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mearcatsreturns · 3 years

Note

15 for Abby/Luka

For reasons ;)

Under a cut because it's long.

July 2003

To: Luka Kovac <“[email protected]”>

From: Abby Lockhart <“[email protected]”>

Subject: I’m drowning and praying ghosts are real

Dear Luka,

Something about knowing that I’ll never talk to you again is just unbearable. I’ll never laugh at your malapropisms, look into your beautiful eyes, feel your strong hands holding mine, or make love to you again. There won’t be any more jokes about jam and cheese on toast, or you teasing me for my weak but constant supply of coffee. I’ll never hear your amazing, deranged laughter after you prank someone again. No more of your hugs—which are somehow the best hugs in the world. Because you’re gone.

It’s been three days since we got the call telling us you died thousands of miles from home, whether that’s here in Chicago or in Croatia. I didn’t know your dad’s name, Luka. We needed to call him, and I didn’t know. How did I not know? And now I can’t. I mean, L’Alliance told us his name, but the fact that I’ll never learn pieces of your history, of the wonderful man you are, FROM you...how am I supposed to go on and live my life?

For years, I’ve thought medicine was my great thwarted love. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for so long, and I thought I was bitter about having to let go of that dream. Now I wonder. I let obstacles get in the way of pursuing medicine, and it’s made me...well, it’s part of why I was so unhappy. But that makes me think about how I also let obstacles get in the way of us. I was happy with you, you know, until I let fear and my mother and Carter get in the way. God, I wish I could do that over again. We could have had everything, and if I hadn’t gotten in my own way, I’d be happy. I think maybe I could have made you happy, too.

It’s funny. I knew things with Carter weren’t working, and he implied you were part of it. I said it wasn’t, but then five minutes later, I found out you were—are—dead. And I realized you were the reason, or one of the big ones. As soon as Chuny told me, I knew I loved you and had loved you for years. Yeah. Great timing, isn’t it? I keep thinking that maybe I could have kept you from going if I had known or if I had told you. I didn’t want you to go when I thought you were my very attractive friend and ex that I still was fond of. Knowing that I love you—how do I move past that? Knowing that I lost you, first to my stupidity and then to death?

I just...I miss you, and I don’t when I’ll stop, or how to. Susan caught me crying on my last shift, and I didn’t even know what to say. I feel like I’ve been crying or standing still, brittle and stuck in time, since I heard the news. I can’t, Luka. I know I have to keep on moving, and I thought maybe writing you would help. I know you’ll never see this, never have a chance to respond. But the idea that some fragments of your soul linger and can maybe sense...I don’t know. That I’m writing? What I’m feeling? Jesus, this is crazy.

All my love,

Abby

Abby angrily swipes the tears from her eyes. God, what’s the point of writing this? He’ll never see hsi email or her again. Just...without Luka, how can the world be anything but grim and sad and pointless?

She laughs mirthlessly. Maybe it doesn’t matter. No, she knows it doesn’t. Because Abby knows the futility of it, aches with the meaninglessness, she presses send without another thought.

&&&

Three days after that, a miracle occurs. Luka, the Lazarus of this new millennium, comes back from the dead. He’s never been dead, and maybe, Abby thinks, there’s a God above after all. So many people wish for this exact boon, and she—they, the world—gets it. Some higher power believes this planet is a better place with Luka Kovac in it, and Abby is ecstatic.

Until she remembers the email and that they can’t be unsent.

It’s fine. She’ll be fine. Luka is coming back, apparently with a French nurse. Maybe he’ll just delete it without reading it. Maybe it didn’t go through—how does email work for the dead, and how quickly is all that processed?

Abby shakes her head. It doesn’t matter; Luka is alive and returning to them. She can handle a little awkwardness in the face of the sheer joy of knowing the world is a brighter, kinder place. He’s coming back, and that’s what’s important.

&&&

August 2003

It takes Luka almost a week after returning to Chicago to convince Kerry and the other staff to let him go back to his apartment. Even so, they only agree when Gillian assures them she’ll see to his every need.

Abby winces when she hears that, and it makes something flutter in Luka’s chest. Which probably isn’t good for his malaria, but the hope...that is.

It’s another two days of lying in bed before he has the energy to ask Gillian to bring him his laptop. At this point, it’s been months since he’s checked his email, and Luka grimaces at the undoubtedly horrible state of his inbox. He briefly considers never checking again and just getting a new one, but he knows his father struggled to add him to his contacts once already. To expect it of him again would be absurd.

With a sigh, Luka opens his email. It’s just as bad as he feared. He snorts at the myriad messages about Viagra, Nigerian princes, and Russian brides, deleting them without thought. He saves a couple from his dad. He slowly whittles down his inbox, but he freezes when he gets to one email in particular, sent about a month ago.

It’s from Abby, during the time everyone thought he was dead.

Luka considers calling and asking her if someone hacked her email or is sending spam from her account, but the subject line...it looks real. And Abby’s been odd around him lately, seeming both deliriously happy to see him and awkwardly nervous.

His heart pounds, and he clicks to open it. If this is a spammer, they’re probably about to get whatever they want.

&&&

Abby pours herself another coffee, internally swearing as she prepares for the last two hours of her shift. Deciding to go back to school is great; having to coordinate all the details is less thrilling and leaves her tired and cranky.

Frank ducks his head into the lounge, beady eyes narrowing on her. “Hey, Abby. The Croat is on the phone for you. Line 2. Try to get back out there as fast as you can, Weaver’s yelling at the med students about IVs.”

“Okay, Frank,” Abby says, though she flushes and her palms start to sweat. It’s fine. She can always hide the panic and butterflies in her stomach with sarcasm. It has yet to fail her.

Frank gives her one last suspicious look, then nods and heads back to Admit.

Abby takes a deep breath, then picks up the phone. “Hey, Luka?”

“It’s me. Glad I could reach you. How are you?” He sounds...ugh. So good. And eager and happy, and her heart could leap right out of her chest.

“Doing all right. I just have a couple hours left on this shift, and it hasn’t been too awful today. Only one MVA. How about you? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Recovering. Listen, did you want to come over for dinner?”

“Please tell me you’re not trying to cook.”

“What? I’m a good cook, even if you don’t appreciate wonderful, traditional Croatian dishes,” he says with a chuckle.

“Luka, you just got out of the hospital five days ago. You still need to be resting.”

“Abby, don’t worry so much. I was just kidding. I have some sandwiches from Manny’s, and Anna sent me home with lots of matzo ball soup too.”

Abby bites her lip. Of course she wants to go. But the prospect of spending the evening with Gillian cooing over Luka, knowing that she shares a bed with him, is decidedly less appealing. And there’s the email she sent, which Luka hasn’t acknowledged. He might well have deleted it, or he’s giving her a gracious out.

Her conscience twinges as soon as she thinks about bailing, though. Didn’t she promise herself she wouldn’t take life for granted anymore? She’ll go back to med school, she’ll have dinner with Luka when he asks.

“Abby?”

She starts, realizing she needs to respond. “Yeah, sorry. Yeah, I can do that. I can be there an hour after my shift, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds great. Looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me too.” He has no idea how much, even if she wishes she knew for sure that he’d deleted the email.

&&&

Abby rings Luka’s doorbell three and a half hours later. She’d meant to come straight from work, but after a patient vomited on her, she decided to head home, shower, and splurge on a taxi to Luka’s. The poor man is recovering from being deathly ill and doesn’t need County’s fumes making things worse.

There’s the sound of the deadbolt sliding, and Luka answers the door, grinning happily at her. “Good, you made it! Come on in!”

“I did. Sorry it took me longer than expected.” Abby steps into his apartment, looking around. It’s been such a long time since she’s been here, and she notes the subtle changes in the art and decor.

“No worries. I know how it goes.” He places a hand at the small of her back, guiding her inside.

Abby stiffens for a second at how his touch burns even through the layers of her shirt and light jacket, but she relaxes, enjoying the feel while she waits for Gillian to appear and end the fleeting joy.

Luka is unfazed. “Now, of course we can just eat the sandwiches, but if you want to heat up the matzo ball soup, you can. Since you don’t want me standing,” he says with a wink.

Abby smiles back, shaking her head. “Oh, I see how it is. Make the woman who worked all day do more household work when she gets ho—wait, where’s Gillian? Isn’t she supposed to be taking care of you?”

“She’s not here,” he says simply.

Going to the fridge and taking out the containers of soup, Abby places them in the microwave. Is Gillian out for the evening, or is she gone gone? “Shouldn’t you be with her? Or her here with you, whatever.”

Luka is quiet for a long minute, and Abby wonders if he intends to answer. Finally, he breaks the silence. “I asked her to leave.”

Abby’s pulse speeds up. “What? Why?”

Luka takes a deep breath, clearly ready to respond, and—

The microwave dings, and they both jump. Exchanging a sheepish look, they laugh.

“Look, let’s get some food, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Abby dishes up their soup and sandwiches, preparing trays so they can sit on the couch. Luka turns on the television, and Abby’s heart rate comes back under control. They sit together in companionable silence while they eat and watch Thom and Jai and the rest of the Fab 5 whip some hapless lawyer’s life into order. When they finish their meal, Abby cleans up, taking the trays back to the kitchen.

She heads back to the couch at the opposite end from Luka, not daring to get closer when she really has no idea what’s going on.

Luka clears his throat and mutes the TV. “So, yeah. I asked Gillian to leave.”

“Oh. So, um, did you break up?”

“She was never my girlfriend, really. She has a boyfriend back in Montreal, they just…” Luka shrugs and runs a hand through his hair.

Abby is more lost than ever. “Ah.”

Taking a deep breath, Luka continues, finally looking over at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful she helped me get here and took care of me, but we were never serious.”

Something starts to tug at Abby’s heart, squeezing and twisting and kicking to get free. Is it...hope? “Well, I’m glad she got you here safe, but you should have someone staying with you while you recover, Luka. Malaria is dangerous.”

He gives her a look. “I know how dangerous malaria is. I’m getting better. And besides, it wouldn’t have been fair for me to ask her to stay when things are over because I’m in love with someone else.”

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Someone else?” she squeaks.

Luka nods, swallowing. “Yeah. And I have a reason to think she might be in love with me too.” He slides over to her side of the couch, reaching for her hand.

Abby meets his eyes—those beautiful green eyes that are the best color in the world—and squeezes his hand, incapable of words. Does he mean…?

With his other hand, Luka reaches up and cups her cheek, running his thumb along the subtle arch of her cheekbone. “Abby, if you’ve changed your mind since you sent that email, please tell me to shut up.”

That stupid, ridiculous email might be the best thing she’s ever done in her life. She leans into his hand, licking her lips as she shakes her head slightly. “I haven’t changed my mind. I didn’t mean for you to see it and hoped I could learn how to hack computers and delete it but—”

Luka cuts her off. “I would never forgive you if you managed to delete it. You wouldn’t believe how much faster I healed after that.”

Abby leans forward, sliding into Luka’s waiting arms. “Then maybe I’ll write you some more emails.”

“Emails aren’t what I want right now,” Luka says.

Funny, Abby doesn’t either. Then his lips brush hers, and all her worries and fears fade away. She knows she has to tell him about med school and he needs to finish recuperating, but when Luka deepens their kiss and pulls her closer, Abby ceases to think at all.

She has Luka back, and now they have each other again.

#er #nbc er #er ff #luby #luby ff #abby lockhart #luka kovac #<3 #my fanfic

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dynocation · 3 years

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🌈⭐️The DTL Mods scared of being called out so they make a callout post about me in secret.

Get ready for a juicy story newcomers. This is a fun one.

Granted there are people in the dtl amino that still like me, so the word got back to me. These people literally are incapable of understanding, that yeah people can lie (ChibiTacoLord) and be toxic behind the scenes. There’s a reason why Taco doesn’t have many friends and I do. Not trying to diss or anything.

⭐️Addressing The People Making Testimonies⭐️

Ark - Person in the dtl community that would bully multiple people calling their art trash and making fun of people’s mental disabilities. I sent screenshot evidence to Bregee. She dismissed it saying “He’s my friend. That’s just how he is.”

It wasn’t him just attacking me either, I could careless about random nobodies reeing at me, but he was attacking some of the nicest people in dtl community. Calling their art terrible and hoping they’d die, and because of him multiple people left the dtl community. I was contacting Bregee as a voice for these people because they were scared to say anything, and she brushed it aside. “He’s a friend.” Despite me giving her fair warning that Ark is a douchebag she allowed him to stick around and what does he do? He goes on FurryAmino calling people “faggots” and their art “cringe”. Am I suppose to go “Poor Ark”? I legit feel no sympathy for him. He sabotaged the DTL Discord all on his own, yet I get blamed for it apparently. No thank you. I do not claim Ark as my responsibility. You made it clear he’s your two year old to handle. I’m also not banned from Furry Amino as Bregee has said. I’m still using it and have been for years, being featured, and making friends there, and will be a curator on it here soon.

Ark went on there screaming how he hates me and people tore him apart for it. (He basically just called my art cringe and the people who like it are cringe too).

In furry culture, you do not attack an artist without evidence, and Ark didn’t have any. (In regards for me being bad at commissions)

In shame he left the amino and deleted his account/hid it from me(one of the possibilities, he could’ve been banned due to breaking numerous rules) blaming me for people yelling at him. I didn’t say anything other than telling people to leave him alone and let staff deal with him. People were not kind to him, granted he was personally attacking people. People were pulling apart his arguments and pushed him off the amino. I wasn’t made aware of it till later when people were gloating about it to me, sharing me images of him getting spammed with clown emojis. That’s a funny lie for him to tell though in an attempt to save face. If he goes around saying I’m banned there, because I’m one of the biggest community members and still to this day. People on there message me everyday telling me it’s becuase of me they pursue art and love to animate. Maybe Ark is just an idiot though and just learned how to use the block button? And thought block was the same as a ban? Wouldn’t be the first a DTL Amino/Discord person learned that.

BakiDance - I worked with them to solve the raid issue. I said nothing nazi related except when I was @ by Ark and I made a joke in response to him.

Alli - Would ask me to do sexual Roleplay when I was 11-12. WOULD ASK ME, and I would do them becuase I didn’t understand at the time. It was like incest/rape/gore shit. She then would call my art shit and call me homophobic. When called out for it, she went to the excuse “oh we sexual rp’d”, as if that doesn’t also look bad back on her.

