effect. Would everything be different post-coitus? For better or worse? You let yourself into his office.

“Gaara?” You sweetened your voice as the door creaked open.

Two other Sand ninjas flanked Gaara’s desk. Their heads raised when you entered. You met Gaara’s eye immediately, who stiffened upon seeing you.

“Hello, gentlemen,” You said. “I would like a minute alone with my fiancée.”

The ninja exchanged glances. You watched in mild amusement as they obeyed without a word from Gaara and exited.

“They are instructed to listen to you now as well,” Gaara said as the door closed, reading the question on your face. “I thought it appropriate, as you will be a part of my family from now on.”

Butterflies fluttered in your chest as you strode to his desk. You will be a part of my family. You admired your cactus gift now present atop it, now the parent of two tiny succulents flanking either sides of it.

“I apologize for leaving so abruptly,” Gaara said. “My responsibilities as Kazekage …”

“No!” You dismissed him with a nervous laugh. “Don’t apologize, it was nothing.”

“I never would have left you for anything less imperative,” Gaara said while shuffling papers.

Gaara’s fingers grazed yours as they ghosted the wood of the desk. And, upon instinct, you crossed the desk to him. He stared ahead. Rose-colored the pale in his face as he set aside a folder.

“Last night was … all right?”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.” You looped a finger around one of his. “Funny. I was going to ask you the same.”

“Nonsense.” Gaara’s grip grew firmer on your hand. “You were — are — everything a man could ask for.”

You lowered your gaze sheepishly, not knowing what to say to that.

Gaara gave an affirmative nod. “Good. At any rate, there is still much I wish for you to teach me.” He opened a drawer. You gawked at his collection of Icha Icha novels.

“You keep these in here?”

“They don’t interfere with work, I assure you.”

“I could’ve sworn I taught you enough last night!”

“Perhaps for one night,” Gaara said, “but not indefinitely.”

You giggled as he rose to admire you. A gentle smile narrowed his eyes. Gaara’s thumb brushed the side of your face. He left a kiss on your forehead.

Gaara …

“I intend to spend more time with you once my work is done,” Gaara said as he parted from you.

“I understand,” You said and, feigning tiredness, you added, “and in the meantime, I guess I’ll look to see what my father is up to.”

Gaara nodded wordlessly. You pet his hand, not quite through with the feel of his touch, before waving goodbye to him before leaving the office.

You might as well have been walking on pure air; there was nothing tethering you to the earth. Nothing at all.

The end of the month began to draw near. You, your father, and Gaara were in talks about how the two villages would intersect from now on. Father was willing to split his Cyclone down the middle and gift you some of the members, but you weren’t too sure. There were certain classified documents he promised you could now read and, if you deemed it wise, share with Gaara. Those you were more interested in; if you could assist in the coming together of your two villages in any way, that was how you wanted to occupy your time. The diplomacy enthralled you.

But it wasn’t because you didn’t appreciate the effort; Father hadn’t been this warm toward you since the days before your mother had died. It made you feel precious to see him grow incensed about the attack at the beach. You had to suppress laughter when he promised he would send his best to hang your attacker at a town square, slice him into pieces (whatever suited his mood that day) until you steered him on to a different subject. You often had your breakfasts with him now, where he either asked you about your days with Gaara’s family or reminisced about the good old days of being a shinobi (whenever those were, but you knew better than to interject).

And, of course, there was the ever-elusive oasis.

You asked Father if he had told Gaara anything about your village’s greatest secret, but his answers were always vague. Supposedly, he was saving the juiciest information for last.

“He’s told me nothing,” Gaara said during one breakfast Father hadn’t roped you into, “and I think it’s because I haven’t asked. I don’t wish to seem too eager.”

“Well, they can have it,” Temari had said, twirling her fork. “I’m not really that curious about some puddle of water in the middle of the desert — no offense,” she added to you with an apologetic flash of a smile. “I just care about how much of a precedent this will set for other villages we’ve rivaled with.”

“Temari’s right,” Baki said before turning to Gaara. “Excellent deduction skills, Lord Kazekage; we wouldn’t want to make Lord Boutoku uncomfortable with our inquiries. The council is doing more than enough of that on their own.”

Kankuro, you noticed, had been strangely silent on the matter.

You and Gaara were sharing a room now, which you were sure was some kind of symbolic metaphor. You had few possessions to move in besides things that were left in your closet; the clothes you had brought with you to Sunagakure, the clothes you’d bought with Temari, simple knick knacks. Gaara was more than liberal with his personal space and seemed to welcome the intrusion.

You woke one morning — ready to retch. You tore the sheets off of you and sprinted to the bathroom. You ducked your head in the toilet and vomited until you dry-heaved.

You collapsed to the side with a groan. You wiped your mouth and flushed it away.

“Are you all right, my lady?” one of the servants asked, her voice muffled through the closed door.

“I’m — I’m fine!” You rubbed your chest, stiff and aching from the retching.

What was this all about? You hadn’t eaten anything out of the ordinary? In fact, you’d barely eaten anything at all the past few days. Nothing beyond what was necessary to sustain you. Your mind had been on things far more urgent than food. How could you —

A sharp, cold chill ran over you.

No … it can’t be.

… It could.

Leaving out your first night with Gaara, the others had been … extensive. And sorely lacking in protection.

Oh. Oh —

“Damn you, Jiraiya-sensei!” You hissed as you scampered to your feet.

This wasn’t supposed to happen! His characters never used protection! What a fantasy!

But you should’ve known better, after all the stories noble women had shared with you about their accidental pregnancies. Some had even fallen pregnant on their cycle. All of these cautionary tales had impelled the younger ones to be more careful. You had not been careful.

You were pregnant.

Your head spun as you faced yourself in the mirror, ready to … you didn’t know. Laugh maniacally? Cry? Be … happy?

Happy?

You brushed a hand over your belly. Could it be possible you were growing life there at that very moment? Your child? Gaara’s child? You would be a mother? All of these casualties formed chaotic webs inside your mind, one string falling after the last. Your overactive brain flashed images of you and Gaara and children that looked like both of you. A family. A proper family …

Worry was replaced with rising elation, like a morning sun coming to bring clarity. What if you were pregnant? Wouldn’t it be a good thing? And the wedding … no one would ever know you had gotten pregnant before; in no way would you start showing before the time came.

Who would you tell? Who could you tell? Temari? Would she be upset with you?

You wished, more than anything, to have your mother.

She would know what to do. You felt a strange kinship with her suddenly; was this what it was like for her when she had discovered her pregnancy? Your mind went a mile a minute. You knew who you could tell.

Finally, you stepped out of the bathroom to see serving ladies and Chuuyou looking concerned.

“I’m fine, really!” You assured. Your mind was made up. “Chuuyou.”

“Yes, my lady?” his soothing voice hit your ear.

“I need to see my father.”

“Ahh, and if it isn’t my favorite daughter.”

Chuuyou stepped aside so you could enter your father’s room. The windows were drawn to let in the morning sun. Tendrils of steam curled into the air from his teacup. All of this was contradicted by him fanning himself on one of the couches.

“Hello, Father,” You greeted.

“Come, come.” He centered the tray on the table.”And to what do I owe this early meeting? I wasn’t expecting to see you for a few hours more.”

“Well, uh.” You watched your father’s hands dance around the tea. He poured you a cup and offered it to you. You accepted it with a tight smile. “I have something to tell you.”

Father sipped his tea. “I’m all ears.”

“Well …” You lowered your gaze to your mug, the steam heating your chin. “I woke up feeling sick this morning —“

“Oh, don’t tell me.” Father snapped his fan closed with a chuckle. “You inherited your weak stomach from your mother. Shame, shame. The woman was my entire world, but the poor thing could be so —“

“I think I may be pregnant.”

…

Breeze whipped the curtain hems with a howl. Chuuyou seemed to take in a sharp breath in the corner, unseen by you; You only had eyes for Father. He’d become a statue, facing you without seeing.

“Pregnant?” Father’s voice was hushed, low. “You’re sure?”

“We — well, I’m not entirely sure.” You twiddled your fingers. “I haven’t done any tests, but it’s a possibility …” You cleared your throat, lowering your gaze. “Highly possible. I was sick this morning, and I’ve never felt anything like that before. We can visit the infirmary together to be sure —“

“You stupid girl.”

You glanced up — hot tea seared your face.

You screamed, hands flying to your face as you doubled over to the sound of china shattering.

“Chuuyou!” Father roared, “close the curtains!”

You collapsed on the floor, still holding your face. Every part of your face burned, hot and horrible. You wailed. Curtains rustled. A hand seized the hem of your shirt to hoist you to your feet.

“Get up — GET UP — look at me!” Father snarled, shaking you.

You obeyed with a frightened whimper. Your blurred vision of Father struggled to focus in the darkness. “Father — father, please —!”

“What did I ever do for the gods to curse me with you?” he yanked you closer. “I’ve been as patient as possible, but this? I am so sick of your whorish ways!”

“Father, fath —!”

“Chuuyou told me everything about your filthy little tryst with the Kazekage in his greenhouse,” Father hissed, hot breath close to your face. “Why do you think I’m here —!?”

He tossed you. You were a fool to think the couch would meet you; your back collided with the hard ground. You stumbled, fumbling away on the wet floor on wobbling hands and feet as Father advanced.

“Did you think I would be overjoyed to see you married off to our greatest enemy? Stupid girl!” He picked up another tea cup and threw it at your head. You dodged with a shriek and it split apart at the wall.

You gasped, clutching at the wall. Something came to light in your head, wedged by the horror. The greenhouse … You glanced at Chuuyou. At the same moment, he met your eye.

You had been alone with Gaara in the greenhouse. But you were never alone, not really. And Baki had been assured by his own informants the two of you hadn’t been seen. But you had been seen. But not by Matsuri. By someone who was always watching, for you had your guardian, your supposed protector.

Your shadow.

“It was you …” You whispered. “You spread the word about the greenhouse …”

Chuuyou lowered his gaze. “Yes …”

“You told him!” You pointed to Father, a set of dominoes toppling in your mind. “You set up Matsuri!”

He closed his eyes.

“Yes,” he muttered. “Once I realized you were truly falling in love with the Kazekage, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I left your side at times I knew you wouldn’t notice or care, and assured there were two Matsuris when there should have been one. I had a clone of her visit a gossip columnist in the village. I knew it would cause a scandal.” He bowed his head. “And it did.”

You shook your head, the level of scheming overwhelming to wrap your head around. “How could you?”

And one of Gaara’s closest? His precious student, of all people? But, with a sickening feeling in your stomach unrelated to the fetus growing there, you began to understand: It would appear as though Gaara was a leader, a Kage, who did not have his house in order, who could not control those closest to him. An unstable house was one easy to topple. How he must have felt in the desert, when morning had come and Gaara was still alive.

“The Sand must be defeated, My Lady —“

“Do not call me that!” You shrieked. “You have no right to call me that!”

“This village is duplicitous, it is evil!” Chuuyou went on. “All the years of humiliation, of oppression ― it cannot be undone by something so cynical as a political marriage! They must pay for the pain they have caused us.”

“You helped to sully Gaara’s reputation to spread doubt in the council.” You felt you might retch again. “To strengthen the factions already against him.”

“His reputation has already been sullied. He is a monster — he was born on —“

“And my reputation, Chuuyou?” You murmured, your heart breaking even more than you thought it could, thought it capable. “What about mine?”

Chuuyou opened his eyes only to cast his gaze to the floor, shame keeping him from lifting his chin.

“You were supposed to protect me …” Rage and sorrow toiled inside you. And he failed both times.

You felt dirty and depraved, deprived. Chuuyou, the one person you felt you could always trust even if his shadowing had been bothersome at times. But then … What kind of fool were you? Chuuyou had been chosen by your father, after all. Anyone imposed by him should have raised your alarm, should have cast doubt within you.

“The opinion of those living in the Sand will cease to matter once I have instilled myself as their ruler,” Father said. You had not forgotten he was there. You could never forget. “I was really hoping you would surprise me,” Father’s voice was low as he glowered over you. “Everything I have taught you … I was hoping you had some sound reason for delaying your task. But instead you come to me, suspicious of carrying his child. You are so pathetically predictable.”

“So it was all lies,” You said. “All of it, from the moment you came.”

“My time here has been miserable,” Father hissed. “Having to watch you play house with that thing” — he threw his hand — “and his family. I am here for one reason and one only, and that is to take matters into my own hands.”

Your eyes widened at him. It was all beginning to make sense now. The letter — it had come after the greenhouse. Your father and his Cyclone. You had thought him simply paranoid, wanting his own protection.

That was not why.

You thought of the other Oasis ninja littered all over the palace — the entire village. Perfectly poised to act. All they needed was to be given word …

“So you’ve just been —“ You struggled to get words out. “Biding your time?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Father said. “It seems, despite my intentions, I have friends in this village.” His smile was cold. “Members of the council would like to see the Kazekage’s removal.”

A cold chill. Joseki. And only the gods knew who else. No. No …!

You weren’t quick enough — Father grabbed you again.

“I would hate to kill kin,” he said. “I am giving you not a mission, but a choice. Either you kill your beloved, or you can join your mother and brother in the afterlife.”

You stared at him. Tears ran down your face. “You wouldn’t,” You whispered hopelessly. “You wouldn’t.”

The madness had returned to your father’s eyes. Dread sank you; the madness had never left him.

“It would be a shame if I had to kill my unborn grandchild as well, a blight on our family that it is.”

He dropped you and you fell sloppily to the floor. You cradled your head as it throbbed. You cracked your eyes open, sobbing in the corner as Father left the room, and Chuuyou, his sorrowful gaze lingering on you, followed him.

You hated no one more than yourself.

You had no idea how long you laid on the floor, shattered dreams and china surrounding you. Darkness and quiet swallowed up the room. Spilled tea long cold wet the bottom of your sandals. Time blurred miserably, thick and colorless, and you inferred that it must’ve been hours. You had managed to pick yourself off the floor and skulk to the room that had once been yours. Chuuyou’s loss weighed your step where he would’ve trailed them. Locking the door behind you, you waited to collapse on the bed to collapse in every other way.

You screamed into a pillow, your tears wetting the fabric. You clenched fists into its plush, and you were sure you could rip it apart, powered by nothing but anguish.

Emotions had blinded you. You were so desperate to believe your father had changed his mind you had missed the truth: he only wanted to succeed where you had failed.

He was playing along. All this time … All the while working out sinister background details with Joseki and — horror rained down on you — others to take down Gaara. Had all those times at his bedside been a lie? You couldn’t quite believe it; Father’s joy had seemed so genuine, his laughter — when was the last time you’d heard him laugh? He’d been a different person, an echo of something long lost. The memories of all those mornings evoked a different ache in you, impelling you to touch a hand on your chest. I lost the father I never had. That’s why I feel the way I do.

Chuuyou (your shadow, what a joke) had, at some point, slipped away to frame Matsuri. What was her role in this? Beside your angst lay curiosity; a part of you wanted to go to her cell and ask her yourself.

But you couldn’t. There was no time. Angst. Curiosity. Alarm. You were possibly carrying Gaara’s child — and wouldn’t be for much longer, if you didn’t do something fast. You wiped your tears with the back of your arm, releasing a shuddering breath as you rose from bed.

There was only one card you had to play: you had to tell Gaara. Now.

You picked yourself up from your self-hate, composed yourself, and left the room for the one you shared with Gaara. He had to be there by now; it was late afternoon. The last time you had turned your head to the sky, it had been periwinkle. Your head had swelled with dreams. You hadn’t wanted to die.

You lugged yourself around, giving idle hellos to maids and servants who greeted you, working past hallways now familiar to you until you made it to the bedroom door and entered.

“Gaara …!” You were relieved.

Gaara sat at the bed’s edge, one leg swung over the other. Unharmed. He raised his head to smile at you. “(Y/n). Hello. I was just waiting for you.”

You brought him into a hug. “Thank the gods …” You whispered into his sleeve.

You felt his hand still at the small of your back. “(Y/n) … There have been some issues.”

You pulled back to stare inquisitively up at him. Carefully, you asked, “What do you mean? … What types of issues?”

Gaara cast his gaze low. “Would you be opposed to remaining only in the palace?”

“Gaara.” Your brows furrowed. “What’s going on?”

Gaara still averted your gaze. “I hate asking this of you — you’ve been so sequestered already — but … There are anti-Kazekage sentiments brewing across the village.”

“Anti-Kazekage …” You trailed. Did this have to do with the greenhouse? Or your father? Or both? “Gaara, oh no … I’m sorry …”

“Don’t be,” Gaara said. “It’s as I told you: not all have come to accept me. And as there has been a significant uptick in drama lately, it was to be expected. I highly doubt it will leak to the entire village. I’ll deal with it.” He glanced up at you at last. “But I fear for your safety, especially after what took place at the beach …” He stopped, invisible brows furrowed as he appraised you. “Is something the matter?”

“Yes.” There was no point sugarcoating. This was it. You couldn’t be a coward anymore. Do the right thing for once. For your husband. For the baby. “My —“

But your tongue refused to work; it lay limp in your mouth. Your lips parted, but only breath escaped. Sound, no words.

Gaara took your hand. “Take your time. That is what Temari would always tell me when I had trouble speaking as a child.” He paused. “As a young child.”

“I’m all right,” You said, creating some distance between the two of you. “I’m — okay, really! It’s just, my —“ Again, your tongue froze. Your lips closed against your will, refusing to help you impart speech. You tried to force words out — only to remain hopelessly tongue tied. You closed your eyes with a sinking realization.

Your heart ramped. Panic set in. Oh, no. Oh no oh no.

Father’s done something to me. I can’t say it! I can hardly think !

“Are you okay?”

“Gaara …” Fear shallowed your breath. It gripped you like a child hiding from the dark, and you wished you had a teddy to hug. I’m so scared. What should I do?

“(Y/n).” Gaara’s voice was firm now.

You closed your eyes, bringing Gaara close. “No.” You shook your head. “I — I just …” You fought tears. You couldn’t tell the truth, and now you truly couldn’t. I can’t tell him — I literally can’t tell him. “I just can’t stay inside anymore! I feel so claustrophobic, but — but I always seem to be causing trouble for you … That shouldn’t be the case for someone you love.”

“No.” Gaara caressed your cheek. “If anything, I cause trouble for you.” And with all the authority of a Kage, he said, “I will address this. I’m sorry, truly, but it will only be for a few more days. No longer.”

Like you cared about living or being anywhere besides the Sand palace. Like you wouldn’t want to burrow into it and stay forever. Wordlessly, you brought him into a hug. You wanted to burrow inside him, hide in your fiancée, the only place you felt safe. Even if he couldn’t save you.

“If anything, I cause trouble for you,” Gaara said. He stroked the nape of your neck, his voice as gentle as autumn rain. “Forgive me.”

You pinched at his sleeve, a cue for him to comfort you more, and, miraculously, Gaara obliged, running a hand over your arm.

“You … could never cause trouble for me.”

“Do you think (Y/n) has been acting strangely lately?” Gaara asked.

His siblings lounged around the sitting room, accompanied by Baki. Despite the demands of their respective duties, some days were slower than others. Gaara lived for these days where he could enjoy the company of his family and friends, and he enjoyed it now, even with his concern for you.

At his inquiry, Temari stopped fanning herself. “Hm?” “I haven’t noticed anything. Though … I haven’t seen much of Lord Boutoku lately. Oh.” She sighed and rested her chin on her palm. “I hope the council’s not crowding him too much. Did you hear Ryusa kept him out all day yesterday?”

“Serves him right,” Kankuro grumbled. “Geezers. All of them. He’s got some nerve, always retiring to his room because he’s tired — like he doesn’t have servants waiting on him hand and foot.”

“I’ve heard about people having …” Gaara fought the anxiety inside of him as he reached for the term, “cold feet …”

“Certainly not, Lord Kazekage,” Baki said. “You must understand: women are mysterious creatures. They need a great deal of time to themselves.”

“I second that,” Temari said. “It’s a surprise you’re not married, Baki.”

Baki gave her a flat look. “Oh, is it?”

“Gaara,” she said, ignoring Baki, “I’m sure she’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, I’ll go check on her for you,” Kankuro said.

Gaara frowned. “But …”

Kankuro placed a hand on Gaara’s shoulder on his way out. “Big brother will take care of it. Don’t worry.”

Gaara appreciated the levity, and after a second or two nodded.

“Thank you, Kankuro.”

Kankuro made it to Gaara’s quarters. He could hear the trickle of shower water. The bed was perfectly made, along with the rest of the room. Not a hair out of place — beside your necklace on the bedside table.

Kankuro sighed. Worried about nothing, as always, Gaara. The necklace’s disk caught in the lamplight. Curiosity tugged at him. He approached the necklace. He remembered the pomp-and-circumstance that came along with Lord Boutoku bestowing it on you. The whole thing was cheesy, but … sweet. He knew how much you loved the thing, were never seen without it. Maybe the old man wasn’t so bad. Crazy, but not bad.