Bregee- She invited me back to the DTL discord and I told her no becuase she doesn’t curate it. She got offended. Then showing me like a 10 page document of new rules for her discord which made me cringe. (It was massive and full of inconsistencies) She then messaged me again, asking me about the New Years. I gave her a short stiff response, because of the Ark situation I had a distrust of her. She was doubly offended. She then randomly accused me of befriending nazis/pedofiles, which I found funny because, number one, she doesn’t know my friends, number two, she doesn’t know me. She’s like a hate Stan. Literally, she looks at my art and obsesses over it to a negative degree. She’s joined my discord, follows me, dms me. I know she hangs out with Taco/Alli some of the most toxic people in the dtl fandom, so hh. Unless she wants to say otherwise.

Chibi Taco Lord - Would ask me to do sexual rps, and I would decline, because of the bad experience I had with Alli, she promised me she woulnt be like Alli so I agreed once and it was okay. I’m an adult, Taco is an adult. I sexual rp to this day if both parties are adults and consent to it.

When it comes to abuse art. It’s the Pot calling the Kettle black. Taco made a whole story about her Drew getting raped and beaten by Wilfre and shared it with me. Abuse art of her Drew that she drew still exists to this day too btw on the dtl amino. So if you banned me due to my depressed Wilfre comics. Guess you gotta purge a whole lot more people, becuase sad comics are banned. Edgy art is banned. I think it’s stupid, but come on, don’t be hypocritical.

This isn’t an accussation out of nowhere either. I have screenshots of her doing this, drawings she’s made, and testimonies of “bystanders” who witnessed her asking for sexual abuse roleplay, Roxy nonetheless (a curator on the amino has witnessed this). I only share this info becuase she moved goal posts from “I hate how Baki’s posts has a lot of likes on it”, to “Baki only hates me becuase im autistic”, to now “Baki is a sexual deviant”. I will remove this embarrassing incriminating evidence of ChibiTacoLord, if the DTL Amino staff remove their slanderous take on me. Otherwise, I don’t care, becuase I’m open about my fetishes and I see nothing wrong with them. You can’t say I’m wrong for having the fetish and the DTL Amino staff is okay to have that fetish and post it frequently. Hyprocrites.

My character Cope: Hes literally not a nazi lol! You either have to be a conspiracy theorist, liar, or delusional to think so.

He’s a raposa from Lavasteam, wears a red camo outfit, with golden medals. He’s politically a dictator. Runs a military state. He’s the villain in my stories.

So I don’t see why that’s a problem? What? Are villains just no longer allowed in stories.

Cope is adored by a lot of people. I get requested often to make a comic of him/make a game with him in it. Only a few crazies dislike him and go spouting ‘nazi’.

My friends: I have several friends and none of them are nazis. Absolutely delusional to think I would be friends with someone who hates me. I am friends with Roxy though who ended up having to leave the Drawn To Life Amino staff due to the toxicity of the members. A painful reminder for those people.

—

🌈⭐️Conclusion🌈⭐️

These people are mentally broken and delusional with hate. I find it funny though. They make these little hate spaces, think they’re private, but the word always gets out.

You know what we call people who gather together to hate on one person for superficial reasons?

Get ready to scream. It’s called people a HATE GROUP. Take that to your political obsessed brains.

Anyways, if you see these people. Don’t spam or hate on them. It just fuels their hate for me.

#drawn to life #dtlamino #call out post #drawn to life the next chapter

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not-gae-cuz-i-like-straight-wae · 3 years

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WOW!!! Warning: there are some SERIOUSLY AWFUL HATERS out here on Tumblr!!! \(°o°)/

Okay, I don’t exactly know how to put this, but I’m gonna try anyway.

What I’m gonna talk about, happened yesterday, but I was kind of in a SHOCK because of it, so I totally didn’t know what to say... But I DO know that I’m INCREDIBLY DISAPPOINTED and also VERY MAD! Someone TOTALLY insulted me PERSONALLY and even told lies about me as well! It's completely unjustified. That much I know for sure. This person is so hateful, that even though I’m no hater, it’s kinda contagious and I feel like hating that person back. Especially after what all that already happened before the person did what he/she did. What a filthy TRAITOR!

So this person makes fan art and I was a great fan of it. I even had drawings of that person on my laptop lock screen and background. I knew they all were on his/her Tumblr page, but I had no account yet, so I couldn’t like the posts or something else. Eventually, after seeing more interesting stuff on Tumblr, I decided to create an account for myself. One of the first things I did, was following this person, liking a lot of his/her fan art and I wrote many kind comments in which I let him/her know how much I loved the art. I also sent some private messages to this person to tell him/her these things personally (and it were long messages, not just some short sentence like “I like your art”) and that I’d love to see more of the characters he/she drew. He/she replied with a “thank you” and said he/she would indeed make more and I said that I couldn’t wait.

Then (and this was yesterday) I looked at the list of the ones I follow and noticed there was one less. I went to our chat and from there I tried to go to his/her page, but I couldn’t manage to do that (which was because the person blocked me, apparently). I just looked up the page in the search bar and there I saw the message... IT WAS AWFUL. Not only the message itself, but also (and especially) the TAGS. This person was literally talking about ME and didn’t care a thing about letting me know that. It was absolutely disgusting to read it all and I was all like: “WHAAAAAAAAAAT?????!!!!!!!!!!” This person HATES and SCOLDS me, because (he/she said) I don’t support the lgbt+ community. Because I’m homophobic. The person said I’m not being oppressed for being straight... Like, WOT?!

Let me start off by saying this: YES, I don’t support the lgbt+ community, because that’s MY choice and MY opinion. I’m thinking for myself and nobody’s gonna tell me what I must think of anything! Exactly THAT is what annoys me the most! They all want to impose their opinions to me, with violence if it has to. They can’t even respect my opinion, but they expect me to agree with and support THEIRS??? Besides, almost the entire world is already supporting it all. Gay pride here, trans pride there. Those flags are everywhere! They’ve even got a WHOLE MONTH of lgbt+ pride now! Countless people praise and glorify - if not, worship - them and they’re gonna talk about oppression??? Come on, man! If it was all to have the same rights as straight people, to be equally treated as them, it would’ve been lgbt+ NORMAL, not PRIDE.

But that’s another story. What I’m REALLY ANGRY about, is THIS:

I LITERALLY have written on my page that I’m NOT homophobic or something alike. LITERALLY! And I’m not! In fact, I know quite a few gay people and I never got into a fight with them because of it. I may not agree with you on several things, but if you wanna be gay, go ahead! That’s not my problem. You do what you do, but let me do what I wanna do as well. And don’t go bothering me, telling me I have to find this normal and that normal... However, now even THAT isn’t enough anymore! I must support it or some people will hate me, apparently! Anyway, does this person really think I’m BLIND or something? Or PLAIN STUPID maybe??? Well, guess what... I’M NOT. I already had SEEN posts of this person about lgbt+ pride. Did I scold him/her? No. Did I talked bad words about him/her behind his/her back? No. Did I sent private messages to him/her in which I expressed my hateful feelings??? NO!!! But what I DID do, was following this person, liking his/her content and saying many nice things about his/her art. And then you go talking about me like THAT? I 100% don’t get it. Like, seriously, WHAT THE???!!!

Of course, after reading the (very personal) message, I immediately changed my laptop’s lock screen and background. How I wish I could delete this person’s page from my internet...

I thought it would perhaps happen in the future. The far future. But it seems it’s already reality today: you can’t say you’re straight anymore! Because that’s THE ONLY THING I did. My username: not-gae-cuz-i-like-straight-wae. Do I say I hate homos? (Yes, here we go again.) No! My profile picture/the name I use for my drawings: straight weh/straight wayzzz. Do I say I hate homos? Again, no! The title: this blog is not geh. Do I say I hate homos? Once again... No! The banner: hetero pride. Do I say I hate homos??? NOOOOO!

I SAID HETERO PRIDE AND IT APPEARS THAT BECAME AN ILLEGAL THING TO SAY. WELL, I’VE SAID IT BEFORE AND I’LL SAY IT AGAIN: I FIND IT QUITE NORMAL TO BE HETERO, BUT I’M HAPPY TO BE NORMAL.

You know, I actually COULD feel oppressed for being straight now, because this person basically discriminated me for merely saying it! (By the way, there was someone else like that and he/she started to spam long texts and pictures in our private chat, saying he/she was streaming it to Discord. I’m pretty sure that isn’t even allowed! Eventually, I had to block that fool.) I’ve seen so many usernames that included “gay”, “lesbian”, “bi”, “trans”, etcetera, but when I include “straight” in my username, I’ve committed a terrible sin, according to some people! These things are seriously happening, but I still can’t believe it...

Someone choosing to be gay may be none of my business, but I also never said a hard word about it. Just that I DON’T support it unlike almost everyone else these days. And why would you give a darn crap about what I think, huh??? There are MILLIONS of people to back you up!!! Often, I only need to turn my head to see another lgbt+ supporter. I can’t even watch TV anymore without flags turning up on the sides of the soccer field or sometimes even in the stands! So what the FRICK are you whining about??? (Maybe I’m talking to you specifically, maybe I’m not, but I’m pretty sure you’ll know if I do.)

At first, I was shocked by the message and I gotta be honest, I was really SAD too. It came so unexpected and definitely not on the right day (my birthday, I’ll have you know... no joke, I couldn’t even celebrate it due to my school tests, but then I was taking a break after some studying and I do had to see THAT message). I suppose it hurt me more than it should have. But well, the longer I think about it, the more happy I am you showed your true self. The HORRIBLE and RUDE person you are. The truth is one of the most important things in life and I’m glad to have found it out once again. The last thing I want to say, is that I’m not hateful towards those you claim I am hateful to, but now, I DO despise YOU.

#you can f off yourself #stupid morron #i'm sorry y'all for having written a message like this #but some toxic person posted a very rude message about me #and i had to do this #i was just being friendly to this person #complimented him/her for his/her drawings #and then this #no #i won't accept that #if i'm being friendly to you #and then you post a message #addressed to me personally #as loathsome as that person's message #you will get it back #straight in you face #so please #don't be a jerk

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the-black-birb · 4 years

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Through Motions [Kozume Kenma x Reader]

Pairing: Kozume Kenma x Reader

Summary: You’ve spent far too long going through the motions.

Genre: Angst

A/N: This is legitimately bad. I might go back and edit or delete it later. I don’t know if it makes sense considering it’s 4 am and all. Thanks.

Kozume Kenma liked routine.

Routine meant safety. He could predict what would happen the next day, how the people around him would act, and what he could do about it. He liked routine, because it meant you’d always come home at the same time and he’d always know what to say and how to treat you. It was easy.

So, you were surprised when he came home and kissed you.

That wasn’t routine.

You’d been dating for years now, and everything was fairly predictable. Lately, you barely even spoke to one another since you knew one another so comfortably. You didn’t need to talk, you promised yourself. All of Kozume’s intricacies were already known to you, so there was no need to waste time on small talk or “how was your day.”

Or so you told yourself.

It didn’t matter, you promised yourself. It didn’t even hurt when he went straight to his room to stream instead of saying hello to you. When you sat alone at your counter, eating breakfast and dinner all on your lonesome you didn’t feel even a pinch of sadness. Frankly, you were certain you preferred it this way. Should it have hurt, you wondered. Should you be yearning to spend time with the man you’d sworn you fell madly in love with?

Should you even be thinking about this while having sex?

Well, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. Kenma never really liked sex. He’d preferred to show affection in his own ways, like letting you play his games or choosing to hold a conversation with you for more than ten minutes. But it had been a long time since you’d done any of that. Maybe his love language changed, you wondered.

But the sex really wasn’t working. It had started with a heated kiss as soon as he was home from work, that escalated to him bringing you in the bedroom. He suggested it, so you agreed. The two of you had always been pretty vanilla with your love making. Your first time that’s exactly what it had been. Kenma didn’t like to expend energy, so all of his movements were slow and calculated. He held your body like a piece of art, taking his time to enjoy you.

But that was then and this was now. He was inside you, sure, and you were laying there all nice. Yet you were completely apathetic to it.

You wondered how he was even hard.

A voice whispered to you that maybe if the sex was good, your relationship could be, too. Because that’s all you really needed to function, right? Neither of you had never really needed one another much, you were fine on your own. You were fine.

So you let your mind wander and you let him have you way with you. It didn’t really make a difference to you since all you had to do was lay there. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking about. Maybe this was the face you made when you were feeling immense pleasure.

Except Kenma knew it wasn’t. For every quirk of Kenma’s you knew, he knew three of yours. He knew how you’d always leave the floss on the bathroom sink instead of putting it away, and how you drank your coffee black aside from one teaspoon of honey. He knew so much about you he could’ve written a book, if he cared too.

But he didn’t.

Kenma thought maybe if he tried to love you again, he’d find a spark. But instead he was standing above you, running through the motions. You could care less, he was sure. You had the same look on your face as when you were trying to pick from a menu full of foods you didn’t eat. He wondered if you could even look him in the eye.

“[F/N],” Kenma called out to you, exiting your body. You didn’t really notice his ministrations ceasing. “You’re crying.”

You hadn’t even realized your cheeks were wet until he pointed it out, pulling up his pants and doing the zipper. You sat up to wipe your cheeks, mindlessly pulling up your shirt. “I am,” you agreed.

“Why?”

Kenma was perceptive, you knew, but you wondered if he knew the answer to this. You didn’t even understand it. You tried to find the answer, but all you could see was gray. All your words got stuck in your throat, until they were only coming out in choked sobs. Before you knew it, you were sobbing.

“What are we doing?” you heard your voice speak, but you weren’t really sure if it was you speaking. It never felt like you in this apartment. The person who made you eat and speak and piss and shit wasn’t you. There was no way you’d ever let yourself be reduced to such a husk of a person. Barely even a ghost.

But Kenma was sitting next to you, undoubtedly watching you cry. Even though he’d never been the best with words, he’d always been good at comforting you. He’d offer you his jacket or squeeze your hand, assuring you of his presence. Sometimes he’d search up articles on your favorite animal, just so he could distract you with facts about them. It was stupid, of course, but it worked.