Kankuro grazed the necklace’s face — he misjudged it, though, and it clanked to the floor.

“Woops.” He knelt down to retrieve it, only to see its disk had cracked open.

His eyes widened. “Oh no,” he hissed. “No!”

Kankuro, what the fuck did you —?

Glistening black caught his eye. The necklace had broken apart at its center like a metaphorical heart, allowing something to … seep from it.

Something was inside the necklace.

He leaned forward to further inspect it.

Your hands ran absentmindedly over your body. The hot water did nothing to change the corpse-cold temperature of your skin. With numb fingers, you shut the water off, your hair dripping over the valve.

You felt othered from your own body, trapped in it with no choices, no resolution. The clock ticked imminently to doomsday in your mind. When would Father attack? Would he make you watch it as punishment?

I hope he kills me first. I do not want to see what he does next.

You palmed your stomach and imagined the fetus occupying your womb. The only thing anchoring you from life, and you had even failed this life before it was even born.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Only a few days ago, you were reeling at the prospect of marrying Gaara, only sooner you were imagining starting a family. What a risible delusion. What a farce.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You left the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself. A new set of dry clothes lay folded for you, and after drying off, you dressed. Fresh clothes. Soft. Flowery-scented shampoo, soap. The warmth of the clothes failed to penetrate your skin, much like the shower water had. You felt carved, rounded out and empty, like a shell whose creature had long since slithered away.

You reached for your necklace — it was gone.

What? Your reverie cleared enough for you to ponder. Had you misplaced it? Remembering one moment from another had become a struggle. What had you done with it?

Unless it was taken?

Your eyes widened. Panic shattered the reverie completely. What if Father had taken it, or had someone do it?

You exited the room, head swinging either way. Where would you look? The only place that came to mind was the sitting room. You headed there, descended the stairs to the last floor —

“Has anyone seen my —?”

Gaara was there, waiting for you. And Temari and Kankuro. And Baki. And a dozen other sand ninja.

You froze on the stairs.

Kankuro, blank-faced, lifted his hand: your necklace chain roped around his fingers and hung there. “Looking for something?” He turned half of the necklace’s broken face and the poison dripped blood-black dots onto the floor.

Your body, flushed from running, ran corpse-cold again. “I …”

“(Y/n) …” Gaara said. “What is this?”

Your throat was too constricted to help form words. A thousand knives seemed to hold you in place.

“An incredibly powerful agent, I’d say,” Kankuro finished for him in a detached, clinical voice, though nothing could conceal the cold fury underneath. “Extracted from the Red Spine plant. Grows from her side of the desert. I’ve even read about it … You would’ve been dead in seconds, Gaara.”

You shook your head wildly. “No, Gaara, Kankuro — I can explain …!”

“So that’s why Boutoku’s here,” Temari said under her breath. You could see the whites of her knuckles from where you stood. Shadows shrouded her eyes before she fixed you with a murderous glare. “You planned to poison him.”

There was no air in your lungs. “No … no …. Wait, I — please —“

“This whole time …” Kankuro’s anger simmered under his breath, barely held back. “It’s all been a ruse. You were waiting for us to let our guards down —“

“No!”

“I knew something was off!” Temari roared, a hysterical edge to her voice now. “I knew something was wrong! This whole time — and when you woke up in the infirmary and flipped out about the necklace being gone! You thought we’d found out!”

Tears were streaming down your face now. You tried to move your mouth helplessly to reveal the truth, but no words were forthcoming. As Father designed, your tongue rolled and failed you.

It doesn’t matter. I knew. I agreed to all of this. All of it.

“There must be some explanation.” Gaara’s voice was measured, but even you could detect the hint of desperation in his tone. “A misunderstanding …?”

You kept moving your mouth, but you were sure you only appeared stammering and pathetic, grasping at straws to craft into lies. Your legs failed; you slumped to a step. You caught Baki’s eye, quietly pleading, but disappointment seemed to keep him silent.

“There isn’t, Gaara.” Kankuro took a step. You’d never seen him look so imposing; his face paint rendered him monstrous. “She’s been wearing that fucking thing since she got here, since I brought her to you —!”

Kankuro threw the necklace, emptied of its contents, into your face. You yelped, catching it with trembling hands. Temari’s

hands shook, aching, probably, for a weapon to strike you with.

“You snake!” Kankuro hissed. “After everything —!”

“Gaara …” You looked up — and your heart fell to pieces.

Gaara was a stone, but his eyes were lined with moisture. You had brought him to near tears.

You had done this.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Baki asked. “If you’ve anything at all to say.”

“Please, Gaara …” You were crawling away from the stairs now, toward them. “Please, please …”

Save me.

Gaara turned away from you. His expression was cold.

“Take her.”

“No!” You screamed as ninja advanced to grab you. You kicked as you were hoisted to your feet. “No, you can’t, Gaara!” You were being thrust through the threshold when your voice ripped from your throat: “I’M PREGNANT!”

The shinobi paused, turned to Gaara for guidance.

Gaara searched your eyes, his expression reserved in his desperation for this to be true.

“Please,” You sobbed. “It’s true … You can’t do this. You know it’s possible.”

He turned around, this time his back to you. “She’ll be given a test to confirm whether this is true. We can no longer take her on her word. We’re done here … Take her.”

You sobbed miserably as you were dragged away. Temari and Kankuro’s words filtered through your awareness, but nothing registered.

“Matsuri needs to be released, we need to go get her —“

“We have to deal with Boutoku now!”

“I can’t believe this —“

But it all fell away as you lolled your head to the side. Brutal daylight hit your face as you were dragged from the palace’s entrance, and through blurry eyes, you watched the place that had become your home grow farther away. Nothing but a dream.

#gaara x reader #gaara x you #gaara x y/n #gaara smut #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #naruto smut #my work

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hanibalistic · 11 months

Text

THERE WAS THIS BOY | STRAY KIDS.

genre | fluff with brief angst

synopsis | have you ever been in love? do you want to talk about this boy?

word count | 13.2k+

warning | mentions of bullying, injury, blood / brief mention of health (skin) issues / brief allusion to sex

note | follow me for a tutorial on how to make the most uncoordinated moodboard / wanted to practice writing fluff so here is something short and sweet

There was this boy who lived in the apartment complex you always deliver food to.

Seeing you after soccer practice has become a weekly routine for him, courtesy to his next-door neighbor for ordering takeout dinner from the restaurant you worked at least once a week. Sometimes he would only see you once; other times, if he was lucky, he would see you more than once a week, and you would have more than one order to deliver. He noticed your constant presence around the apartment complex before he began mustering the courage to talk to you, which he ended up not needing to do so because you accidentally bumped into him when you turned a corner, which led to an introduction.

Because of your flashing silhouette, Chan could usually tell if you were present around the area. You were constantly running, the scorch of your sneakers a familiar sound to his ears, and somehow the food and drinks in your hands never ran out of place despite your hyperactive movements. The first time you bumped into him was because you hadn't anticipated his presence, and you had been running across the hallways at full speed. But, as he looked upon the open halls of the apartment building from the ground floor, he saw no signs of you anywhere.

Clutching the shoelaces of his practice sneakers and letting them hit as they dangled from his grip, Chan tried to mask the disappointment from his face just as the elevator door opened. When he saw nobody waiting outside, he resumed the saddened pout that lingered on his face from realizing you may not be around today. He hasn't seen you all week, and he has missed you dearly! Looking on the bright side, which Chan was good at doing, he's got a lot of stories to tell you, as well as a big surprise he has kept from you for a while. But he couldn't do any of that if you weren't here!

With dejection at his feet, he stumbled out of the elevator and into the apartment hall. The silence in the air, matched with the slowing steps of his feet that sounded like a ticking clock, made him feel ridiculous that he was praying for your miraculous emergence. But Chan liked to hold onto the last stand of hope, he was good at doing that, and to him, you were good at answering that hope, usually with the rapid screeching of your sneakers. Perking up, he turned around at the pitter-patter sounds of your steps just in time to catch you pop out from around the corner.

You recognized his faraway figure and did not attempt to decrease your speed. You ran towards him, a plastic bag of food in one hand—you have a job to do! The soft grin on your face widened when, after Chan realized you planned to get past him, he playfully got into a goalkeeper stance. His eyes were serious, though; he had seen you move before, and he wasn't exaggerating when he told his friends he could only catch sight of your shadows sometimes. Maybe it was your fantastic work ethic or phenomenal laziness, but the constant, high athletism your body could perform made it such a waste that you were focused on making food deliveries instead of joining a national sports team.

Staring at your increasingly approaching figure, Chan was ready to grab onto your shoulders when you hopped up to kick the wall to the side. It gave you momentum to jump over his head, which he dodged to avoid being hit by the heel of your shoes, but it only served as an opportunity for you to step feathery light on the back of his neck and land on the ground behind. He rubbed the spot where your shoes landed and immediately turned to find you standing in front of an apartment, ringing the doorbell. He chuckled lowly, watching your polite smile as you handed the customer their food.

"Are you sure you don't want to join the track team?" Chan asked lightheartedly when you began approaching him, shoving money inside your pocket.

You scrunched your nose up and shook your head. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you typed something into the notes app before showing it to him.

"Doing sports is for high school. I gotta focus on studying and working to pay for my tuition."

He pulled away from the screen with a vague frown, then he held up his dirty practice sneakers and waved them at your face. "I'm still doing sports.”

You pursed your lips into a smile, but your shoulders moved like you were laughing. Chan watched you. An endless hunger rumbled inside the seams of his chest; he wanted to hear what your voice sounded like. He wouldn't force you to talk to him, though, especially after you told him that your body tended to refrain from verbally communicating with anyone you didn't feel close to. It was less of a conscious choice but a law your mind imposed.

"Oh! Also, I want to tell you,” he began moving his hands hesitantly to sign out words that matched his voice, "I have been taking sign language classes for over two months now.”

It took you a long beat to register that Chan was signing the words to you. He was a little slow with the words, perhaps nervous about making mistakes, but you understood him with no problem. Your eyes widened in excitement as you clapped with your phone in your hand. Then, as you were about to type your reaction with your phone, he stopped you by gently moving your phone away from before your face.

"You don't have to keep typing," he said. "I can read what you say. If I don't know something, I'll ask!”

Suspiciously, you rubbed the tip of your nose and squinted at him. This came as a complete surprise to you. You have been chatting with Chan through texts and papers. You never thought he was taking sign language classes under your nose. He has not once spoken of it, and he never mentioned having relatives who used it either.

Bringing your hands down to your chin, your chest hummed with low anticipation before you, slowly to accommodate him, signed, "You know I can still hear you, right? You don't have to do it.”

"Oh! Yeah, I–well, sometimes I don't remember." He laughed with his heart full. "It's okay, though. Doing it helps me practice!”

"That's true." You nodded in agreement. "Why did you suddenly want to learn sign language?”

Chan shifted his weight. He wasn't thinking too deeply about your question. Hence he gave a straightforward answer. "I wanted to talk to you.”

You let out a huff of hair in replacement for a chuckle. "You didn't have to learn a new language to do that.”

"Yeah," he signed. "But I want to know what you know.”

He wanted to know what you know, to learn what you learn, and to talk how you talk. He would even call himself infatuated with how much he wanted to consume himself through your teeth and drown himself in your existence. Chan wanted to see what you see, to think what you think, to feel what you feel, and to stand where you stand. The first step to do that, he thought, was to utilize communication the way you use it, so he did. He found a way to talk to you. He was always going to learn how to understand you.

When you didn't reply, Chan was left feeling stoic and awkward. He rubbed the back of his neck at your furrowed brows and asked, "Did I say something?”

You almost looked angry when you ignored him and stomped away, but really, you just weren't used to someone committing so much of their time and effort just to be able to talk to you. You could feel a door inside you opening—it has been opened for a while with Chan. He even held it open for you these months, waiting patiently for you to take the first step.

"Hey! I'm sorry if I said something weird!" Chan yelled down the hall, hoping his apologetic voice would reach you.

You stopped in your tracks and looked ahead. The door was opening. It was opening wide, and it may never close again. Spinning on your heels, you couldn't help but smile when you saw Chan standing timidly at his spot. Your legs jogged into a sprint, your body bolting toward him at high speed before you abruptly stopped. Chan shot his arms out to catch you by the waist, but you prevented your fake fall by clamping your hands on his shoulders.

He didn't register it when you moved your head to his ears. For the first time, you spoke to him with a voice he could never forget.

"Goodnight, Chan.”

There was this boy who lived in the apartment complex you always deliver food to, and you let him hear your voice for the first time.

There was this boy you've been dating for two and a half years.

The train announced its arrival in ten minutes. Minho listened to the static in the station speakers, and as he stared at you with his chin hidden under his scarf, he realized for the first time how much he didn't want you to move out of the city. He hadn’t said anything when you told him about it. At that time, he genuinely did not think ill of you moving away to finish off the remaining two years of college. Two years felt measly to him, and you planned to visit each other during the holidays, so there was nothing to worry about.

Until now—the speakers announced the train’s arrival in ten minutes, which would feel like seconds to him. Your hand luggage was trapped between two pairs of shoes so Minho could hold both of your hands as you waited for departure.

“You don’t look very excited,” you mumbled with a faint giggle after you observed the increasing furrow of his brows every time he felt the train tracks rumble.

He shifted his gaze from the rail to you. “You know me very well.”

“Just admit it,” you rolled your eyes at his monotonous voice, “you’re going to miss me.”

He pulled a face; the corner of his lips stretched into a sneer, and his eyes rolled back briefly. The mere idea of displaying such an emotion appalled him, not because he was against it but because cheesy, affectionate things made him uncomfortable. He was never a fanatic of verbal confessions, physical intimacy, or grand romantic gestures. Honking his car when a high school couple, holding hands, was walking across the road as his favorite pastime, and he visibly mimics a barfing motion if he ever witnesses public proposals.

You always thought it was ironic. It could be hypocrisy or ignorance that led to his opinion, but the truth remained that as much as he hated romance, he was also filled to the brim with it.

“Never,” Minho said, swinging your joint hands. "It’s not like you’re going to be gone forever. We are literally seeing each other again during spring break, which is only a few months later.”

“I bet you circled the date on your calendar and everything.”

“Please worry about getting your degree,” he said with squinted eyes as he playfully pulled you toward him. You stumbled, your face coming in close to his as he smiled. “Study hard. Don’t forget to take breaks. Talk to me if you need anything, and don’t let anyone make fun of you.”

Not being around you was going to be a hassle for Minho. Even though you could take good care of yourself, he often interfered with your daily routine with his own snippets of kindness. Bringing you food, restocking your shampoos, gossiping about your family, driving you home, calling the administration office after they messed up your transfer applications, and almost kicking the door of your landlord’s apartment because they skimped on maintenance. You didn’t have to ask for them; he was your boyfriend, after all. And it would be hard not being able to do those for you anymore conveniently.

“I’m serious. Don’t let people push you around,” he repeated firmly after you laughed at his final advice. He searched for your eyes when you nodded, and a smile gradually grew on his face. “Bite them if they won’t listen. You’re good at that.”

You giggled as you shoved his chest. Minho thought he would miss that too—being shoved around with the company of your laughter. Sometimes you would startle him after showering by drawing pictures on the fogged mirrors; he still has pictures of them in his gallery. He remembered bumping his head on the sink because he was scrambling to grab his phone outside the bathroom, and you had to treat the wound on his forehead while he sat stupidly on the covered toilet seat. Sometimes you would bite him, which he heard was a partner thing to do, but he couldn’t do the biting because he had to play the role of being eaten. He never entirely understood that one.

The station speaker rang, signaling the arrival of the train. You looked behind you as the wind picked up. When you saw the headlights of the moving car, you whipped your head back to look at Minho. You brought his hand up to your chin and began pushing at the sleeve of his jacket. He let you, still unsure of what you were planning to do.

“I’ll call you when I get there!” you said hastily. “I love you. I’ll miss you.”

“I expect you to–ow!”

He pulled his hand to his chest after flipping it a few times. You giggled as you grabbed your luggage and hurried into the opened doors. You dropped the luggage on the floor near it, standing despite the rows of vacant seats around. Minho widened his eyes as the automated doors began to slide shut. He managed a short wave when he saw you do the same from behind the misty window. They were misty, or maybe his eyes were. He wasn’t sure. His head was in the clouds when the train moved with you in it, and his thumb rubbed the sore spot on the side of his palm.

When he looked down, he saw that you had bitten him. You had bitten hard, enough to leave marks of your teeth on his skin. A gentle laughter escaped his lips in the form of a shaky shiver as he traced the juncture of them, still faintly wet with your saliva, and each touch of his finger was a hapless scream into the void about how he would miss you dearly and that you did well not allowing him a verbal farewell. But most importantly, he was right. You were good at biting.

There was this boy you've been dating for two and a half years, and you were good at leaving yourself places he couldn’t forget.

There was this boy you have been hooking up with, he broke up with his previous partner not too long ago.

You made a mental note that you wouldn’t let Changbin convince you to stay for breakfast the next time. Next time you wake up before the sun could fully rise, you will forget the warmth of his bare chest and take your leave. It was a promise you have been serving to yourself on a platter you ignored, but not next time! No matter how delicious his sunny-side-up eggs were, how well he could make a cup of morning coffee, or how delightful you always felt eating breakfast with him in his shabby apartment—next time, you leave his home to save yourself.

“Can you get me eggs from the fridge?” he asked over the stove, his hand moving to crank the fire out. A sudden grimace glossed over his face after a thought, and then he tapped his head. “Actually, I don’t know if I have any left. If there isn’t any, then just grab whatever we can eat.”

You rubbed your nose with a yawn as you made your way to the old refrigerator left behind by the last tenant. A bunch of messy documents remained stuck to its surface with a middle school magnet he got from attending his niece’s graduation ceremony; you remembered asking him about them once, and he could be telling the truth when he said he had no idea how he planned to deal with them. Opening the fridge, you pulled a face at the leftover parade happening in every small cabinet before snatching two eggs off the side rack. You slammed the door shut, earning a stern whine from Changbin.

“That fridge is on its last breath, and I can’t afford to buy a new one, so please be so gentle with it,” he said when you were near to drop the eggs on the counter carefully. He thanked you as he reached out to grab one. Before he turned toward the pan being heated on the stove, he stepped back to peck your lips. “Thank you.”

You meekly returned his smile. The second he turned his back on you, your shoulders slumped into a distrusting frenzy. You were good at avoiding these affectionate gestures, which he loved to do. By moving around all the time, always having something happening with your hands, and constantly snacking or drinking, you were more or less able to avoid lighthearted intimacy with him. And you had to avoid them because you cannot delude this fleeting relationship into commitment.

You were a rebound. That was all there was.

It was ridiculous to let a despicable, loud-mouthed cashier working at the supermarket you frequented gossip about you to yourself enough that he convinced you to start worrying about your relationship with Changbin. But that cashier was potent, your starvation for love was impressionable, and as much as it hurt to admit, gossips tend to hold some amount of truth, which was that Changbin recently broke up with a partner of his caliber, and you were just someone he met at a college party.

You were the rebound; the middle point between a past and a true love; the scapegoat used for self-improvement; the experimental medicine a few steps behind the successful cure. Changbin was never going to love you. That was all there was, so you shouldn’t let yourself dive too far into the ocean in case the water starts running dry.

“My niece has been asking for you,” Changbin mentioned fondly after he cracked the eggs into the pan. It began sizzling moments later. “She has not stopped whining about seeing you since last Christmas.”

You hopped onto the kitchen counter next to the stove, carefully keeping a distance from the fire. Kicking your legs, you smiled and responded, “You should have never told me what she wanted as presents.”

“Well, someone has to buy something for me to slap my name on it,” he joked. “I have a reputation to uphold in case she grows up to earn big bucks. I plan that she grows so appreciative of my presence in her childhood that she pardons all my student loans.”

“That,” you rolled your eyes and scoffed incredulously into a chuckle, “that’s not a plausible plan at all.”

He laughed over the sizzling noises. It sounded familiar and heartbreaking; you loved the way he laughed, and you would not have it conveniently forever. Turning away from his face, you glanced at the floor, where your feet obstructed the view by playing around the sliding cabinet. You opened it, pushed it close with the heel, and pried it open again with the sole of your feet. The drawer was wobbly and old; it was another piece of furniture the last tenant left behind that Changbin gladly took ownership of.

“Really, though, she is never gonna stop whining until she sees you again,” he said after a moment of silence. “I can’t keep telling her you’ve just been extremely busy with school and work, and that we didn’t break up.”

Your feet slipped from the edge of the sliding drawer just as you pulled it open. It was partially the fault of the drawer, but your shock from processing what he said also caused you to double over. Noticing the uncontrollable lean of your torso, Changbin immediately let go of the handle and gripped his hand over your thigh, steadying you back on the kitchen counter. He glared at you with confusion, which turned clueless when you returned to him eyes with unreadable fright.

“What was that?” he asked, his hand unconsciously squeezing your thigh as an attempt to calm you down.