Now, though, he sat a foot away from you. He watched you, but his lips were sealed. What could he do but agree?

“We’re hurting,” is the answer he decides on and your sobs only become louder. He wondered if he’s supposed to cry with you. Kenma had never really gone through a breakup. He wasn’t big on relationships before he met you and somehow, he found himself convinced you could work.

But even when you didn’t work, it was easier to stay in it than to stop. It was like having a roommate that you could also kiss, sometimes. He’d turned into a leech, kissing you when it felt good and ignoring you when it didn’t. And in turn, you did the same.

Because it was easier to keep up routine than to stop. It was so much easier to be unhappy than to say I don’t love you.

Yet there was a tiny part of Kenma that wished he’d just ended it instead of trying to keep this dying relationship alive. Because now it was beyond repair and you were sitting next to him, crying without underwear on, and he was sitting next to you. And Kenma didn’t cry often but right now it felt like if he didn’t his chest might burst open.

It didn’t hurt to fall out of love, because it was slow and mutual. So why did this hurt? Why couldn’t you just be okay now?

I don’t know if I ever did.

#kenma x reader #kenma kozume x reader #kozume kenma x reader #haikyuu kenma #haikyuu kozume kenma #haikyuu kenma kozume #haikyuu kenma x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x you

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suca-loca · 4 years

Text

slip of the tongue.

Pairing: Anxceit (Virgil/Janus)

Tags: Sympathetic!Janus, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: It was supposed to be a quick phone call. They found out Patton got a promotion - from a Facebook post of all things - so of course, they called to congratulate him. Had Damien known he’d end the call with “See you at Christmas, Dad” he would have just congratulated him in the comments.

Author’s Note: I completed this a week before Deceit’s name was revealed so... oops. That’s why he’s named Damien in this fic. Also, the Eleanor and Park book is kinda problematic. The quote I reference here really touched me during a hard time which is why I used it, although I do not recommend reading it because the representation is b l e g h .

————

“Holy shit.”

Damien hides his face in his hands.

“Holy. Shit.”

A sound eerily similar to that of a dying bear leaves Damien’s mouth.

Virgil laughs. He doesn’t even try to hide it. He explodes like a shaken Coca Cola can until he’s nothing but a mess of overflowing tears and fizzling out snorts.

Beside him on the couch, Damien grabs one of the pillows. “Oh, how I adore seeing you enjoy yourself over me acting like a fool,” he grumbles as he smacks it over Virgil’s head. “It really shows how great of a boyfriend you are.”

Virgil, unable to speak - because he’s currently bent over, clutching at his sides - responds with two middle fingers.

Damien reaches for the last remaining couch pillow.

“No!” Virgil somehow wheezes out, the terror in his voice terribly contrasting against the grin on his face. “I’ll stop! I’ll stop!”

Damien doesn’t believe him. He throws it without mercy.

He was right to see through Virgil’s lie because two minutes pass before Virgil finally gets it out of his system. All the while Damien waits at the opposite end of the couch, watching with a pout as his boyfriend begins to crawl towards him.

“That-“ Virgil wipes away one last tear from his eye - “was beautiful. Truly the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life. I would love to see it on the big screen, looping for ten hours.”

Damien gives him a (totally real) disgusted look as a kiss is pressed against his cheek. “You are insufferable.”

“Is that why you made my pancakes this morning in the shape of hearts?”

“You’re totally right! Next time I won’t go through the trouble of making the pancakes into different shapes. I’ll just poison them.”

Virgil chuckles.

“Don’t you start again!” Damien groans, looking like he wants the couch to become quicksand and swallow him up. “I’ll get up and grab the pillows from the floor. Watch me.”

“Sorry,” Virgil says in a tone that is definitely not at all sorry. “It’s just...You just called my dad, Dad. That’s, like, better than when you said you loved me for the first time.”

It was supposed to be a quick phone call. They found out Patton got a promotion - from a Facebook post of all things - so of course, they called to congratulate him. Had Damien known he’d end the call with “See you at Christmas, Dad” he would have just congratulated him in the comments.

Damien watches in horror as he sees Virgil’s shoulders begin to shake as the memory comes back to him.

“It wasn’t a slip of the tongue if you consider the circumstances!” He cries out, desperately not wanting to sit through another one of Virgil’s cackling.

He only realizes what he said when Virgil’s dimples disappear and are replaced with a curious look.

“Oh?” Virgil coos, smirking in the same way that made Damien fall in love with him all those years ago. “Care to explain what these circumstances are, D?”

Damien fiddles with the hem of his pajama shirt. He’s blushing.

“Well,” he inhales sharply, suddenly acting so small and nervous in a way Virgil has never seen from him in the four years they’ve known each other. “I should get used to calling him dad since he’ll become my father-in-law.”

Virgil stills. “What?”

Deceit stands up, only to then drop to one knee.

Now it’s Virgil’s turn to inhale sharply.

“Virgil Hart,” Damien looks up at him with clear adoration and a voice oozing with love from just those two words, “Years ago, for some odd - and very stupid - reason you risked sitting in a jail cell for a guy you didn’t know.”

Virgil blushes, the day they met coming back to him in pieces. He remembers sneaking out of his college dorm room past curfew to join a protest. Remembers how the protest turned south as sirens could be heard ten blocks down. Remembers the adrenaline that passed through him as he chucked an egg at one of the cops who was in the middle of arresting some guy. Remembers the adrenaline being replaced with fear as the cop charged at him, only to then be pulled down the street by the same man he rescued.

Remembers the two of them hiding in a thrift shop that sold dildos and smelled too much like weed. Remembers learning the man’s name was Damien from the slip of paper handed to him with a phone number. Remembers getting caught sneaking back into his dorm room and not even caring as the principal shouted at him because he was too busy thinking about what a great runner Damien was. He also remembers thinking how great it was to run behind Damien.

“And now,” Damien says as he presses a kiss against Virgil’s hand, “because of your lack of control that day, we sit here in this apartment that we share. With plates still in the sink that is your turn to wash, with two cats I gifted Patton curled up on our beds because you never told me he was allergic and with the insides of my favorite sweaters smudged with black lipstick because no matter where I hide them you always find them,

But, I wouldn’t change it for the world. Which I now realize, given my moral compass, doesn’t say much, so let me rephrase; I wouldn’t change it even if it meant I had to delete all my eat the rich tweets. I didn’t realize it then, but I fell in love with you the moment I heard that egg crack against the cop's helmet. I only continued to fall more in love with you as you sent me memes past midnight and the way you scrunch up your face every time someone admits to never reading one of Edgar Allan Poe’s work. You are an inspiration to me and I hope that you remain only my inspiration. Which is why, Virgil Hart, I ask you today...”

Damien slips out a ring. It’s all black, except for the purple jewel at the center, decorated with petals curling to where the diamond sits.

“Will you marry me?”

Virgil blinks.

“There’s cheeto dust on the hoodie I’m wearing.”

Damien raises an eyebrow. “Excellent observation skills.”

“Our cats’ assholes combined are in a better state than my hair right now,” Virgil continues.

“Thank you for the mental image.”

“I gained ten pounds this week!”

“I was wondering why our cuddling sessions felt better.”

“I’m pretty sure my breath smells like Remus’ room.”

“I’m well aware. I kissed you good morning, remember?”

“Then why the fuck do you still have the ring out?!” Virgil huffs, pulling his hands away. He gestures to himself. “Do I look like a picture-worthy fiancé?”

Damien raises an eyebrow. “So what you’re saying is… I should propose after you’ve taken a shower?”

“No!”

Virgil yanks his hands away. He does it so hard Damien is surprised the other doesn’t send him flying backwards. His temper flares and his mouth snaps open to say something snarky, but it shuts when his eyes fall on the emo’s face.

Sad isn’t the right word to use. It’s devastation. Even with Virgil burying his face against the knees hugged to his chest Damien can see how hard his lips wobble and the way his eyes blink rapidly against the incoming of tears.

“Why can’t you see I’m not worthy to be a fiancé?” He croaks, voice going weaker towards the end. “Much less yours?”

Damien wastes no time cradling Virgil’s face in his hands. He rubs the pad of his thumb against Virgil’s left cheek, knowing it’ll help calm him down.

“Eleanor was right,” he begins, voice softer than the most expensive silk money could buy. “She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice. It was supposed to make you feel something.”

Virgil’s breath hitches. “Eleanor and Park, chapter 28, page 165. My favorite quote.”

Damien clicks his tongue. “And yet the message escapes you. You’re not stupid, mi vida. So stop acting like it. You’re too good to fall for society's expectations of beauty.”

Virgil looks ready to interject, but Damien keeps going.

“When I bought this ring it wasn’t because I thought every angle was your best angle. It wasn’t because you lack fewer fat rolls than other people. It was because of how you showed up at my door with my favorite movie and snacks after I got a bad grade on an exam. It’s because of how you headbang and jump around the living room every time I put The Crow soundtrack on when we clean.”

Damien brushes Virgil’s bangs to the side. He presses a kiss against his boyfriend’s forehead. Virgil is quiet through all of this.

“And most importantly, it’s because whenever I picture myself happy it’s with you.”

A sob breaks through the silence. Tears, big fat crocodile ones, pour down Virgil’s face. For a second Damien thinks he said something wrong, but then Virgil swoops down to capture his lips in a kiss.

There’s nothing soft about it. Not even three seconds in and Virgil’s hand tugs at his long locks, making Damien see stars. Somehow he’s able to break through the daze and wrap his arms around Virgil’s back, pulling him close until there’s no space between them.

Besides the occasional growl and groan, there’s just the sound of their heavy breathing whenever they disconnect for a few seconds and then continue where they left off. Virgil plays dirty by wrapping his legs around the other’s waist, so Damien retaliates by biting at his lips.

When they break apart, eyes half-lidded and hands still wandering, they smile at one another.

“Brilliant idea,” Damien breaks the silence first, voice rough like sandpaper. “Kissing me while you’re crying. Now all I can taste is salt - ow!”

Damien rubs the spot where Virgil threw a pillow at him. All the while Virgil sticks out the same tongue just shoved down his throat a second ago.

“Well played,” Damien grumbles.

Virgil shrugs. “It was either the pillow or not saying yes.”

“Truly, what a difficult decision. Me versus your fragile pride.”

“Shut up and give me the ring before I hit you twice.”

Damien rolls his eyes, but there’s fondness behind them as he slips the ring on. All the while Virgil is smiling so wide and so hard he doesn’t know how his face doesn’t crack from the pressure.

Virgil knows for a fact that his eyes are puffy, that his nose is running and that his face is the same color as a cherry. But he doesn’t care. All he can focus on is the man in front of him, with his beautiful mind and a stunning smile currently aimed (and from now on always will be) only at him.

“I love you.”

Damien doesn’t hesitate. “I love you too.”

Damien watches with love in his eyes as Virgil’s eyes crinkle around the corners.

He then watches with confusion as Virgil pulls out his phone.

“Oh no,” Damien groans, “don’t tell me you’re going to tell your Tumblr followers the news first.”

“First off, fuck you. You’re just sour over the fact that Remus was the first person I told about my Tumblr account. Secondly,” Virgil puts the phone to his ear. “No, I’m not.”

The person on the other end of the line picks up on the first ring.

“Kiddo, I was hoping you’d call back! Tell Damien I don’t mind what he said. I take it as a compliment, truly!”

Virgil smiles. “I’ll do you one better. How about I give you the phone to talk to him yourself?”

He hands the phone over.

Damien, once again, doesn’t hesitate.

“Good morning, father-in-law.”

#Sanders Sides #Thomas Sanders #Anxceit #Virgil #Deceit #Patton #very briefly though #Sympathetic!Deceit #my fic

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jae-writes-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Caviar and Cigarettes

Ashton x Reader - Collab Masterlist - 3763 Words - Part 1 of 1

Notes: this was written as part of a collab event as a gift for @mermaidcashton using a mix of their different suggested tropes but specifically ‘waking up in vegas.’ I hope you enjoy it ❤️ also I’ve never been to a casino I’m sorry this is 100% based off of what I know from TV

Warnings: mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption, people are on a plane which could be scary, light nsfw content, some swearing.

- - -

The overhead compartments creaked as the plane rushed down the runway headed for liftoff. The sensation always sent a shiver down your spine and caused knots to grow in your stomach.

You hated flying and had everyone been back in LA instead of visiting the UK on a press tour, you would’ve opted to drive to Las Vegas from home and meet the boys there. Unfortunately for you, being their one-person PR/Social Media Management team placed you behind the scenes for the entire junket. And now, it placed you in the window seat of a plane preparing to hurtle dangerously through the sky- although your friendship with the bride-to-be was partly at fault.

Next to you, Ashton rolled his eyes as you gripped the armrest tightly. Across the aisle he watched Michael and Crystal giggle at something, and just ahead of them he could see Callum and Luke watching a movie on one of their phones.

He loved his friends and was beyond happy for Michael and Crystal but each of their small smiles and soft looks felt stifling and Ashton found himself wishing things could just be like when they were younger. Everything felt easier then, it was much more fun going on trips, there was less pressure to do or say the right thing or post the right statuses. They were just four friends making music. Now, everything was different including you.

You silenced your phone and offered Ashton a consolatory smile. “I know you’d rather be across the aisle,” you said glancing over at the others, “but let’s try to be friendly it’s a long flight.” There was a slight edge to your tone and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re right dollface,” Ashton bit back, “I’d much rather be seated with my friends. Not our social media manager.”

You felt a warmth spread across your face as you tried to think of a smart response. Ashton has always been the most aloof of the four when you joined the behind the scenes team yet every conversation with him turned sour.

When you didn’t respond Ashton decided to keep going. “I mean I offense but how the hell are any of us supposed to relax when you’re here hovering around? This is supposed to be a party! A vacation! But you make it look like work.”

“That’s right Ash,” you said icily, “because I am working. I have to make sure none of you do anything stupid while you’re ‘having fun and letting loose’.”

And there you go, Ashton thought, like always making everything else difficult. Why couldn’t you just be agreeable?

“Besides,” you said interrupting his thoughts, “the last thing the group needs is more dating drama. Your last stint did enough damage.”