“I–I don’t know, I was just–“ you cleared your throat and shook your head–“I’m sorry. What do you mean we didn’t break up?”

There was a suspicious squint in his eyes, and then a hesitant smirk showed up on his rosy lips. “What do you mean ‘what do you mean?’ Did we break up without me knowing?”

“No, we didn’t. I was just…” You pursed your lips together before placing a hand on his, holding it. “I didn’t know we were dating.”

He stared at you, his thoughts crashing into loopholes in a self-inflicted maze that had no exit. He must have been moving too fast. He definitely was! He never even asked you to label this relationship officially; he has been unconsciously introducing himself as your boyfriend to everyone that he convinced himself it was true. It was a terrible, outrageous mistake; he must have scared you.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to–“

“No, it’s fine! It’s okay! I never thought otherwise, anyway!”

“What?”

Changbin was staring at you again, but this time, he looked more dissatisfied and disappointed than clueless and confused. If you watched the way the lines of his forehead formed, you could even consider him an angry man for a second. He turned off the stove, ridding the air of the comfortable white noises, and moved to stand before you. His hands supported his weight on the edge of the kitchen counter on either side of your knees, effectively trapping you between his body.

“What do you mean you never thought otherwise?” he asked, brows furrowed and voice low with a scruffy croak hidden somewhere in the corner. “Actually, what are we, exactly?”

You didn’t know what to say, but you forced an answer out of your mouth. “We’re hooking up, aren’t we?”

His breath hitched. For the same thing, he would argue that you two shared something much more significant. For the same reason—the fact that his skin remembers the taste of your nails and your body visible with stains of his saliva—he would argue that you two were much more than you said to be. He never thought you thought this way. He didn’t know where it went wrong.

Removing himself from the kitchen counter, he turned around with a hand in his hair. “I didn’t know you think so lightly of me.”

“I don’t!” you exclaimed within a blink of an eye. “Changbin, I don’t! I didn’t think that would hurt you, considering I’m just a rebound!”

“What rebound?”

You jumped at his sharp tone. Pulling at your fingers, you nudged your shoulder up to your cheek in a poor attempt to shrink into yourself. “Me. Someone told me you broke up with someone a while ago and how much that gutted you, so I should watch out.”

“Who–“ He took a deep breath with closed eyes. Curling his fists by his side, he raised his brows and opened his eyes, which were much more gentle than before. “Who told you that?”

“This boy at the supermarket I go to. You might know him. His name is Han Ji–“

“I do know him. Thank you for telling me.” Changbin held up a hand to stop you from continuing. There was humor in this situation; no wonder his friend acted avoidant after he talked about you. Slowly moving closer to you again, he placed his hands on his hips, then shifted to put them on your knees reluctantly instead. He looked honest when he spoke. “[Name], you’re not a rebound.”

“But he said the breakup destroyed you.”

“It did, which is why it happened a while ago. I needed time to move on from it.” He nodded with a soft smile. He squeezed your knees, scrunching his nose to appear less tense. “I wouldn’t kiss you if I didn’t love you.”

He wouldn’t have let you sleep with him if he didn’t love you either. He wouldn’t have brought you to see his family during the holidays, and be so restless and fidgety when he misunderstood your perception of this relationship, and miss you first thing in the morning after he woke up, and yearned to perfect the art of cooking a sunny-side up egg if he didn’t love you. He wouldn’t be standing here, vulnerable and maybe a little lost, telling you he loves you if he didn’t.

You played with your fingers still, flicking your nails against each other. “What if you change your mind?”

He tapped the tip of your nose. “What if I don’t?”

What if all that would happen was that he searches for your silhouette everywhere? What if he saw your shadow in every corner of his usual streets? What if he just yearned for a glimpse of you in the sun’s shadow, cascading over his kitchen through the opened window, almost as if you lived in his home with him? This was a bet you ought to be willing to take. You must insert the coin before the slot machine starts moving because love is not a promise. Love is not a guarantee. You ought to be brave, be bold, and take a leap of faith. It may be a fall to your death, or it may be a soar to the sky. But sometimes, taking a leap of faith may just be hopping off the kitchen counter into the arms of a boy in love with you.

“There, I got you,” Changbin beamed with his arms around your body. He set you on the floor carefully, his eyes not once leaving your face. “I always got you.”

There was this boy you have been hooking up with, and you could never imagine how much he loves you.

There was this boy in your art class.

Hyunjin has always been in full support of your in-progress fashion career despite the fact that you were taking art classes in college to learn how to draw. From helping you fix your design drafts to standing in for you as a life-sized mannequin, even to strutting on the makeshift runaway set out by the theater students for the annual student fashion show wearing the clothes you specifically made for him, Hyunjin has always been in full support of your dream to become a fashion designer.

"Do you mind?”

Hyunjin snapped out of his trance to squint his eyes at you holding out a measuring tape across your chest. You took his measurements once in a while, sometimes even after you had already sewed your designs for him to try on because you liked to double-check and to have everything in record. It wasn't the most thorough thing to do. It would even be pointless, to put it harshly. But he never particularly minded. He liked having you near him.

He faked a grimace and carried an unserious complaint in his voice when he spoke, "Actually, I do mind. I have minded over the last two years, but I never said anything.”

You ignored him. The second you heard the whiny tone roll out the tip of his tongue like the red carpet he was used to walking over, you dove in and began leveling him with the measuring tape. Hyunjin scoffed through a smile flattened from his previously humorous grimace, and he relaxed his limbs to let you do as you wish. Words flew out your lips in mutters of numbers, reminding yourself of his size and comparing the data to what you have recorded in the past while Hyunjin stood there in silence.

He watched you carefully, but not without an affectionate haze that blinded him enough to grin through the pins and needles you occasionally stab him through the fabrics. You paid no attention to him, just as he preferred it, and there a facade of vague disinterest was propped just beneath his chin in preparation for your direct gaze. More than reciprocation, he was afraid of being seen, being known, being broken out of the distant pedestal his peers put on his fortunate features and being rejected for it.

"Your shoulders have gotten broader," you whispered near his neck, causing him to freeze.

Hyunjin hadn't realized you had moved to stand behind him until you removed the tape draped over his shoulder and walked to stand before him again. You were frowning in thought, allowing him to let out the breath he sucked in when he felt yours stranded on the back of his neck, chilling a soft finger trail down his spine. That was the closest anybody had gotten to touching his skin with their lips, and ironically, he didn't think he could handle it well if you kissed him, even though he had reserved that experience for you and nobody else.

"Can you try this on?" you asked as you moved over to a tall chair where you placed a paper bag. You reached inside and pulled out a jacket, holding it out to him. "I wanna see if it fits.”

Hyunjin received it gladly. He would be grateful for any opportunity to occupy his mind, turn it away from the gruesome feeling of his body being unraveled by a mere shard of your breath. Putting both his arms through the sleeves of the jacket, as he tried to shake it in place, he frowned at the faint tightness surrounding his shoulders. He could still wear the jacket, but it felt uncomfortable and restricting.

You rubbed your knuckles nervously with a palm, observing Hyunjin's unspoken reaction. He has always been too nice to tell you the truth, which was ironic as someone whose academic career involved receiving and providing critique to improve.

But just between him and his mind, it has never been about his kindness and only that he cherished everything you made for the world, yourself, or for him. To Hyunjin, your original vision was already the best version of anything. Abominations woven by your fingertips would have special meanings—there must be a reason why such mistakes exist; make him a shirt cut full of holes, and he'd thank you for a beautiful monstrosity.

"It's a bit small, isn't it?" you pointed out as you reached in to fix the collar.

"Yeah, but I can still wear it," Hyunjin said.

You grabbed the two flaps under the jacket collar and attempted to button it up. The buttons smacked open once you managed to clasp them together, to which Hyunjin breathed out a lighthearted chuckle in response to your sullen state. He let you attempt it a few more times, not bringing up the shrinking of his shoulders to accommodate your exerted force, before you gave up after the third failed attempt.

"Hmm..." you slid your hands from the button to under the jacket, stopping at his chest where you pressed your palms flat against him, "let me think..."

The shape of your hands and the warmth of it against his chest, over the thin fabric of his white shirt, Hyunjin got tattooed right where they currently resided. He wondered how your hands would feel on his naked chest. He wondered if he could keep you there, and he was aware of what his desire for this to be permanent meant. He has always known, and he felt like a jagged breath being drawn into your lungs when you looked up to ask him a muffled question.

He grabbed you by your elbows and pulled you close to him, his actions a needed contradiction to his thoughts. He leaned his face down—kiss them, he thought. Kiss them good; kiss them like how everyone wanted him to kiss them; kiss them to tattoo their lips in your brain; just kiss them.

"Hyunjin...?"

He stopped. A space in his brain got shoved aside to savor the print of your palm against his cheek, and you asked him, with concerned eyes, if he was feeling okay. He wasn't, but he was. He felt like turning into one of the gleaming specks in your eyes. He felt like experiencing how your eyes shift when he tells you he loves you.

"I..." he gulped, clearing his senses. You would never. You and your gentle creativity would never return his feelings. "I'm okay, just feeling a little light-headed. Thanks for catching me.”

There was this boy in your art class who modeled for you, and he was afraid you would recognize his love for you.

There was this boy who worked the closing shift with you at the supermarket.

Jisung had his hands clasped together in a praying manner, and he was pouting at you with pleading eyes that would fade the second you agreed to join him on his troublesome rendezvous. He was phenomenal at this—thinking up a weird idea every other shift that would, without fail, get you both into trouble. He always covered for you because none of the disasters that came with were your fault. But at this point, you learned never to let Jisung convince you (and himself) to do anything he wanted to try out. You never listened, though. Your desire to be around him all the time greatly overshadowed your caution to be a good employee.

"What are you planning?" you asked as you eyed the shopping cart before him.

You two were supposed to collect all the shopping carts from the parking lot and line them up outside the supermarket for locking. After pushing the first carts out of the lot, Jisung deviated from the task and brought a shopping cart to the edge of a slope leading to the underground floor. You glanced at the directional words painted on the wall, leading drivers to choose between left and right, then back at the shopping cart stopped just before the tip of the slope. You grimaced, already able to guess what he planned.

"I have a plan!" he exclaimed.

"You're going to sit on the cart and run yourself down the slope?" you asked monotonously, gesturing downward.

Jisung's posture flattened into a straight line, and he deadpanned at you with distaste. "You didn't have to guess it right on the first try.”

"Oh–my bad," you muttered with a chuckle. "Do you want me to ask you again?”

"No," he scoffed as he rocked back and forth on his shoe heel. He let his furrowed brows relax into a friendly smile sooner than he wanted; he seemed incapable of anything other than joy whenever he was around you. "You can make it up to me by getting in the cart!”

You took a hesitant step back, your head shaking in disagreement. You didn't know how badly you could be injured if he pushed the cart down the slope with you in it. The falling wasn't the most significant issue. It was the impact of the front of the cart hitting the wall. You could not anticipate the recoil intensity and would hate risking your currently unharmed body for a split second of thrill.

"This isn't a good idea, Jisung," you told him. "We're gonna get in trouble again, and we already pissed the manager off with the soda cans incident.”

Jisung thought it was a good idea to make a waterfall out of shaken soda cans he didn't buy out of pocket from the supermarket last time. He reasoned that champagne glasses were boring and overdone, and that people needed to understand the real joy in life and make a monument out of those things instead. In that case, the real joy in life was coca cola's fizzling and bubble taste.

He had been so excited about it, yet all he accomplished was make a mess and pop a vein on your manager's forehead. He didn't even manage to create a waterfall because he fell straight into the soda can structure while trying to open the last can on the very top.

Jisung had spent the night feeling sticky all over his skin as you helped him by mopping the floor. But, beyond feeling uncomfortable, he remembered most the way you rubbed the liquid off his drenched body with tissue papers, and while you grumbled under your breath about how stupid he was, you couldn't help but let a few smiles fall on your lips. He may not have impressed you, but at least he made you laugh. He always thought about it. He thought everything he ever did was to make you laugh.

"He was mad at us because of property damage," Jisung argued, waving his hands animatedly. "He can't legally get mad at us this time because the only damage that could happen would be on us!”

"So you know this will injure us?”

"I don't. I'm just saying it could!”

"And we are still doing this," you squinted suspiciously at him, “why?"

He blinked innocently as if he wasn't sure why you asked him such a question. Everything comes with potentially harmful consequences, were you supposed to never do anything? He understood the need to be cautious, but he wasn't asking you to jump off a bridge with him, even if there was an off-chance where you asked him to do it, he would do it with you. This was light-hearted fun. Rolling down a parking lot slope in a shopping cart was the same thing to him as building a waterfall foundation out of soda cans—it was something thrilling to do. It was something memorable to do with you, and years later, if you two no longer exist in each other's daily routine, he would look at a shopping cart and think of you.

"I thought it would be fun," he replied with an honest smile.

Your heart wavered. Even if you didn't harbor the feelings you did for him, you would have caved in with the mere glance into his eyes anyway. Jisung always had this effect on people; he was the entertainer, the jokester, the mood-maker. He has yet to be fired because customers came back for him, either to chat or out of friendly loyalty.

More than that, though, to you, he made time enjoyable to drag through. He stuck his neck out for you to grab onto so he could pull you out of your hollow shell to find that the world was a place made for you to be alive on. Sometimes it was racing each other with a handful of items needed for restocking. Other times, he was twirling you by your hand under the dim lights and surrounded by a ridiculous song blasting through the supermarket speakers. Tonight, it was falling off a slope in a shopping cart.

"Hold onto the cart," you mumbled.

Jisung beamed as he grabbed onto the cart handle. Carefully, you swung your legs over the edge and plopped inside the space. You leaned against the cart's back and pulled your legs to your chest to make space for him. After confirming that you had settled on your seat, Jisung let go of the handle and walked to the side of the shopping cart. You watched him as he placed a leg on the support pole below and hopped up using it. The cart shook at the force, and, unfortunately, its front wheels tipped over the ledge of the slope.

"What–" you paused to register the moving car before whipping your head back to look at Jisung–"oh my god, Ji–“

The cart rolled faster than either of you could react to it. Jisung grabbed the shopping cart edge and doubled forward to lean his weight against it while you shot your hands out, hoping to hold onto his arms to steady him. Before you could even blink, your body jolted at the crashing impact. The cart tipped to the side where Jisung was, making you squeal as you began falling out. He noticed it before you did because he discovered he had lost his footing on the pole. Gathering all his senses, he leaned his torso forward to cage you in his arms before you both fell onto the floor, the shopping cart landing on his legs instead of your curled-up body.

Your heart almost beat out of your chest, and it would have if you retained enough senses to understand the proximity of your faces. Your body shifted along with each heave of his chest; you would never know how he managed to hold onto you bridal style, but his circling his arm under your knees saved you from being crushed under the metal cart. Getting off of him, you first looked at the damage done, and you gasped when you saw Jisung's bleeding knee.

"Jisung, you're bleeding!" you said as you got up to pull the shopping cart off his feet.

He could somehow feel it. The liquid trickling down his skin was a vivid feeling. Pulling himself up with a groan, he held back a faint whine upon seeing the bleeding scratch around his knee. The edge of the shopping cart must have nicked him when you two fell. It all happened so quickly, he barely felt it. All he could remember was the weight of your body pressing down on him, shielded from the ground. Placing his hands around his leg, he applied some pressure to the skin, accidentally forcing more blood out of the wound.

You gasped at the sight and slapped his hands away, to which he responded with an incredulous laugh.

"Why are you hitting me? I'm hurt! I'm injured! I'm bleeding!" he exclaimed, eyes wide.

"I told you this was a bad idea," you said. "I'm going to go get something to help you with. Stay here.”

Jisung was forced into silence by your frustrated tone. He anticipated getting hurt; truthfully, the knee injury didn't bother him that badly. He grew up with clumsy scratches all over his body, after all. It was your public display of dissappointment that guilted him into this shrunken shell. You looked upset, saddened, and even annoyed that his knee was bleeding. Jisung couldn't delude himself with the thought that you cared about him enough to hate his injury to neglect your obvious distaste for what happened. It felt earth-shattering to him.

"Wait!" He stood up, his leg buckling at the spike of pain, but he kept going. "I'm sorry! I really thought this would be fun–ah, oh?”

The itchy sensation present in his nose made him reach a hand up. He smeared blood across his cupid's bow once, and the next second, more rolled down from his nose. Brows furrowing in confusion, he arched his neck and pinched the bridge of his nose. You could only stare at him in shock, your legs stuttering to bring yourself to him while your lips unconsciously began to quirk up.

"Where did this nosebleed even come from?" he yelled with a few stomps of his feet. "My face didn't even touch the floor–ow! My knee!"

You brought your hand up to your lips to fail at covering a fit of giggles. Nothing about this was funny, which made everything about it so. The ridiculous way Jisung acted in response to his injuries made it even more hilarious. What would have been a bratty tantrum was made funny by his presence because that was the kind of boy he was. He was the entertainer, the jokester, the mood-maker.

Jisung lowered his head when he heard your glorious laughter. It was the same one he heard when you wiped the soda stick off his skin or when he held your hands as he guided you to dance across the cashier aisles. This was what he yearned for. This was all anything has been about for him. New sparkles in his eyes birthed through your shivering reflection; in your joy, he existed infinitely. This was all he has ever wanted, and this was all anything has ever been about—him being in love with you.

Letting go of his nose and lowering his head, he stared at you affectionately with fiddling fingers. "[Name]." The blood rolled past his lips, dripping down his chin. He cared not of it. "Can I go out with you someday?”

He smiled honestly at you when you approached him. You tugged at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, pulled it over your palm, and wiped the blood on his face.

"You're ridiculous. Your nose is bleeding," you whispered.

"Sorry," he said. "I just really like you.”

You giggled. Jisung wished he would sew himself into the air you breathe out of your mouth, to become part of the noises you make when you felt happy.

There was this boy who worked the closing shift with you at the supermarket, and you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

There was this boy who has been living with you since you started college.

“Get out of here if you’re not going to help! Useless!” Felix exclaimed with flailing arms as he chased the high school students up the stairway. He sneered when they ran up the stairs giggling. Putting a hand on the stair railing, he shouted upward, “That’s what I thought! Get a move on before I change your pronouns to ‘was were’!”

After the sight of those pesky teenagers faded, Felix quickly descended the stairs to where you were and crouched next to you. He collected all the pieces of papers you had scattered on the ground after being bumped into, bumped them together into a straight stack, and positioned them in one arm. He reached out to grab your white cane before shuffling over to you, his free hand tentatively hovering over yours as he moved his head in front of your face. He always made cautious announcements of his presence; he remembered you telling him you could still faintly see lines and colors, and he didn’t want to scare you with his sudden appearance.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, letting his palm rest above your hand for an acknowledging second before he held it to pull you up with him. “Here, let’s get back on our feet.”

“Thank you, Felix.” You smiled as you leaned into his support. You steadied yourself by finding a footing on the ground, not afraid of stumbling now that Felix held onto your hand. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Nonsense!” he protested as he carefully tugged you along with him to the estate lobby. Your strides were more confident with him around, but he didn’t notice it because he was busy getting all heated and fussy over the group of high schoolers who waited around your fallen body just now. “The real trouble here is those damn kids. How long have they been bothering you?”

You shook your head at his question. “They haven’t been. They didn’t do anything to me. I fell on my own, and they just happened to be around when that happened.”

Felix scoffed. He knew you were putting a good word for them because you, much like himself, didn’t own a heart capable of tarnishing another. Between you and him, though, he was more willing to give someone a well-deserved kick or two and not feel guilty about it afterward, especially if that particular someone was causing harm to someone he cared deeply about. Whether or not those kids deliberately tripped you, he didn’t like that they stuck around to watch you struggle. They should get out of the way if they had no plans to help you. No matter what you tell him, he will keep harboring a negative impression of them, but he wouldn’t do anything if he saw them again. Not because he was nice, but because you were.

“I have a few friends who also live here,” he said once the elevator arrived at your floor. He held the door open as he guided you outside. “If you don’t mind, I will tell them to keep an eye out just in case they see you around or if you need help with anything.”

You hummed in agreement. Ever since the outreach program helped you get into college and obtain a rental apartment, you have meant to meet some new friends. You figured you would struggle with schoolwork already, so to get the best of this opportunity, you wanted to fulfill the social aspect of the ideal college life. Felix was your roommate and, thereby, your first college friend, or acquaintance. You weren’t sure if he saw you as a friend yet. If he were willing to introduce you to the people he knew, you would gladly take the offer. Considering the kind of person Felix was, you doubted his friends would be anything short of a happy meal.

“Okay, we’re here. Give me a second. I’ll open the door.”

Clutching the white cane in your hand, you waited by the side for him to open the door. He inserted the key into the lock on the first try, much unlike the usual days when it would take him a few seconds of struggling to fit the key in place. You always heard the rustling from outside and knew he was home. The lock clicked, and Felix opened the door before returning to you. He stopped his palm at the small of your back as you walked, hovering carefully, and he squeezed through the small space between you and the doorframe to get inside first.