There. You said it, after weeks of thinking it you actually said it. You didn’t blame him for how the breakup went and for a while you were proud at how little attention Ashton gave to the fan speculation. But then he deleted all their pictures together and made a few (now long deleted) vague tweets that sent the fan base into a deadly spiral that spewed death threats at his ex and caused you more than enough sleepless nights.

You felt a little guilty when he didn’t respond with another jape- but who did he think he was anyway? Sure he was attractive but he couldn’t get away with everything. Not this time. Not after you had to stage and arrange posts for him every time he swapped partners.

You huffed and slipped your headphones in. There was no hope for pleasant conversation, and you had no desire to fill the time with mobile games. The audiobook claimed to calm and soothe the overworked professional with meditation and organization tips. Compared to the $350 plane fare the $25 download seemed like a reasonable and informative way to fill the ten-hour flight.

By the halfway mark you’d been proven wrong on both accounts. The narrator’s lilting accent was distracting in all the wrong ways, and the information sounded like every motivational speaker ever; all hype and no substance. Twice you felt your eyes drifting closed and twice you managed to snap yourself out of it. The third time however you didn’t snap back awake as your head lolled to the side.

The brush of your hair against his shoulder alerted Ashton to the situation. He chuckled lightly under his breath, for a moment you were at peace. For a moment you were someone he didn’t know, someone he might’ve liked to know better.

But moments don’t last forever, Ashton knew this to be true and before long the light jostling of the plane woke you up. You blinked slowly trying to adjust to the lights and grimaced as Ashton came into focus. The intensity of his gaze puzzled you. Was there something on your face? The expression was unconscious, but Ashton saw it flicker across your face and that stung. Not even away more than a minute and you were already getting to him.

Uninterested in having another quiet row like a soon-to-be-divorced couple, he quickly looked away leaving you once again to choose between silence and the droning audiobook as the plane crossed the Atlantic and then the entirety of the North American continent.

The sun had already set when the descent started. Outside you could see the world swathed in swatches of brilliant color and dazzling shapes against the horizon. It felt like your heart skipped a beat. The Vegas strip was everything you’d expected. The hotel itself looked like a work of abstract art, it’s glass elevators sparkling under the desert sunset.

Late dinner reservations had been made for the five of them, and you took the opportunity to settle into your room, eat an entire room service pizza, and take a nap. They would be out on the hotel’s casino floor for the rest of the night and you were more than happy to join them.

By the time you put yourself together and got there, the house was in full swing. The music was loud, the people louder. You noticed Ashton first at a roulette table surrounded by other beautiful people. You turned to walk away and look for Crystal when he noticed you.

You smiled thinly and made your way over to him, you had to. Anything else would’ve been seen as rude and that was a problem you didn’t want to deal with.

You lightly touched his shoulder to let him know you were there and glanced over the table. He hasn’t lost anything but wasn’t winning either. Ashton froze at your touch, the innocuous gesture sent a shock through his body, and at that moment something changed.

The dealer called for bets to be placed for the new round as you settled in next to Ashton. The dark jacket paired well with the retro red shirt he wore and you had trouble looking away.

“You look-“ Ashton started but couldn’t finish the sentence, his wide eyes glanced over your body for one of the first times seeing it outside of business wear. The metallic accents caught in the low light and cast an ethereal glow over you that kept drawing his focus.

You flushed, “thanks...you do too.” The sentiment felt heavy despite the normalcy of the exchange and you quickly accepted a glass of something from a roaming waiter to loosen your tongue.

You glanced back over the table and turned to Ashton with a conspiratorial grin. You leaned in to whisper and Ashton felt your hot breath on his neck.

“Always bet on black,” you offered while biting your lip as he laughed lightly. Everyone said that everyone knew that was a rookie move. But for the moment it seemed like the best advice and you were shocked when he did it.

Not as shocked as you were when he won.

Ashton turned and looked at you, amazed.

“Ash that was so lucky!” You gushed openly and your genuine smile pulled at his heart.

“Maybe it’s just you,” he said softly, the honest edge to his voice surprising you. You laughed awkwardly trying to play off the sentimentality of the words but they kept playing over in your mind.

“I think the happy couple ran away for a little bit,” he offered quickly moving on, “but I think we ought to go celebrate.”

You nodded, “well since I did help you win, I suppose you could buy me a drink.”

Ashton grinned back and quickly gathered his winnings before wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you towards the lounge. You could smell his cologne as you walked and you weren’t sure if it was that or his hand on your hip that kept distracting you from whatever he was saying.

The hazy lounge atmosphere was almost as intoxicating as the cocktails that Ashton kept ordering for the two of you. The liquor burned in all the best ways and a soft sweet taste lingered on your lips. You felt warm and giddy, and surprisingly happy to have been spending this time with Ashton.

At some point, his arm wrapped around your shoulders and you laughed at one of his jokes. Had he been sober the sound might’ve broken his heart, like most secret things do if they’ve been dreamed about before.

You turned to say something but stopped with the words dead on arrival. Ashton was closer than you had realized while talking, your faces just inches apart. The red hue of the lights flashed across his features and seemed to show how truly beautiful he was.

For a moment the closeness lingered, and you could feel a tense stiffness in the arm around you, and electricity where his hand curled around your bare shoulder. Unconsciously you felt your face tilt up towards his, and Ashton felt the same desire to close the gap.

What am I doing, you thought trying to blink out of it, I technically work for him I can’t kiss him! Besides he doesn’t even tolerate me normally.

Ashton froze, unable to tear himself away from you, the soft tint of the lights exaggerated the shadows on your face and kept drawing his eyes back to your lips. His hand on your shoulder itched to run up to tangle in the hair at the back of your neck and pull you against him.

She doesn’t even want to be here, he thought suddenly, why the hell would she want to kiss me on top of that?

But somewhere in the back of his mind Ashton knew you were struggling over something similar. He knew you were at least tempted, otherwise you would’ve moved.

A scantily clad cocktail waitress interrupted the moment and sent you both back to looking away. Your stomach felt uneasy from the tension and you drank quietly for a while contemplating your next move. You needed to say something funny, something light to keep this good energy going.

“Look at the bartender,” you said, “can you imagine him working anywhere else?” Your joke was directed at a thin sort of person who without a doubt had the Vegas aesthetic down to a T.

Ashton felt his heart drop, couldn’t you say something nice? Did you always have to be so critical of everyone?

“That’s typical,” he mumbled into his drunk.

“What do you mean it’s typical?”

“You, princess. Always having some shallow thing to say,” he took a long drink draining the glass before turning back to your shocked face.

This had been a bad idea, you knew he had some problem with you but it had been enough.

Refusing to cause a scene on the crowded floor you swiftly stood. “It was just a joke,” you hissed through a clenched jaw before walking towards the lobby and elevators that would whisk you back to the safety of your room.

“Hey come back!” Ashton tossed money into the table and quickly darted after you, slipping into the elevator at the last second.

“We were having a good time,” he said defensively, “stop being such a spoilsport.”

“A good time? Sure, it’s all fun and games for you. Didn’t you ever stop to think that maybe something is majorly wrong when you can’t go twenty minutes without insulting me?”

“It wasn’t an insult it was a comment.”

You laughed openly, “oh that’s rich Ash. A comment.”

The doors slid open on your floor and you quickly turned heel and left. You heard his footfalls behind you and it took everything in you to resist slamming your door before he could enter the room. You angrily kicked your shoes off sending them in varying directions that you didn’t care to fix.

Ashton felt his palms get sweaty and his mouth dry. He didn’t want to keep watching you walk away anymore. “Can’t we just talk about this like friends?”

“Friends?” You felt your heart get all twisty at the words, “we’ve never been friends Ashton.”

When he didn’t respond you continued, crossing your arms in front of your chest as if the pressure would keep you still and safe.

“I used to think we could’ve been. When we first met I thought: now there’s the one- attractive and smart and mature. But all you’ve ever done is play games, spew pretensions, and hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said lamely taking a step closer to you.

“You don’t hate me? Oh that’s right you just hate the way I dress, and joke, and talk...” You met his gaze with a challenge and in another first of the night, he accepted.

Ashton looked at you with a fondness he had never expressed out loud and a gentleness that’s translated in how he took your hand in his and pulled you against him.

“I don’t hate you at all,” he said softly cupping your cheek with his other hand, “I hate that when you’re here you’re always working, I hate that you can’t ever just be with us, I hate that I miss you when you don’t answer a text, and I absolutely loathe that when you do it’s because you have to talk to me.” Because I want to talk to you, he thought unable to form the words in the mouth.

You suddenly felt very small pressed against him and you knew he could see the heat rising in your face.

“Professional was just easier,” you whispered unable to look him in the eyes, “because I don’t hate you either. For a long time I hated having to orchestrate and present people with you-“ because they weren’t me, you thought unable to say the words out loud.

His thumb softly traced the slant of your cheekbones as you hesitantly looked back into his eyes, and unlike in the lounge you did resist the urge to close the space between you, and neither did he.

The kiss was soft and filled with the emotion of everything not said, like all first kisses should be.

“I don’t hate you at all,” he whispered whilst placing kisses to the sides of your face, “not even a little bit, not even at all.” As your lips let a second time you both felt how surely the sentiment was quite the opposite and had been for quite some time.

Ashton was the only thought in your mind, and the only word on your lips as the kisses grew sloppier and needy. He tasted like cherry syrup from the cocktails and you wanted more.

A little disoriented from the alcohol you haphazardly walked backward pulling Ashton with you until you felt the edge of the mattress press against your calves. In a fit of giggles, you both tumbled back onto the bed.

You had never seen him smile like this before, his whole face seemed brighter and you knew instantly he was thinking the same things too. You moved in a flurry of hands and touches that struggled through the haze to remove clothes.

You straddled him to slide the jacket from his shoulders and fumbled with the buttons on his shirt until that too was discarded. Your hands trembled as they skated across his chest, and you felt him shiver as they were replaced with your lips. You slid down his body leading trails of kisses that stopped just above his belt buckle. The way it caught the light sent a delicious shiver down your spine and you tucked that thought away for another time.

Deftly you slipped the belt off before working on the slacks. You slowed and groaned softly upon revealing a dark red pair of lace pants under his trousers.

“Sweetheart,” you cooed teasingly as you repositioned yourself between his legs, “you should’ve led with this.” His hoarse laugh stifled into moans as you traced the lace with your tongue. Your eye wandered to the glittering bottle of champagne on the nightstand and between it and the heady look on Ashton’s face, you knew it was going to be a good night.

The next morning which really ended up being the next afternoon- you were pleased to wake up curled and tangled around a very naked Ashton. The pounding headache and dry mouth were a direct contrast.

You were thankful the curtains were still closed as the moderate darkness seemed to help the monster out hangover you were now feeling. You shifted slightly and were surprised to notice you weren’t entirely naked. You were wearing a t-shirt you didn’t remember owning. The words looked like gibberish but you gathered it was from the hotel’s gift shop.

The discovery prompted you to look around the room and you noticed something. Ashton’s fancy clothes and delightful red panties were joined by a pair of his jeans, another shirt, and an extra pair of your bottoms as well.

There were papers strewn on the nightstand and a shopping bag near the door that you didn’t remember buying. The cool air stung your bare legs and prompted you to curl back into Ashton who lazily smiled and kissed your temple as you rejoined him.

“G’morning darlin’,” he said through a yawn making you giggle.

“Do you remember going back out last night?”

Ashton shook his head but before he could say anything his ringtone cut through the silence and roused a chorus of pained groans from both of you.

He scrambled to answer it and you noticed the empty bottle of champagne on the other side of the bed, and what looked like a sacked minibar’s worth of trash with it.

I am never drinking again, you thought as the ringing subsided and your head began to throb.

“Michael wants us for brunch,” Ashton said tossing his phone back to the cluttered nightstand. You groaned at the thought of food and hoped it would be greasy enough to cut through the drunk brain fog.

You had to swing by Ashton’s room for him to get dressed making it a little later than anticipated when you finally got to the lobby. Crystal and Michael were sharing a love seat and as you both exited the elevator they erupted into raucous laughter and cheers that reverberated pain through your head.

“Aw fuck,” you hissed rubbing a hand on your temple. Ashton had an arm around your waist which kept yours from stumbling.

“Oh come on I expected a little more life after last night,” Michael called with a grin.

“I didn’t think Mikey was serious,” Crystal said, “do you have the papers on you?”

On top of them, Luke chimed in, “I got the whole crying jag on video it’ll make a hell of an update when we get back.”

You and Ashton shared a confused look and silently looked to Callum for help. He was drinking a delightful looking mimosa and sighed putting it down.

“I don’t think they remember,” he started before getting cut off.

“Awe no way! Look at them, they’re the picture of romantic bliss,” Michael taunted with a laugh.

You sighed, “come on now guys I know it’s a little odd for us to hook up but enough with the jokes.”

“Hook up?” Luke laughed, “that’s not what Elvis would have to say about it.”

You were trying not to get frustrated but it was hard. “Luke, what in the hell does Elvis have to do with anything?”

Callum cut in before the others could keep hounding you.

“Promise me you won’t freak out?”

You nodded and felt Ashton do the same.

“Alright,” Callum started slowly leaving time to gauge reactions as he spoke, “Luke and I got a call last night around 4:30, one of you were crying about how you ruined mike’s moment when you were too out of it to explain we came down here to meet you...”

As he spoke flashes of memories seemed to play in your mind. You almost remembered dialing the phone inside who to talk to, but certain you didn’t want to upset anyone.

“Apparently you’d just come in from one of those 24-hour chapels and we’re worried Mike and Crystal would be upset you stole the show.”

“Why would we go to a church?” Ashton asked slowly. Neither you nor Ashton were specifically interested in that sort of thing. Yet as he asked it you remembered stumbling through the lobby looking for something new to wear.

Your mind reeled trying to fit together pieces that you weren’t sure went to the same puzzle. You ran a hand through your hair a small ring on your hand catching in the light. You recognized it immediately as Ashton’s. Something borrowed, you thought unsure of why that mattered.

Callum shook his head as Michael dissolved into a fit of laughter.

“You dumbasses, you got married!”

You and Ashton quickly looked at each other and then back at the others and then back at each other trying to process this whirlwind of information.

The moment lingered longer than Michael found funny and without much else said you were whisked by the other happy couple off for brunch and out into a world where nothing would ever be the same.