"There we go," he said, kicking his shoes off to a corner. He giggled quietly in amusement at the aggressive way you shoved your shoes aside with the tip of your white cane, and then you rested the cane against the wall near the door at its usual place. He was going to help you with them. "How was class today? I forgot to ask you!”

"Oh–it was good!" You clapped your hands and turned in his direction. Hopefully, he hasn't moved from where he last spoke. You were proceeding according to where his voice was coming from. "I caught up on some reading at the library. This boy who was going to the fine arts building led me there on his way. He was really nice.”

"That's nice. Did you get his name?" Felix hummed in contentment.

"No, I didn't," you said between soft giggles. "But he was wearing something weird and flashy, I assume. I could feel the fabric.”

He turned on the lights to illuminate the dull living room and frowned at the opened bags of chips and soda cans on the table. He remembered you were catching up on assignments at the table yesterday night. You must have forgotten to throw them out after. Quietly, he moved over to the table, dropped your notes on a clean corner, and began cleaning things up. He slid the soda cans over his arms and crumbled the chip bags. You perked up at the plastic noises, stayed in thought momentarily, then gasped, remembering the mess you made on the table.

"Oh, wait! I can clean it up myself," you urged as you stumbled over to the table. "I can help!"

You stopped when his presence loomed over you, and through an extreme fog, you could make out the blond of his hair and some red of his jacket. Felix watched you stare at his neck before slowly looking up at him, your brows furrowed with a certain plead. You never said anything about your possible grievances over needing care, and he never assumed you had any. You have been picking up after yourself just fine, save for certain moments when you needed help, which everyone would require once in a while. But in case you had grievances, he wished you would know he didn't mind helping you. He didn't want you to think he saw you lightly in any way.

"That would be lovely. My hands are too small to hold anything, I swear," he said with a defeated chuckle. "Can you hold out your hand? I'll give you the chip bags.”

You did so willingly and tried to get a feel of his hands again when he transferred the empty plastic bags to you. You didn't think they were as outstandingly small as he made them out to be, especially not in comparison to yours. Or perhaps your opinion of it was influenced by the fact that whenever he touched you, he was helping you to somewhere, and you wouldn't have cared what his hand felt like as you walked with his voice sounding in your ears.

His voice was where the end of your heartstring sat, not just because his voice was securely deep but also because it was one of the only ways you could confidently know him in. You could barely make him out with your eyes, and it was too awkward to touch or smell him, so the best way to feel him was through his voice and how yours mixed with it in the air.

"Are you going to get fried chicken for takeout again?" he asked as he stepped on the trashcan near the kitchen counter. He waited for you to drop the chip bags in before letting go. "I think we should! I walked by this morning, and I saw a new promotional poster! They are drizzling cheese sauce all over the drumsticks, and they're selling it at a discounted price because it's new on the menu.”

You raised your brows. You were used to ordering the same thing at every restaurant as someone who felt uncomfortable trying new things. Sometimes, even if the new thing was good, you felt inclined to stick with what you knew anyway for, perhaps, nostalgic purpose. But Felix sounded so thrilled over it that you didn't have the heart to let him down, so you agreed.

"Let's order that, then," you said. "I'll treat you. You helped me a lot today.”

He strangled out a protest with his throat and then snorted to dismiss your offer. But you stood your ground, reaching your arms out slightly to wave in disagreement. He might not think a big deal of helping you pick your belongings from the floor, walking you back home, choosing to clean up after you, and defending you to disrespectful high school kids, but it all meant something to you. Every kind gesture meant something.

"How about this–" you snapped your fingers–"you can make it up to me by letting me touch your face.”

"Huh?" Felix broke into clueless laughter. He tilted his head, a finger unconsciously pointing at himself, and he pulled a face even though you couldn't see him. "[Name], if you wanted to touch me, you could've just asked.”

You gasped, embarrassed. His assumption was not your intention, but hearing him joke about it out loud caught you off guard. "I did just ask!" you exclaimed, then you waved your arms in a criss-cross motion before your chest. "Also, no! I didn't mean it like that! I just–I don't know what you look like!”

"I know. I was joking," he muttered with an amused smile. Taking a step closer to you, he reached for your hand and placed it on his cheeks. He hesitated at first; he didn't know if you started from the top of the head or the bottom of his chin when you wanted to get a feel of someone's appearance. "Here. Examine away.”

You scrunched your nose as the only protest to his unfunny joke, and then you began your search for his facial structure.

Being touched so gently was not remarkable to him, but somehow, he felt the amusement fading from his face the more ground your fingers covered. The cushion of your hands touched each crevice of his bones. Your fingertips ran like raindrops over his eyes and his lashes; the back of your knuckles glided smooth and firm over his cheekbones; your thumbs a ghostly whisper as they stripped his lips bare of all its desire for romance; your palms an opened leash he gutted himself to tighten around his neck.

"Your skin..." you dragged your fingers carefully under his eyes, "do you have freckles, Felix?"

He sucked in a nervous breath when you leaned in as if to see better. "I do. Can you feel them on my face?"

"Barely. Freckles are mostly flat, I think. Part of the skin, like blemishes," you replied as you reached around to his ears and down his jaw. "You have a nice bone structure.”

"Thanks," he chuckled. "I wouldn't know anything about that, really.”

You laughed with him, your fingers still trailing. He wondered if you saw him differently than everyone else did, differently than he did. He wondered if touching his face would be more aggravating than observing it. It might be. It should be for him. If he closed his eyes and felt for the upward quirk of your mouth and your laugh lines, instead of watching the way your teeth flashed as you smiled, he would feel a certain kind of cruelty, a kind of sickness, like he would staple his skin to your face to feel its ever-changing joy.

He wanted to laugh. His brain begged him to turn this into something less than what his heart felt—the possibility of being in love. But Felix couldn't stop. His heart pounded in a pattern as muffled as your eyesight—he wasn't sure where his kindness for you began and where his affection for you ended.

Being touched so gently was not remarkable to him, but being touched so intimately was. Being touched to be remembered, being touched to be memorized, being touched to acknowledge the growing affection his skin developed for the shape of your hands were remarkable to him.

"Thank you for helping me today, Felix," you said, your warmth abruptly leaving his features. Giggling, you gestured at him with a wave. "And for letting me invade your privacy like that.”

There was this boy who has been living with you since you started college, and he would let you do to him anything you wanted.

There was a boy who was your childhood best friend.

Seungmin needed to take a breather. He had never been beaten up like this—blood running down his nose, a split wound hidden on his forehead, and a reddened, swollen bottom lip. He thought he was going to die; he knew he was going to die, but he jumped to shield you from the grotesque louts with his fragile body anyway.

Your eyes shifted to the side when you felt his weight fall from on top of your back, and then they widened when you saw how uncharacteristically dirty your best friend's face was. It made you scramble out of your curled position onto your knees, treading past the rocky ground to where he lay catching his breath, and you loomed over him with panicking hands. He flinched when you touched his face, causing you to move away with a hasty apology. That sudden sting served as a wake-up call for him to gather himself and get off the ground.

Seungmin's head hammered with a muffled ring in his ears. He smacked the heel of his palm to his temple, trying to knock the pitchy hum out of his head, but all that for him was a shaky migraine. Groaning inwardly, he pursed his lips at the bitter taste of realization that he, indeed, was out of shape. The odds of winning a street fight were already against him when he first found you in the alleyway, and it stacked up higher when he got pushed on all fours. His muscles hurt all over—not even his father has ever hurt him like this.

"Are you okay?" he asked scruffily, looking at you as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You were, physically. Seungmin may not have defended you from those smelly louts from school, but he did protect you. Most of what was supposed to be done to you was done to him because of his persistent cover of your body. You ran your hands over your body slowly; you didn’t hurt anywhere, which may be a sign of victorious heroism to him. To you, though, it was a burden. His heroism was a burden, a hassle, something that was better off not happening.

It broke you to know that you thought this of him, but he was never supposed to be here. An honor roll student; the student council president; understanding and kind but not without wits and a specific type of humor; tall and well put together—Seungmin was never supposed to meddle in rotten business as such. This was not his place. It was yours.

"Why are you here, Seungmin?" you asked as you reached for your school bag for some tissues, disregarding a need for gratitude.

"I was going to walk home with you," he replied with a shrug. "Why else?"

"Well, I thought you had a student council meeting today," you muttered, handing him the tissue. He rolled it into a semi-stick shape and shoved it in his bleeding nose while you pressed a clean one on the blood from his hair. "I didn't know you were going home on regular hours."

He scoffed. "You did know. I told you yesterday through text.”

"I haven't read it.”

"Well, you should," he said as he eyed you pointedly. He pinched his nose, feeling silly that he was trying to carry a serious conversation when he looked the least from that. "I don't appreciate you avoiding me, [Name].”

You pulled a face in disagreement. "I wasn’t."

Oh, but you were. As someone who has always been the one to make space for you in his schedule, because the truth was that he had more errands to attend to than you did, Seungmin would know you were avoiding him. You have never joined extracurricular activities or enrolled in night tutor classes, so naturally, it didn't make sense not to spend a measly five minutes with him. You also only made friends with him and one mutual friend he introduced you to, meaning you would have no plans outside the ones you made with him, which were getting scarce even now. Seungmin would know if you were avoiding him. The only thing he has to ask you of was the reason.

“I don’t believe you,” he muttered without looking at you. “To think I didn’t even get a thank you.”

“Because you shouldn’t be here!” you exclaimed through gritted teeth, focusing on the unseen injury on his forehead.

"Why? Because this–" he pulled away and gestured to his face–"would have happened to you?"

You sneered. This wasn't rocket science. You were being bullied. In the last year of high school, too, unfortunately. It wasn’t hard to deduce, but your distaste for his ability to voice whatever truth came to mind was especially strong at this moment because you knew the next thing would be an interrogation on why you didn’t ask him for help. As the student council president, he has a level of influence over the student body. You should have asked him for help; he would have stepped on everyone’s daily routine to defend you.

Taking your frustration on him, you shoved your hand against his head and threw the bloodied tissue paper on the ground. You clicked your tongue, glaring at him, and threw a baseless accusation, "You should have left!”

The angrier you got, the easier it was for the frustrated tears to fall.

He has no idea how embarrassing this was! You have spent years living in his shadow, being tended to by him as children. You were the clumsy one; he was the responsible one! You fell off stairs and tripped in the rain; he has band-aids in his mini crossbody bag and a set of coaxing words prepared. He proceeded to grow up to be exactly how it was predicted. He was smart, took up even more significant responsibilities, and was on his way to remarkable things. While you fell off from the generous predictions of your life, kicking your teenage years off with average grades and a complete lack of social skills and ending it by being a punching bag until the last year of high school.