#rpf #5sos writers collab #ashton x reader #5sos #oneshot #mermaidcashton #tw: alcohol

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mst3kproject · 4 years

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Exo-Man

Failed series pilots were very much part of MST3K’s stock in trade. We’ve sat through San Francisco International, Stranded in Space, Code Name: Diamond Head and I’m sure there were others. I generally recall all of those movies being kind of dull and lacking in personality, and I can’t imagine this 70’s superhero mess being much better. I don’t think anybody in Exo-Man was ever on MST3K but Jose Ferrer (the first Latino actor to win an academy award, for 1950’s Cyrano de Bergerac) was once in a movie called Zoltan, Hound of Dracula, which I am deeply remiss in not having seen yet. You may also recognize Harry Morgan, who was Colonel Potter on M*A*S*H.

Dr. Nick Conrad is a wacky physics professor of the type nobody has ever encountered in real life. He’s somehow both smart enough to invent anti-gravity and memory plastic, and stupid enough to chase after a fleeing would-be bank robber. The latter stunt, set to wakka-chicka Mitchell music, makes Nick the target of a mafia assassin, who kills his lab assistant and leaves Nick himself paralyzed from the waist down. He wallows in self-pity for a while, but then rediscovers his passion for invention and builds himself a suit of armor that will allow him to walk again… and to take on the mob single-handedly.

I don’t know why they called the movie Exo-Man. That name is never used in the dialogue. I guess the more accurate Fiberglass Avenger just wouldn’t have sounded as cool.

The first thing you’re likely to notice from the plot summary is that Nick’s story starts off as Dr. Strange and then takes a hard left into Iron Man. I’m pretty sure the latter at least was an intentional ripoff, with bits of the first thrown in, knowingly or not, to distance Exo-Man from Marvel’s lawyers. What’s funny is that posterity has actually made it a hat trick: the movie opens with a weirdly homoerotic jogging scene, so now he gets to be Captain America, too!

Exo-Man is a really stupid, often boring, and consistently ugly movie. The actors are mediocre, the music bland, the effects terrible, and stuff is made to look ‘high tech’ by sticking lots of blinky lights on it. Way too much time passes before we get to the action and when we do, we find a deep pit of disappointment. Yet at the same time… I kind of enjoyed it.

A major part of why has got to be the incredibly dopey super-suit the main character wears, which looks less like ‘Iron Man’ and more like ‘Fiberglass Commando Cody’. It moves really slowly and I doubt the guy in the costume can see very much. Nick controls the bottom half of it using switches on one sleeve, which appear to have simple functions like ‘sit’, ‘walk’, and ‘jump’ (there is, of course, no ‘run,’ because nothing happens fast in this movie). He puts the thing on by lying down in what looks like a tanning bed (or maybe one of those contraptions from Avatar). My personal favourite is the warning light labeled malfuntion.

All this is in a movie that sometimes manages to be surprisingly subtle. We are introduced to Nick while jogging, we watch him play tennis with his girlfriend, and see him maintain this exercise regime even while he’s supposed to be under police protection. These shots are in brilliant sunshine, and the camerawork is as active as the subjects. Post-injury, Nick never outwardly complains about his inability to participate in sports, but we now see him sitting in his wheelchair in dark surroundings, with the camera held perfectly still. We feel that he has lost something he loved dearly, and we never need to be told it outright.

We are also introduced to Nick as somebody who is devored to furthering minorities. His two lab assistants are an east Asian student and a Jewish one (the latter identified as such by a surname, rather than appearance), and the reason he was at the bank was to help a Latino student get a loan. Again, the script trusts the audience to get this without having to draw attention to it through dialogue. These minority characters are, of course, still just accessories to Nick’s story. The Jewish guy in particular is there to be fridged – its his death that leads to Nick flaunting his police protection and getting hurt. But the effort was made to say that minority rights are important to Nick, without hitting us over the head with it.

Theme-wise, Exo-Man is about a man coming to terms with a disability. I should preface this by saying that I am not disabled, so my perspective is necessarily biased. If anything I say below is offensive, that is out of ignorance, and please let me know so that I may edit or delete the review and do better next time. I was actually pretty impressed by how the script and director handled the life-changing nature of Nick’s injury… mostly. I’ll start with the bad stuff.

The attack on Nick comes with a heaping helping of victim blaming. As an important witness in the bank robbery, he was offered police protection. The assassin tries to get around this by putting a bomb in his car, but one of the lab assistants borrows the car for a late-night pizza run, and gets killed in Nick’s stead. This leads Nick to deliberately place himself in a vulnerable position, hoping to draw the killer out for capture and punishment. In the hospital with a broken back, Nick blames the police for failing to protect him, but I’m pretty sure the movie wants us to think that this is really Nick’s own fault. Like the tragic accident victims in Days of our Years, he has nobody to blame for his own misery, or that of his loved ones, except himself.

After that, however, the movie’s treatment of Nick’s disability improves quickly. His girlfriend Emily leaves him, but that’s not because he’s in a wheelchair, it’s because he’s too busy wallowing in self-pity to even let her into his apartment. Later when he apologizes to her, she takes him back and they resume their happy relationship, and the fact that they can’t play tennis together anymore is not an issue. She does not treat him as something to be pitied, she speaks to him on his eye level, and they avoid that weird trope of having the abled partner sit in the wheelchair-user’s lap. Emily loves who Nick is, not what he can do. His colleagues and students, likewise, treat him with respect and help him with his chair, and never make the latter feel like a burden.

By the end of the film Nick has come to terms with his disability. The suit he’s built is not a cure for his condition: in fact the first time he wears it out, it breaks down and he needs help getting back to his high-tech armored van. It’s a tool he has built for a purpose, and he doesn’t feel the need to wear it in non-superhero situations. Based on what we see, he could have built a legs-only version to wear under his trousers and let him go jogging and play tennis again, but that is no longer who Nick is. And when and whether to wear the suit is always Nick’s own choice, not something imposed on him from the outside.

Of course, it would also be really helpful in later maintaining Exo-Man’s secret identity, and I suspect the writers were thinking of that a lot more than they were of things like parents forcing questionable ‘cures’ on disabled children. The secret identity probably would have been a big deal if the pilot had sold, but in this stand-alone story, I thought the suit worked well as a metaphor about a disabled man at peace with himself.

Exo-Man also takes a quick little peek at the morality of vigilante justice, although this comes in pretty late and clearly isn’t something they wanted to get into in any detail. The first person Nick confronts in the suit is the assassin who actually beat him up. He says he didn’t go into this encounter with any real plan… perhaps he just wanted to scare the guy. What ultimately happens is that the assassin climbs a drainpipe to get away from the terrifying robot man, the pipe comes off the wall, and the man falls to his death. Nick feels this is his fault, and so the next time he takes the suit out he does so with a particular goal in mind: he wants to capture the mob boss and provide evidence of his wrongdoing to the police, not to kill anyone.

The mob boss’ name, by the way, is Kermit Haas, which is probably the least intimidating name a movie has ever given to its big bad.

Would that work? Is evidence a guy in a robot suit left in your dumpster for you admissible in court? Isn’t where stuff was found kind of important? I honestly have no idea and I’m not sure how to go about finding out. People might wonder why I want to know and I don’t think saying it’s for my blog would allay their suspicions.

At the end of Exo-Man, I was more entertained than not, but mostly on the level of laughing at the dumb-looking suit and appreciating the fine art of ripping off comic book characters. If that’s your kind of thing then this movie ought to put the fun in malfuntion for you. If that’s not your thing, well… this is an MST3K blog. What are you doing here?

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #exo-man #tw: abelism #70s

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edengarden · 3 years

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HEYO BBY 😎 im finally here! U can do a regular matchup or any that u feel more comfortable with!

So starting with basics: im 5'4; Gryffindor; sun Leo rising Gemini and moon Aries; my mtbi type is INFP-T; my love language is Quality Time;

I think my three main qualities are: I'm patient and understanding, I'm very loyal and I can see good things in everyone!

My three flaws are: I'm SOOO insecure, I'm too clingy and I'm too perfectionist

My hobbies are writing, reading, listen to music and drawn! I watch animes too, my music taste is very big, I like Ariana Grande, Beyonce, Imagine Dragons, David Bowie (thanks to u my darling), Frank Ocean, JUNNA, LiSa, Tyler The Creator, Leah Kate, etc. But my fav song is Achilles Come Down – Gang of Youths.

I think the trait i hate the most in people is that type of ppl who think ur achievements arent big just because they dont look big, and the ones who only know how to see the flaws in smthing!

Facts about me: i luv cats (my fav is Maine Coon), i luv potato, i hate onions, my favorite food is fried chicken, one of my dreams is to travel the world, i love history and arts, i hate math, i think that bonds of friendship can be stronger than family bonds, I love to read about what other people love, I get so hyped when someone asks me about my fav character or song or idk anything i love, I strongly believe that violence isn't the answer for anything, I love indie games, I have a bunch of teddy bears in my room, my favorite aesthetic is dark academia, i LOVE short hair, I have a hoodie that I use everywhere bcuz its from my favorite RPG, talking about it I love RPG

I think thats it bub! If u have a question u can sent me!

FIRST: sksksks you’re a gryffindor I can’t believe we have a slytherin-gryffindor friendship going on that’s iconic

Second: lmaoo Atsumu was out the window as soon as you started describing yourself bby we been knew

Third: IM A DARK ACADEMIA BITCH TOO ALSKDJDHJSJA

Fourth: I,,, I tried so freaking hard,, to find someone else,, bc I wanted to be impartial and tRUST ME I WAS FUCKING IMPARTIAL ON MY BULLSHIT but it’s just too good,, forgive mother for I have sinned—

I MATCH YOU UP WITH NISHINOYA

Now listen up you fucker, it’s YOUR FAULT for making your description so compatible with him!! (But honestly you sound just as compatible for Hinata and Inuoka, you just attract those rays of sunshine istg)

First of all; you’re patient?? It’s the number one requirement to be Noya’s s/o?? Also seeing the good in everyone!! I think it also means that you have a really optimistic side that could help Noya a LOT. Boy tends to get swept away by emotions please remind him of the positive stuff from time to time.

Also perfectionism?? With Noya, it’s gone. You KNOW he’s bound to screw something up, but does he care? Unless it’s Volleyball, not really dude. And i think that’s good for you! Sometimes, your best isn’t as high as other times and that’s okay! I think Noya really grasps that concept so any victory, no matter the size, is a victory for him and he hella hopes it’s a victory for you too! Clingy?? What does that mean?? Boy has no idea, he just knows the two of you are joined at the hip. You, Tanaka and him are the best and worst trio to ever walk this earth. God forbid you all went to Karasuno together istg-

And pfft travelling the world?? That’s done and done with Noya, we both know that. Y’all come back hella broke, but even that can’t destroy Nishinoya’s mood because he did all of that with you and got so many good memories!! He swore that he’d never, ever delete any of the pictures, even if they’re blurry or just things he thought were funny at 2 AM.

Overall, I seriously think the two of you are the kind of couple that can get passed anything because 1) you compliment each other so well yet have a lot of similarities and 2) you just?? Enjoy life?? Like you’re supposed to?? And that’s amazing.

Nishinoya could be the poorest man on earth, but if you’re by his side, then he’ll think he’s the luckiest on earth.

Songs!!

- It’s a Hard Life, Queen

- Chilly Down, David Bowie (when I say this is your theme song... THIS IS YOUR THEME SONG. This shit is the We Wreck Shit And We’re Gonna Take Off Your Head For Fun vibe, they’re the fuckin fire gang and so are you. Add Tanaka if you want, this shit is yours and Nishinoya’s VIBE.)

- Hey Ya!, Outkast (again, Wrecking Shit Vibe, but this song just puts Noya in a good mood dude)

- Station to Station, David Bowie (I don’t know why, but “thIs IsnT The SidE EfFecTs Of ThE CoCaINE” playing while you do something hella risky and stupid while Noya cheers you on is a wholeass mood)

#haikyuu matchups #haikyuu!!#matchup #nishinoya yuu #submission

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pensurfing · 3 years

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I Surrender.

By the time I actually post this, it’ll be near the end of the year and I’ll be near my burnout. Each year, usually I take an unannounced, but quiet, break.

2020 feels different this year. Usually, I return in January; but this time I don’t think I can return. Too much happened in so little time and as a small creator, business, entrepreneur, small EVERYTHING I can’t ignore what lurks over my head. An ultimatum.

I was in denial about it.

I thought maybe if I pushed making the decision back as far as I could, something would change. That as long as I worked hard, promo’d my sales and merch, did as many virtual cons as I could, something would change. Networking in newer groups, looking around for clients, and wanting to make new merchandise; name it. I did it. Work hard and reap the benefits later; while that is true there is also no shame in knowing when to quit as well. I was in denial about how long the pandemic in the States would last. I was in denial about needing help with my mental health. I was in denial about so many things in my surroundings. The biggest thing I was in denial about was my importance, impact, and ability to move forward with where I was with my art journey. The biggest reason why I was able to keep it up was due to the constant questions of “How’s it going? What are you up to? How are you?” No one (at least the way I see the world) actually answers this truthfully. So I just kept saying fine and for a while, I genuinely believed it. I lied to them. But to be fair, I lied to myself too.

I was angry about it.

I stayed here for so long.

SO.

Long.

I was angry that I felt ignored; angry that I reached out and others had their hands tied as well; angry that I still managed to make sure others didn’t drown like I was drowning & didn’t think to help myself because I’m stupid; angry that the pandemic did last this long in the States; angry at me for not pulling some magic trick out a hat that I’m not sure existed; just angry. (tw: self-harm, vivid imagery) I was so angry I took it out on my debit card and self-sabotaged my good spending habits. I took it out on my legs and arms and broke a seven-year long streak of not hurting myself; I carved myself up entirely and punched the bricks of my house. I took it out on people. I don’t quite know how yet, but I feel like I did. Maybe I had a shorter temper than normal; I stopped reaching out and making sure I fully listened to their problems. I kept caring more about them than myself during this phase. And they just kept taking. And I became an empty cup, they moved on; I see that I’m just disposable. Which, isn’t wrong. All I could handle and still can handle is heavy convos with my therapist. (I don’t have her anymore, that’s right. I can’t afford her anymore.) All I could handle was trying to write it out, map it out, talk it out.