But you were handling it! Seungmin’s increasingly busy schedule made it easier for you to hide such tragedies from him. You never received his help, and you survived these four years, albeit with two black eyes and a limping ego! To you, this was the noble thing to do—to suffer alone and handle it alone. He wouldn’t understand.

Trying to find something to do as a distraction, you grabbed the tissue you threw on the floor and tried to wipe the blood on his face. Your throat let out a teary croak when you saw the black soil stained on top, and you threw it away again. A suppressed screech sounded from the core of your throat, and you rambled with malice, a finger pointing at the mirror of his eyes. "Look at you! You look beaten! You–you look stupid! You’re stupid! You're bleeding, and you smell! You look disgusting!"

It was all supposed to be you; being in pain, dirty, bloody, injured. It was all supposed to be you. Seungmin didn't say anything when you pulled at your uniform sleeve and used it to clean his face. It was even a little hilarious to him that you cared about the dirt on the tissue paper but not much about the snot and tears you were wiping onto the sleeve fabric that was mixed with his dry blood. Your cries echoed in the chamber of his mind, bouncing off the pulled-back walls where his memories hid to keep away from your agony; his mind knew if he made sense of your pain, he would hurt him so badly that he might die.

“You should have left me here,” you said. “You should have left me alone.

“To get beat up? To die?” he argued softly. “Never.”

Seungmin forced a knot down his throat. The metallic taste in his mouth grew into a lump of a tumor, stranded at the tip of his tongue, where he screamed in response to you asking him to let you rot alone. You didn't know how he felt, even though this friendship lasted beyond ten years.

You could not suffer without him. You could not ache without him. There was no more danger in the world than a silly boy in love with his childhood best friend. You cannot die without him; you didn't know how he would distort his body, feeling his bones snap into brutal places to fit inside your coffin. He would lay himself down into Earth's ground with you, his body desiccating next to you, and grow into a tree where its roots were built as one with you. The tree would get cut down centuries later, and your branches turned into papers used to write a magnificent love story, filled with affection he has all once felt and contained for you. You could not die without him. You could not love without him.

"I will never leave you," he repeated.

You saw your reflection in his eyes; when you were drowned in their browns, you became more than who you thought you were. Your hand dropped to your lap; he wanted you to strangle his neck with it. Seungmin would never leave you, and you knew why. You did know why. Because he was the responsible one, because you would do the same for him, because there was no version of this story where he would turn around the corner and leave you with violence as the answer.

There was a boy who was your childhood best friend, and he would fight to die with you.

There was this boy. His name was Yang Jeongin.

The lights were out before midnight struck toward the day of the college entrance exam. It was to prepare for the testing with a whole night's sleep! Instead of sleeping in your own bed, you closed your eyes on a mattress laid out just next to Jeongin's bed on the floor. Unlike what your friend kept arguing about, the mattress wasn't at all uncomfortable to lay atop. What was actually uncomfortable and sleep-eliminating were the hot weather and the skin irritation that suddenly decided to appear.

You have always known Jeongin's parents live a frugal lifestyle, and their ideals bled into how he operated daily despite how financially generous they were willing to be with him. He rarely bought anything he didn't need, like clothes and games. Sometimes, he saved money on things he needed by cheaping out on food and hair conditioners. With that, one frustrating thing Jeongin couldn't bother to spend money on was electricity, specifically the use of air conditioning on a hot and humid summer night.

You heaved a deep exhale and furrowed your brows as you touched your inner thigh under the blanket. There was an itch developing there, which you tried your mightiest not to scratch it gone. When your fingertips made contact with the spot, you flinched away at the light bumps of hives nesting around the area and removed your legs from the blanket warmth. The chill wind blowing from the window helped you relieve the pain momentarily before it was gone.

Your inner thigh was not the only place developing a hive-like itch. The way Jeongin's sleep shirt rubbed against your back as you moved, the pattern printed on the uncovered mattress that sparked friction on your skin, and the humidity snuck between the hair that occasionally tousled across your face were all the causes for an unexplainable itch. You pursed your lips into a thin, silent line and frustratedly kicked off the blanket to keep the fabric away from your legs entirely.

"Are you okay?" Jeongin asked after hearing your soft whine, but he kept his back turned from you.

You were not, but if you told him about your current skin condition, he would close the window and turn on the air-conditioner for you. His parents had already cooked you two decent meals today; you arrived at Jeongin's home during the afternoon for lunch and to study together, then you had dinner before studying more. They also let you use their shower and drink from their fridge, which to you felt like a huge financial sacrifice because you've repeatedly listened to Jeongin complain about how expensive good body wash was these days. You didn't want to make him turn on the air conditioner for you over something a good night's sleep could eliminate.

"Yeah. I'm just nervous about tomorrow," you said.

"We've studied so much. You're going to be fine." Jeongin laughed airily. It hit just below his chin and was almost inaudible. "Just go to sleep. You don't want to doze off in the middle of the exam."

You scoffed. "I'm not going to.”

It would be impossible to fall asleep during a college entrance exam, regardless of how much rest you got the night before. The sheer pressure to pay attention to each question and the constant reminders of each clock tick that this exam determines the rest of your life were too big of a responsibility to run away from, let alone sleeping through it. But, at the rate these itches spread across your body, you thought you might just lay your head on the desk tomorrow and get some shut-eye anyway.

Jeongin could hear the sound of you scratching your skin. They went on and off without a specific pattern, but they happened within quick intervals—you were scratching somewhere, and then suddenly, you were not. He could also hear your quickened breath, paired with the constant shifting of your body across the blanket. He held back an annoyed exhale as he snapped his eyes open to meet the opened window. For the first time, he acknowledged the uncomfortable humidity in the air, mixed with a suffocating heat that would surely trigger your skin irritation.

Your parents speculated it was the result of allergies, and the doctor they took you to see approved that assumption. You never found out your triggers, though, and it was moving like there wasn't anything specific. You were just allergic to atmospheres that made you uncomfortable, be it extreme heat or festering cold, cotton pants or polyester shirts.

Jeongin always knew about it. His parents were the ones who found out over-the-counter allergy pills worked to relieve you of the itch, and since then, he has done in-depth research into anything related to such a health phenomenon. An interesting fact about him that he liked to tell others was that he could, on the fly, answer any questions about allergic reactions. He became obsessed with it because he wanted to help you, but really it was because it caused you a lot of pain. He was restless about it; whenever he recalled how you cried because you began bleeding from the scratches, he ached and scraped his to-do list to take another deep dive into the internet.

He wasn't sure why your pain made him feel such despair that he was running the map of a very niche topic. But he wanted you to feel better, to stop suffering from it.

You stopped itching at your jaw when Jeongin abruptly shot up on his bed. He turned on the night light sitting on his nightstand and peered down at you. You were staring up at him with squinted eyes, not used to the light, but even then, he could tell you were frustrated to the point of tears by the mere shift of your arched brows. He curled his fists lightly, the ache turning into fleeting anger before his chest started to hurt again. Leaving his spot, he went to close the window and turned on the air conditioner.

"Wait, Jeongin–" you got onto your knees in protest–"you don't have to do that.”

He ignored you as he rummaged through his desk drawer. He pulled out a plastic container of allergy pills and a tube of cream he got in a pharmacy some time ago, then he approached you. Kneeling on the floor next to you, he urged you to receive the pills and watched you intently as he waited for you to pop them into your mouth, his water bottle in his free hand. When you were done, he brushed the blanket off to the edge of the mattress and sat near your legs, the tube of cream ready in his hands.

"I bought this cream a while ago. I heard it's good with alleviating rashes," he said as he popped the lid open. He took a brief sniff of the cream. It smelt medicinal and nothing more. "Where do you itch?"

"Jeongin, I can do it myself.”

"Every time you touch it, you end up scratching it," he said softly. "Where do you itch?”

You were speechless. You weren't sure if you wanted to feel annoyed that he ignored all of your protests against helping you out or endeared that he went out of his way to buy you medicine for something you've never asked for help with. You glanced at the desk, where he didn't even close the drawer fully before coming to your aid, and back at Jeongin, who waited patiently with the medicinal cream in his hand. You shivered; he looked exhausted, and he should be after pulling so many all-nighters to study. Yet, he knelt before you, asking for nothing but your permission to help.

"A few places," you muttered.

His touch was soft and made cold through the cream, but your skin remained heated from the tender way he nursed your broken body. He applied the scream on your forearm, under your jaw, and near your collarbones. And then there was a sudden shift in the air, stumped beneath the dim night light, when you told him your chest and your inner thigh were feeling suffocated.

Jeongin tried not to think about it. If he felt too strongly about it—reaching his hand beneath your shirt and pushing at your leg for further access—he thought his feelings for you may unknowingly bleed into the pressure of his fingers. But even with a blank mind and unfocused eyes, he could never rid the sensation of your soft, once private skin. The only thing that kept the endearing butterflies from turning to obsessive parasites was the reminder that you were in pain, that he was applying medicine on your skin to keep you from suffering through the night.

Neither of you spoke a word during. At some point, his touch, plastered with the medicine, became permanent and regular. At some point, him taking care of you became constant and unthinking.

After he was done, he dropped the tub of cream on his nightstand and turned off the light. He laid down next to you instead of returning to his bed, forcing you to make space for him.

"Turn around," he said, pushing at your shoulders lightly.

Your voice strangled with confusion, but you complied. After turning your back to him, you felt his figure inch towards you until his chest hit your back. He snuck his arms around your body and searched for your hands to hold, effectively spooning you. His arms felt stronger than you recognized; he had been working out recently. You just never noticed any physical changes. But they were stronger and more secure as he hugged you to him and imprisoned your triggering hands from worsening your itches.

"Go to sleep," he mumbled. "I'll wake up later to reapply some more cream for you."

You protested, your voice barely a whisper, "But you need sleep."

"[Name]," he dropped his face to the back of your neck and curled up in a spot between you and the pillow, “sleep."

You wanted to tell him not to bother, to go back to his bed, but you found yourself falling asleep in his arms. His chest heaves felt too much like gentle caresses, and instead of on your lap, his head lay atop yours on a single pillow, which meant the same thing to you even with the ghostly touches of his lips on the skin of your neck, hauntingly there. You weren't sure what this was about, but you thought he must be in love with you to do this.

"Thank you, Jeongin," you whispered in a drowsy haze, "for taking care of me."

There was this boy named Yang Jeongin, and you thought he told you he loved you in your sleep.

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