I was angry I didn’t see a point anymore. I felt like I didn’t deserve the tiny wins I did see because I didn’t go through some kind of threshold of pain and suffering to earn it. I was angry and the crumbs tossed my way in the name of “diversity” and “trying to hire black” because of guilt and white performance. I was angry being lead on with a tiny thread of hope because that thread was bigger than the nothing I’ve gotten this entire time. I was so angry and blaming myself for things that were completely out of my reach and capability. I was just really angry.

I tried begging my way out of it.

I looked for online classes of any sort to traject myself into a sort of hope. Buying hundreds of dollars in books, classes, anything in information I just didn’t have prior to the pandemic; and now because of the pandemic, the information will be obsolete as the world adjusts and readjusts to its changes and collapse in remaking itself. Making flash sales on my website if it meant seeing eight dollars by the end of the month.

I didn’t stay here long because of my own twisted viewpoint of begging.

I was depressed about it.

I stayed here the longest. It was already enough having the above marinate within me; add to the mixture of new relative drama, relatives passing away, and just not being in a healthy household... I grew tired. I stopped taking care of myself. Anyone with depression can tell you that dealing with that darkness is an uphill battle; usually, the first to go is my hygiene. But I just slowly stopped drawing altogether. I don’t draw when I’m not together. I’ve mentioned this many times over the years verbally and in written form on here. So I just kept taking breaks. I had a small string of commissions here and there, but that was the only illustrations I could create and that was its own battle.

I tried mentioning it to people I was close to, but after a while hearing “it be like that sometimes” just isn’t helpful and isn’t worth explaining the story. So I just stopped talking. And not having my therapist made it harder. Especially because I have a lot of emotional dumpers who don’t understand boundaries. I don’t blame them, but after a while of nonconsensual emotional dumping I had to stop listening to another group of people because I just couldn’t handle any more weight; either they didn’t see I was drowning or didn’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore.

I couldn’t enjoy the walks recommended by many; not even my favorite restaurants; or shows; or books/mangas; food in general; people in general.

Listening to music at least helped the “I’m sinking” feeling. But it was quickly ruined with “well intent” friends with; “Maybe if you drew something you’d feel better”, “Sketch, paint, it’s therapeutic”, “dRaW”. You get the picture. It had a double sting because it acknowledged two things: These ‘friends’ don’t know much about me and what brings me happiness; This isn’t about my happiness, but more about their own selfish requests to see more work from me because they don’t know anything else besides “I’m an artist, I draw, therefore that is all I am and all that can ever make me happy”.

See it this way: You have a friend. Friend is a musician. Your friend is slowly going deaf and loses their hearing. You can at least do small, everyday sign language. But not enough to handle a full conversation. Until your deaf friend can afford that hearing aide, talking to them will be a bit harder. But instead of learning more sign, you complain about how the person can’t hear as well anymore, so they become “quieter” and you stop reaching out to them. Projecting the “why can’t you just listen”. “You know what will make you feel better? If you play your music again, make mixes. We miss that.” “You sing, why not sing to make yourself feel better.” If the person cannot hear, how can they continue to make sure their craft is correct? In tune? On tempo? If a person is not in the mood or mental capacity to draw, then how can they draw? If all you can see is that you only know about friend is that they are a musician, can they really be a friend? Or just acquaintance?

Projecting the thing you get joy from said ‘not ok’ person and just demanding they do more of the thing you enjoy isn’t helpful; but selfish. Because in that case it isn’t about the person, but you and your expectations and things that you get from said person. Once they stop giving you the thing, then it’s about ‘how-dare-you-not-give-me-my-thing’. And I stopped caring to go through this consistent loop and being talked over when trying to explain myself.

I sat in my bathtub more than I had in years; the irony is this is comforting. So for weeks, this is where my mind and mental capacity have been. Sitting in my tub, with a blanket, my phone, and my switch. I’ll stay there all day and go to bed; sometimes I’ll sleep in the tub and stay there all day. I listened to music. Just daydream. I write a bit more now for my own purposes. It’s been nice. But not enough to get me out of a funk.

I finally accept it.

I’m just a person to be there and happy for others and their things. I think I finally get that now. I’ve slowly removed myself from social media and with the expectation of performance. I’m not a performer; I’m supposed to just be the audience. While this isn’t an “I quit” because this is all my job experience the past few years now, this is just an “I surrender”. I’m used to the fact in my waking life I’m no person’s ‘favorite’ or ‘go to’; so I guess now I’m coming to terms with that with work and with drawing in general. I have company clients I’m wrapping up work for but after that, I’ll be taking down my commission information and artist alley gallery. etc. I’ll shut down the store; I’ll do one last sale and either give away/throw away my extra items.

I just have to start entirely from square one. Maybe negative one? I went on what feels like the world’s longest pity party to say I’m taking a break, and seeing how the world broke in 2020 there is a chance I won’t be able to come back. And I don’t want people jumping me say “how dare” “you don’t try hard enough” or “shut up and just wait until next year/try again next year”

I’m covering my bases. If things look up then I’ll just happily delete this later.

But I can’t just ignore the reality of it all. I’m not ok and I haven’t been. And I just want to stare at my ceiling guilt-free for a bit. (I did this last night and it is fucking gross looking, gotta clean it.)

Stay safe, stay indoors, and stay clever.

[[TL;DR: After continuing to get beat down by the world the past two years, this year pushed me past a tipping point. I can’t keep being a lukewarm illustrator at best and I am slowly wondering if I even want to; I want the space to figure that out. And don’t want the same friends who tell me “draw this, color this” to hound me on that decision either: it has the same energy when a kid with asthma can’t breathe and you talk over them and say “just inhale and exhale”.]]

I hereby release me from the pressure to post consistently because honestly, it is the only time I hear from anyone anyway So this is me choosing silence for a bit.

#ramble #vacaymode #goodbye #for now

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inactiive-shit · 4 years

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Just... stay for the night

Thank you! I know this prompt was from an angst starters list, and I tried to aim for that, but this came out more hurt/comfort. I hope you like it, regardless.

Title: Snake-umentary

Pairing: Romantic Anxceit

Words: 1,472

Warnings: panic attack, dissociation, car crash mention

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil has spent the day running around like a headless chicken. First his fire alarm woke him at four in the morning. There was no fire, but after starting his day with a panic attack, he couldn’t get back to sleep. So then he went to work on some of his commissions and accidentally deleted them, so he had to message the recipients to ask what they wanted him to draw, which was more interaction than Virgil wanted before noon. And he’d realized the only thing he had in the fridge was grapes when he tried to make breakfast. Which meant Virgil also had to go to the grocery store, and then he also bought art supplies because he was already out, but that included a drawn out conversation with a chipper check-out clerk that accidentally misgendered him before bombarding him with questions about what kind of art he liked to do.

By the time he finally got home, he was exhausted and the ice cream he bought had melted and all Virgil really wanted to do was lie down for a nap. But of course his stupid brain betrayed him again and wouldn’t even let him have that.

And as if all that wasn’t bad enough, his friend got in a crash. He’s fine, just a few bruises and a fucked up car, but there was enough of an interim between news of the crash and the outcome that Virgil had worked himself into another panic attack, as though that could have possibly aided the situation at all.

So, yeah, it’s eleven o’clock at night Virgil is functioning on about two hours of sleep—though that was a generous estimate—and not nearly as much food as he should’ve eaten. He feels sick and tired and just wants to sleep but he keeps getting jittery and pacing around his apartment and resisting the urge to call Roman and make sure he’s okay because that would just be annoying, he already talked to Roman and he knows he’s fine.

Maybe he should call again. Just to be sure.

His fingers hover over the buttons, debating the merits of calling. He could text, of course, and then Roman could respond whenever he felt like it and it wouldn’t have to be such a thing like this, but if he asked how Roman was doing and Roman didn’t respond for a while, that could very well induce another panic attack because he could be hurt and Virgil wouldn’t know, oh shit-

There’s a knock on the door, yanking Virgil out of his spiral as effectively as if someone had slapped him. He’d a friend do that, once, actually, because he didn’t know how to help and panicked, and it had stopped all of Virgil’s thought processes in their tracks as he tried to figure out what the fuck had happened in the real world and why was his face stinging.

Another knock on the door lets Virgil know that he still hasn’t opened it yet, so he drags himself across the room and opens the door, half-hoping and half-expecting that Roman will be standing there, in all his bruised-but-okay glory, and tell Virgil he could hear him worrying from across town.

Instead, it’s the last person Virgil was expecting.

“Oh,” he says, “hey.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Dee says, rolling his eyes. He’s wearing his fingerless yellow gloves and his snake contact and the leather jacket that most people never saw him without, baggy jeans and doc martens. There’s a bag of food from a local chinese restaurant in his hand.

“I totally fuckin’ spaced,” Virgil says, remembering that he was supposed to be having an eat-in date with his boyfriend tonight. “I’m a shitty person.”

“Forgot about me?” Dee says, bumping into the apartment and shutting the door behind him. “How rude.” He keeps talking, but Virgil’s too focused on Everything and Nothing like they’re concrete objects and not the most overwhelming intangible thing Virgil has ever had to deal with.

Is he panicking again? He’s too tired for this shit.

He comes back to reality who knows how long later. He’s sitting on the couch, somehow, Dee pressed into his side. The food is sitting on the floor in front of him and there’s some show he’s never seen before playing on t.v. He starts picking at his nail out of habit, confused. More than halfway to scared but unwilling to admit it.

“Back?” Dee asks quietly, lifting his head up to look into Virgil’s face.

“Uh,” Virgil says, “yeah. How long…”

“It’s almost twelve,” Dee says. “So, little less than an hour.”

“Shit,” Virgil says. “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

“Woah.” Dee pulls himself up so he’s sitting, facing Virgil. “There’s not a need for all that. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil says, but the words sound like they’re teeth being pulled out with pliers or the rattle of a snake right before it bites. Virgil knows immediately that this won’t pass.

“Try again,” Dee says flatly. Despite his tone, his eyebrows are creased slightly and his lips are pursed. He has a hand on one of Virgil’s, just enough to ground him in the moment instead of launching off into whatever brain-fuck he gets stuck in like that.

“Uhm, it’s just been a lot. Today.” He hesitates, but Dee’s eyes stay right on him, ready to listen to whatever Virgil has to say, so he spills every detail of his day, from the big stuff (the crash, being misgendered) to the little stuff (the shitty song that got stuck in his head, the person with aggressively bubblegum pink pigtails), and once he’s finally done, he feels better.

“That’s shit,” Dee says. He kisses Virgil’s cheek and then picks up a cold container of rice. “It sucks that your day went like that. The only remotely remarkable thing that happened to me today was someone coming in and asking for a tattoo of Where’s Waldo with his dick out.” He passes the rice to Virgil. “Also, your friends aren’t going to be mad that you’re worried about them. They aren’t going to be pissed if you call to make sure they’re okay, especially after some shit like a crash.”

“But what if they are,” Virgil says, eating a little rice.

“Then I will kick their ass and you won’t have anything to worry about either way.” Dee grins, his sharp smile with his abnormally sharp canines that always puts people on edge. It makes Virgil’s heart melt.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “You could have eaten without me, you know.”

“No. I came over to relax with my boyfriend, not eat food alone while wondering who I needed to kill. We will eat together.” Dee taps his cardboard container into Virgil’s. “Though, it is getting pretty late. I’m gonna have to get out of here soon.”

“Stay,” Virgil blurts before he can think better of it. Dee raises an eyebrow at Virgil, and he refuses to look down. “Just…stay for tonight. Please.”

“Patton always comes over on Friday mornings for breakfast. As in, tomorrow. Your friends,” Dee starts, but they’ve had this conversation enough times and all Virgil really wants at this moment is to have his boyfriend with him and not going anywhere.

“Fuck it,” Virgil says, voice heated, cutting Dee off. Dee stops, doing a bad job of hiding his shock. “Fuck it,” he repeats. “Listen, they have misconceptions about you and our friendship was new enough that I didn’t want to do anything to fuck it up. But-but you are my boyfriend, so if they want me, they’re damn well going to have to get over it.” Virgil sighs quietly, losing steam. He’s too tired to make an impassioned speech about loyalties and relationships like he wants to. “I know you have work in the morning. If you can’t, I get it. It’s fine.”

“No,” Dee says. “If you want me to stay, I’m not going to move my ass off this couch. I just want you to be sure, because if I’m still here when he gets here, there’s no taking this back.” He holds Virgil’s face in his hands, gentle and loving.

“I’m sure. Promise. There’s not any part of this I want to take back.” He leans in and Dee meets him for a kiss. It tastes like soy sauce. “I’m going to text Patton, let him know I have a plus one.” Virgil pulls out his phone and shoots off a text, not expecting a response two minutes later that reads, Samesies! Can’t wait, kiddo!

Virgil decides not to dwell on what that could mean.

“Your eyes are barely open,” Dee breathes, relaxing into Virgil’s chest. “Let my snake-umentary take you to dreamland. I’ll meet you there.” Virgil smiles even though Dee can’t see it, dopey with feeling this much and finally feeling safe enough to sleep.

#ask #alex-demon-wolf #sanders sides #ts virgil sanders #ts deceit sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #ts virgil #ts deceit #ts anxiety #fanfic #snake-umentary #anxceit

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dropsofletters · 5 years

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it’s a match!

title: it’s a match! pairing: johnny seo/reader genre: tinder!au/photographer!au summary: ten has a slight obsession with his newest dating app: tinder. it is only convenient that he gets his single friends into it. johnny, personally, thinks of it as a way to release stress and get a good laugh, but when one of his tinder matches ends up being one of his clients, things suddenly change for the two of them. type: fluff note: thank you to si-chengs here on tumblr (goddamn tumblr and not letting me tag people dAMN) for editing this picture and helping me with my fic’s header. you’re the real mvp, ily<3 all credits for this edit go to her!

It’s when Johnny Seo gets bored that his best friend gets the worst of ideas.

Dongyoung, the third part of their group of friends, is more intelligent and less chill than he is, so he always says no to Ten’s ideas, but Johnny finds that having just that slightest bit of newness in life isn’t so wrong after all. It is a Sunday night and the fan of his apartment is blowing the papers of the notebook he is supposed to be reading for some presentation he has at work, but instead, he is lost in his phone trying to find a new app to download. Sure, social media is fine—a great distraction method to keep him scrolling and scrolling, watching videos of food he wants to eat, writing direct messages to the friends he can’t see personally anymore and of course, going into the deepest parts of the web that shows things that he would like to un-see. Maybe, in a good day, he gets a good cat video. But it is a Sunday, a boring one at that, and as he keeps scrolling through Instagram all he sees are the same set of pictures. Food. Pictures of his cousins. Old funny pictures.

A whiff of a cologne that is too sweet for anyone’s liking, but extremely expensive, indicates the entrance of Ten. Johnny does not know what his roommate was doing previously, he feels like Ten told him, but his mind can’t quite wrap around it. With an elongated groan as he throws his head back on the sofa’s headrest, he sees that Ten is drying his hair with a towel, shirt disregarded somewhere, new pants highlighting his waist and he, altogether, looks put together and…better than he does when at home.

Not only that, but Ten is smiling at his phone. He does smile often, of course, a machine of jokes and a lot of teasing, but Ten very rarely has that cheesy smile. The type of smile he gives to the people he wants to sleep with, or go out on a date with in a special occasion. His lips quirk up a little bit less, his cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink and he quirks one of his eyebrows, almost as if in awe, the excitement and thrill of flirting getting the best of him. “What are you doing?” Johnny asks, looking down at his basketball shorts to see a mustard stain at the very edge. Fuck, he had eaten a burger earlier and somehow, he has a stain now.

“Talking to my Tinder match.”

Tinder, Johnny recognizes the name of the app, and he would have smiled if only he wasn’t so bored. He remembers the night when Ten first mentioned it, saying that he had the hook-up of his life thanks to a Tinder match, and he did not even have to talk all that much. Soon after, Dongyoung had visited them and Ten had somehow convinced Dongyoung to create an account. It didn’t last long, considering Ten had tried to explain the ‘art of being a seductive man without sending dick-pics’ and Dongyoung immediately took his phone away from the man and deleted the app.

Dating apps are not his thing. Dongyoung and dating sounds impossible, too, he is just…Kim Dongyoung. In Johnny’s eyes, he is a single mother that loves watching reality shows and listening to pop songs.

Johnny doesn’t care. Yet, here he is—bored and curious, entertained by the sight of Ten being happy, ready for his night out. “Oh,” He says first before sighing. “Is Tinder fun?”

His black haired roommate looks up from his phone, locks it and puts it inside his pants before rummaging through the small pile of clothes he has in the living room from the laundry he just did that morning. He is just too tired to put it in his closet, or rather, too busy. “Yeah, I guess, for lazy people who are just too tired to look for someone or…people who don’t know how to look for someone.” Ten clicks his tongue when he finds just the shirt he wants, pulling the fabric of the sweater over his body, speaking through the action. “Not for someone like you. You actually look like you can get dates.”

Johnny tilts his head to one side, then the other. “I can…and I do…” His confidence doesn’t falter, and Ten shrugs his shoulders, but before his roommate could get too far away, he stretches his hand to grip Ten’s wrist. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t create an ironic Tinder account. Just for the laughs, you know.”

Whether Ten thinks about it for a second or two, or not, is not noticeable. The motion he does to get beside Johnny on the couch is quick, taking Johnny’s phone from his hands and immediately downloading the app. It is as if he only wanted to have more of his friends getting into the world of online dating, and maybe it is a really good choice, just like how it can be a bad one. “Yeah, that’s what I said and now I can’t get out of it.”

“That’s because you don’t like putting a lot of effort into relationships.”

His friend huffs at that. “That’s right…” He confesses, moving his fingers across the screen as he searches for a set of pictures. “I don’t want to hit it up with a selfie first, it’d look like you don’t have any friends—oh, maybe not one of the professional pictures you have either, you’d look like a catfish.” Johnny’s cheek is pressed against the sofa, looking at Ten’s doings with little to no interest. All he wants to do is annoy some people, not particularly get some classes from a self-proclaimed love master. The warmth of the room is more palpable by the closeness of her friend and the scent of his cologne is giving him a headache. “I think this picture of you is perfect.”

Johnny looks at that one picture he had taken driving a fake car in some arcade and he smiles. It shows his personality, taking himself seriously when he is funny, but also living his life like he doesn’t care. The picture would give the thought of someone who doesn’t care about what people around him think. “Oh, oh, can we add one of those descriptions people have on Tinder?”

“You kind of have to.” Ten mumbles and then he picks a few other pictures randomly before clearing his throat. “What do you want in your bio?” Before Johnny could respond, Ten speaks over him. It is a habit of his, to always think he knows everything, and to add a little bit of mischief to everything he does. “I think something like ‘Johnny, knows two languages and can speak the language of love’ would be pretty ironic.”

Johnny pushes his plump lips up, rosy like buds and a little bit chapped. Instead of working on his Tinder profile, he should be hydrating himself and probably preparing dinner. “Too lame for me,” He says. “I am thinking more of ‘this is a picture of me driving, and I can drive you crazy.’”

“And you call my idea lame?” Ten questions, squinting his eyes with the action before shrugging his shoulders. It is not like he cares all that much about Johnny’s active dating lifestyle. “Okay, so…this is a picture of me driving. I know how to drive a car and…” The shorter man starts typing on the screen before that part is completed. “Anything else?” Johnny shakes his head, a lazy smile plastered on his face when Ten adds a few other bits of information before delivering his phone back.

“Is that all?” The taller asks and Ten licks his lips before nodding his head. He doesn’t say much, simply asks if he looks alright, something that Johnny confirms just before diving in the complexities of Tinder.

If the story is ever told from someone’s point of view other than his, it might sound extremely biased, but Johnny did exactly what would be considered wrong in Tinder: swiping right for everyone just to play around. Not in the sense of hook-ups, or maybe yes, but after he actually has some fun with it. All he wants to do is confuse people, and that is what he does. Whenever someone sends him a message, he responds with the most obnoxious and teasing of texts, pretending to be different types of stupid people with every person.

Really, he came up with a variety of characters. The conceited rich kid that thinks he’s better than everyone else. The guy who is into questionable shit. That one guy that can’t spell things correctly and probably ends up in some Instagram page, or YouTube video. Johnny has the time of his life, barely realizing that Ten goes out with a wave of his hand and a smile that speaks cheekiness. Everything that rolls through Johnny’s mind is making the dull night into something better.

Then, his eyes settle on a person that had matched him, realizing that that one brain-cell that keeps him making fun of people in the Tinder app suddenly becomes aware of what it is. A dating app, perhaps not the best of creations to some, but he could use it for what it really is. He sees the woman in the picture, dark lipstick coating her lips, eyelashes thick with mascara and a pouty look in her picture that she took of herself that had Johnny looking at the rest of the pictures she had displayed. Gorgeous body, deserving of all the praise in the world with how she makes his heart race in the matter of seconds, biting his bottom lip as he ponders, wonders, questions what to say because he doesn’t really want to ruin this opportunity.

The good thing about Johnny is that he knows he is funny, and he uses that to his advantage, so with an opening joke he starts the conversation. Only a few seconds pass by and he receives a thoughtful emotion before a small: “Sorry, didn’t understand the joke, hah.” shows up on his phone. Johnny hisses to himself, trying not to cringe at his own stupidity before typing once again.

“Bad joke, my bad.” He continues. “What’s up, gorgeous?” Apparently, he wants to be as direct as he can be and that has always served him in real life. Dating apps might be a little bit different, but he can always turn things to go his way.

It takes a few minutes for her to respond, and Johnny takes that time to make himself a sandwich, swiping mayonnaise on the bread as he looks at his phone and luckily for him, she answers as quick as possible. “Doing homework. You?”

Johnny smiles to himself. A difficult one, but there is not much of a dare that can go over who Johnny Seo is, so he tries again. “Eating a sandwich. Mine are the best, I wish you could try them.” Not that she would realize it is a lie, because the bland sandwich with some chicken leftovers from earlier and mayonnaise is not really what he calls a good sandwich, but one, she did not need to know that, and two, it’s just a bad day for his will to make something good.

“Some guys would invite me out to dinner…and you invite me to have a sandwich.” A bunch of laughing emoticons follow soon after and Johnny takes a bite of his sandwich before licking his lips clean.

“Glad to stand out thanks to something, then.” Johnny replies and then, he types her name in the form of a question. “Sounds like the name of a woman who wouldn’t mind a sandwich for dinner, with some candles to make it all romantic.”

The response has him laughing as he leans back on the counter, his back a little hunched in the small space that Ten dares to call a kitchen. The apartment is nicely decorated, thanks to Ten’s money and touch when picking furniture, but the size of the apartment is made for people around Ten’s height, not exactly Johnny’s. Although, he does not consider himself all that tall. His apartment is made for tiny people, is what he likes to say. “Johnny sounds like the name of a guy who could do better. Try again.”

“I’m joking.” He says.

“I knew so.” Her response has a small laugh at the end that makes it flirty, and he can imagine her, probably trying to find something to distract her from the meticulous task. “That’s what caught my attention from your profile: your sense of humor.”

“Not my dashing good looks?”

“Yeah, those work, too.”

“So, what are we doing for our date?”

The texts come quickly, as if she has completely forgotten about the fact that she has homework to do. Perhaps an essay that is halfway done, or some project that needs too much glue and colors. All he knows is that he doesn’t really mind, but he should. “You’re already asking me out on a date?” Before Johnny can reply, she continues her text. “I like the sun and fresh juice, so that’s for you to pick.”

Luckily for Johnny, he knows a good place by the beach and it sells the best food he has tried in a while, so he sends her the name of said restaurant and much to his surprise, she recognizes it. Johnny thinks that the moon has always orbited to get to where he wants it to be, never too high, never too low, always perfect to downcast over him. Perhaps, he did it for fun—to create a Tinder account, but Johnny always gets blessed by an opportunity that he knows how to take. In this case, he has a day, an hour and a person to take care of.

All he knows is that Ten is right. No strings attached and also a place to joke around with people? Tinder might have gotten a good place in his heart, by now.

That can be shown through the midnight talk he has with her, getting to know this stranger that has a smirk on his face. Johnny is assured he will have a nice time.

Movies do tend to exaggerate things, quite obviously. Put a scriptwriter, creative but in the cliché sense that leaves people with a handful of movies that are clearly similar, with a director that has a set image on how to show things and a cameraperson, along with a producer and many other staff members that set up a good film. Most are not good, quite clearly, but it all depends on tastes. There are tropes that are overused, like how in rom-coms the meeting of two people tends to be in slow motion, with shared stares that hold interest, palms that join in a calloused touch before going into the full hug. Some kisses are lame, others are more passionate, some don’t even include kisses just to leave people hanging.

Or even worse, some thrillers paint situations like the ones he is in as the start of a never-ending set of events that leave people twisted like a pastry of sorts, but that is not the case. He is in the very public, slightly crowded restaurant, watching his phone as he sits at one of the woodened tables, the open space and the sound of the sea leaving a smile to his face, though it is not visible, but not all happiness needs to be shown like a Las Vegas sign in the middle of the night. She is not there, of course, but he remembers all the things—or most of them—she had told him in the week they had been talking for. He knows what her major is, what she works as, some of her music tastes, her favorite movie and a handful of her flirty remarks. The attraction in there, though not palpable, vivid, trembling, asking to be touched, to be marked, to be an existing occurrence of popular behalf. All they need to do is act up on it, on the promises in between cheeky sentences, and the kisses that they have yet to share.

Or not, that is the good thing about a date—you finally confirm just how real the things people said are. Johnny is good at reading people, so he thinks, not good enough to judge, but just the perfect amount of right to know what he needs to get involved in. He looks at his phone once again, reading a text that says she is on his way, but that was already fifteen minutes ago.

Not to say that Johnny is impatient, but he might be.

Awkwardly, he taps his foot against the flooring, his white t-shirt and shorts seeming good for a day at the beach, but not quite for a date. Does he care? Maybe at the depth of his thoughts, but he knows he looks good. Black hair parted in the middle, sunglasses covering his eyes in style, lips rosy thanks to chap-stick. All he needs is the title of the hot bodyguard in a movie, not that he is a good actor to start with, in his own opinion.

When he meets her, it’s not one of those slow motion moments. She doesn’t walk to him in counted steps, quite the contrary, she rushes and pushes her hair away from her face, the summery dress she is wearing leaving a little bit to the imagination, flowy and floral-y in the most perfect of ways. Johnny is awestruck, seeing her dark lipstick changed to a sweet coat of pink, eyes sparkly instead of filled with passion. Although, she is visually a goddess in disguise, Johnny can say that there is absolutely cuteness to her, one that he would have never thought she had. A messy smile when she sits down, apologizes before she can even say her greetings, and she flinches a bit when she accidentally touches his naked calves under the table with the tip of her foot. She says a lot, rushes through the words, loses that title of an Incubus as he had thought of her, and suddenly becomes the sweet, old, romantic Cupid.

She looks up from the menu splayed on the woodened table, blinks softly before releasing a smile that has Johnny returning it. There is not enough beauty he can hold, so he wants to give her back what she does to his fluttering feelings, the emotions that come with a first date. “I don’t mind. I know traffic was heavy today.” The nervousness dissipates from her face and for a moment, he realizes the flustered expression she holds is adorable enough to remember. One leg crossed over the other, she responds.

“I am sorry. I tend to ramble and…either way,” She cuts herself off before interlocking her fingers together. He knows she is studying him, from the way her eyes rake up and down his features. For a moment, she looks at his biceps, swallows hard and smiles softly. “I’m glad you’re real, Johnny, I thought you were going to be an old man that wants to have a sugar baby.”

He doesn’t know much about the terms, or he didn’t, until Ten decided to teach him the wicked ways of Tinder. Johnny is surprised, to say the least, present because he continues to be and he chuckles at the thought of a fidgety woman that stands by the restaurant looking for the man in the pictures she saw. “You’re pleased with what you see, then?”

When he thinks of it, it is a flirty comment to start the date right, to give her a big green flag that indicates he is up for a few kisses, some caresses, and whatever that leads to, but she seems flustered. Biting down on her bottom lip, she looks at the menu and trails her nail over it before pressing her palm to her face. “I, uh…you’re starting off strong, aren’t you?”

“Go hard, or go home.”

“That’s so frat boy of you.”

“You know I’m not a frat boy.”

She flutters her eyelashes, leaning her head on her palm and sighing. “Talk to me about photography and I’ll trust you on that.”

Johnny quirks an eyebrow, interested, leaning forward on his elbows and soon after, he speaks. “Alright, alright…” He repeats, trails his voice in a way that has her looking down at his lips. “But invite me to a drink first.” He feigns innocence, pressing one hand to his chest and making her chuckle.

“Passion fruit juice sounds great to you?”

Johnny widens his eyes comically. “Passion fruit?” He asks, highlighting the word in a way that has her throwing her head back in laughter. “We’re going for passion here. Whew, what a wild card we have right over here—”

She tilts her head to the side, shaking her head before licking her lips. “I’m hungry. Stop trying to make me flustered.”

Johnny says something before calling the waiter over. “I don’t think I’m trying. I know I am trying and succeeding, let me tell you.”

“Oh my God, stop!”

The perfect time comes from spending it with someone so human, the title becomes a compliment. He loves the way her eyes twinkle when she smiles, or how she likes to control her laughter at the beginning of the date until she is comfortable. All he wants to do is make her feel as gorgeous as he thinks she is, he wants to be able to sugarcoat her, show her just how interested he is, and see where that leads to.

He is absentmindedly hinting at something called a one-night stand, term widely known because of its unromantic use of something called intimate by some people. No strings attached, rules set in a game that a lot of people take part of nowadays. There is this one friend, a photographer as well but a much more well-known one, that had given him a better explanation of what he thought was a one-night stand. A night to stand someone, to be and not to be at the same time, to become what has no name and understand it. Johnny knows it might be too fast, and if it doesn’t happen, he won’t be mad—he had a good date, a nice talk and a lot of laughter in only one afternoon, but he wouldn’t be angry if she told him she was interested in such thing.

Pink and orange, orange and pink, made for one another when put together in a sunset. The breeze is soft against their skins, her hands fidgety in front of her body, his eyes constantly looking at her—staring, even, because he doesn’t want to forget just how beautiful she is. Or maybe, he knows just how flustered he is making her. Johnny pushes some hair away from his face as he speaks. “…And yeah, my friend Ten owns this beach house, which is insane.”

“And you’re taking me there?”

“Let’s just pretend for a few hours that I am this rich, magnate guy that promises you all the diamond rings in the world.” Johnny comments, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and leading her to the entrance of Ten’s getaway place. Just like everything he owns, it is nicely decorated but this beach house is a lot less used. Johnny just had to give him some pictures for an advertisement he was making on his Instagram account and he got the keys to the house once a year. “I had to take pictures of him for some clothing line that wanted to sponsor him just to get the keys.”

She smiles at that, watching as he opens the door with neat movements. “Should I feel honored that you brought me here, then?”

“You should. I always say no to Ten because he is very picky with his pictures, but I did it because I wanted you to look at this.” Just by that moment, he opens the door to the beach house and a gasp leaves her lips, only to cover them soon after. Indeed, Ten’s house is minimalistic but perfectly put in place with shades of gray and charcoal black, with a few doors and a few dots of white in decorations here and there to give some contrast. It is clean enough to look like a dollhouse. “Someone comes here to clean it every three days. I don’t know why he doesn’t live here. It would be the dream, but he’s too much of a city guy.”

“I have always loved the beach.” She says. “This is…wow, you actually took some pictures just to take me here?”

“Yep.” Johnny closes the door before tossing the keys on the coffee table. She spends her time looking around the place, bringing a smile to his face with how precious she looks when seeing things for the first time. Her expressions are, indeed, one of the best he has ever seen. “I bought some movies and snacks,” He starts as he opens a drawer on the table that holds the TV before shaking the bag of chips on one of his hands, holding the movie with the other. “You don’t have anything else to do after this, right?”

“Don’t think so.” She replies, watching as Johnny starts putting up the movie for them to watch. It is probably a comedy movie, only to bring some joy to their date—more than how amazing it had been—and with a soft gush of a breath, she plops down on the couch. He feels her staring, her eyes raking up and down his back, one good look at his bottom and then, back again at the back of his head. “Uh…I know this is not the time to say this, but…I kind of, I mean—I had never gone out on a Tinder date, and I know I sounded way flirtier than I am, so…I hope I didn’t make things awkward?”

Johnny chuckles from his spot, picking up the remote and turning on the TV before rushing to her side. One arm splayed around her shoulders and his eyes looking into hers are the response she gets before she speaks. Genuine, kind, flirty. “You’re doing great, sweetie.”

“…I have never had a date of mine quoting Kris Jenner.” Though a chuckle gives away just how funny she finds him and Johnny grins back.

“I’m feeling very special.”

He would not necessarily say that he likes to corrupt people, because he is a nice guy—and pretty much the best friend a person he could find, but there is something that makes him feel excited of seeing a side of her that no one else expects to see. She is a goddess from the moment someone sees her, but she doesn’t control thunder or the sea, her weapon is as strong as a giggle, the gleam behind her eyes, something that shows just how she views life, and Johnny finds himself thinking about those things throughout the movie.

One moment is all it takes to share a kiss, just like how one second is enough to break the doings of an entire date, but Johnny has always known how to take his chances and only thirty minutes later, he does what he had been planning all night. His lips press to her, tasting a bit like the salty chips they just had, swollen from the spiciness and making her sigh against them when she rests her hands over his chest. Suddenly, it makes sense, it feels right, everything seems like that one book with five-hundred pages that ends in the most fulfilling way.

His hands are at her waist, the ring he decided to wear seeping its coldness through the fabric of her dress. He wants to tease, needs to smile when pulling away briefly before diving in once again. He is aware of what he is doing, how she pushes her body forward to be met by his chest, the way her hands cup his jaw to bring him to one side just to deepen the kiss. It tastes like the strings that are not tied, like the sun and the moon meeting at the hour of the sunset, but only for a brief moment before they have to let go.

It is not a surprise that she runs his fingers through his hair and he begins to lay her down slowly on the couch, placing his hands on the back of her thighs before speaking against her lips. His eyes are half closed, his black hair made a mess and the gloss she had reapplied is smeared across his lips. “Are you alright with this?”

She looks over to the side, biting her bottom lip and trailing her hands underneath his shirt to touch his skin. “I want you.”

Johnny smirks at that, leaning forward to kiss her lips and bite down on her bottom one to receive a soft breath. “I like how that sounds.” He stands up with his hands on the back of her thighs, bringing her up with him and she squeals at the action, making him smile when she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his slender waist. “W-What?” He asks in between chuckles and she joins in the laughter.

“Are you sure you can hold me up?” She questions and Johnny nods his head, feeling as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Let me be romantic, all romance movies have this moment.” The sentence makes her laugh as he lays down on the bed quickly, his elbow and forearm resting on one side of her head and the other reaching for her waist as he kisses her once again, dreamy but not quite, passionate but with enough amount of comfort. Johnny is one hell of a man, she discovers that night, eager to make her feel like the protagonist of a romance movie.

Only, that movies don’t last more than three hours and after a while, she has to go back with the silent promise of never seeing each other again.

“You slept with someone you met on Tinder?!”

Groups of friends should be able to confide in one another, but she doesn’t trust most of her friends. The shrilling scream that leaves her friend’s lips make her cling to the edge of the table from the restaurant she is having dinner at, and she looks up with the most blank expression she can muster. She has not told anyone, not even her closest friend that is at the table, it is a secret—or was, naturally—kept to herself. In retrospect, she thinks her sex life should never be put out there, much less does she have to talk about which apps she uses to get dates, or how far those dates go. Then again, the surprise in her friend’s tone is to be expected, because she had never slept with someone so quickly before.

But then Johnny came along, and he wasn’t the typical flirty boy that covered everything in a coat of pretty pale shades to indicate more than it really was. Johnny was transparent, enough to let her know from the beginning that he obviously wanted something to do with her, and not only that, but he also lived up to the expectations she had for him. It is not something that she would say out loud, but his presence and sense of humor, along with his overall nice personality, was what had given her the push to sleep with him. Be damned social concepts of purity and respect, if she wanted him and he wanted her, there was nothing wrong with that.

The problem is that her friends do not need to know, and her Tinder account is long forgotten after that encounter. The least she wants is to have her friends knowing that she had gotten bored and created a Tinder account, and actually put it to use to get ‘dicked down’, as some would say. She takes a sip of her water, presses her lips together to swallow before sighing. “That’s nonsense. You know I would never create a Tinder account. I’m not like that.”

Not that there is anything wrong with it, but she can’t seem to accept it. It brings her some kind of embarrassment, perhaps because she has a conception of how her friends react to deals like the ones she is in right now. Hyori, the friend that had spoken on the first place, pouts as she sits back down to take a long sip of her Soju. “B-But…Daniel told us that you had a Tinder profile.”

Daniel is not there, so she might as well lie. Or not. “…I said I’m not the type to do it, not that I didn’t do it.”

Caught in her own lie, thanks to Hyori and Daniel, she tries to hide her own lies behind a spoonful of food. “So you had sex with someone you barely even knew?!”

The other eyes in the room settle upon her and all that she can seem to think about is hide the embarrassment that she knows shows through her face and mainly, come up with any excuse at that given time. “Uh…no…that’s—that’s none of your business, Hyori.”

But her friend persists. “Ooh, someone did the Devil’s Old Tango.”

She cringes at the sound of Hyori’s tone, lowering herself on her seat and eating more. Throughout her life, she thinks she has been a little bit selective with the people she ends up dating, or going out on dates with. It is not exactly that she has not dated enough, because she has, but she thinks only a few people are worth her time. Is it stupid that most people have lowered their standards because someone is not willing to try anymore? It is. She thinks she is worthy of some trying, of someone who is able to dive in completely, not keep one foot out of the water just in case. And Johnny was that to her, he put the cards on the table and showed which game he wanted to play. It only so happened that her mind had the option to decide between two things: sleeping with Johnny and taking her chance, or simply forgetting about it. She insisted on the first one, and she was pleasantly surprised. “Stop.”

One of her friends also asks Hyori to stop, but the woman sighs with a happy smile on her face. “How was he?”

“Hyori, I won’t talk about it—”

“Show me a picture of him.”

The second most serious person at the table, Choonhe, takes Hyori by the arm and pulls her to the side. “Hey, leave her alone.” With one touch to her cheeks with the back of her hand, she feels how hot her skin is. A part of her thinks that her main problem with talking about Johnny Seo is that she doesn’t really want to make anything public. Johnny is that one secret she likes to keep to herself, because it is hers in a way—like that one song she likes enough to only listen to it from time to time. It is a nice memory, a flutter of a flower she doesn’t get to see often, and it is her will to keep it a secret. “By the way, does anyone want to order more hot wings? I’m still hungry.”

Now that the attention is off her, she can start losing herself in her thoughts. It is stupid, how she simply kept Johnny’s number in her phone but she decided to delete the app. Tinder was a way of spending her time at first, but Johnny caught her attention—for once, he was not creepy, and he was a little bit more like her type. It would be stupid of her to try with someone else, knowing that Johnny had already put her expectations too high…and she doesn’t think she is ready for another one-night stand.

Sometimes, she ponders if he thinks about her, too.

But it is unlikely, people like him, who think of hook ups as a better way of loving normally don’t miss people, much less do they think about them twice. Although, the world is a tiny place and maybe, just less likely than other chances, she will get to meet up with Johnny once again.

Him, made to make her blush, to enchant her, to be the only one living in her brain for the time being.

Her, surprised by the fact that Johnny Seo is incomparable in some way. Even better than some of her past relationships, who tried a little too hard, but Johnny got her wrapped around his little finger with just one date. A few texts. Of course, a million smiles thrown her way.

“Hey, hey!” Hyori calls out from her spot, patting her friend on the arm various times. “You’re blushing, sis. Tell me all about it!”

That’s when she knows Johnny is someone she can’t take out of her brain so easily.

“Jaeho! Look up here!”

Dongyoung has a type of patience that Johnny wishes to have. It shows in Johnny’s work; a photographer whom had once dreamed of taking pictures for magazines like Vogue, or even going as far of being a concert photographer, but he ended up taking pictures of whoever goes to the store he works at. Dongyoung is not particularly a photographer, per say, but Johnny needed someone that helped him with people when he was trying to come up with the perfect picture, and while adults did not need that much attention, kids did. At this point, Johnny knows that Dongyoung is excellent at making babies look into the camera and smile.

Maybe, it is because Dongyoung is holding a teddy bear on top of Johnny’s head and he calls Jaeho’s name cutely, voice a little bit higher, a wide smile on his face, looking a lot less intimidating than Johnny, a person who gets overly frustrated when he can’t take the perfect picture. He does not say it often, but he is thankful of Dongyoung’s doings and how excellent he is with clients.

Jaeho looks up and smiles at the camera, making grabby hands at the teddy bear and Johnny can take the picture with the perfect layout that makes it look professional. That is the best part of his job, turning the store into something incredibly creative, not even leaving to do so. However, as the shutter goes off and he continues to take pictures of the baby, the sound of the front door opening catches his attention but he is too busy to take his gaze away from his camera. “Dongyoung, could you go see who’s out there?”

With a grumble, Dongyoung puts the teddy bear down, saying a small: “On my way.”

Jaeho starts crying immediately, and his parents—two young yet tired looking ones—don’t seem to do anything more than shush him. Johnny puts his camera down, biting on his bottom lip before picking up the teddy bear once again. “Look, look!” He says, waving the teddy bear on one hand and making Jaeho shut his mouth immediately, staring at Johnny with glossy eyes and puffy cheeks. The tall man balances the teddy bear on his shoulder, pressing his cheek against it before holding his camera. “Gimme a smile, come on Jae!”

Dongyoung comes waltzing inside the room once again, smiling widely and taking the toy from Johnny’s shoulder before wiggling it in the air. “You’ll be so happy.”

Johnny grumbles. “Why?”

“Because there’s another baby coming for a photoshoot.”

Not that Johnny hates kids or babies altogether, but there is something that makes him feel fidgety when he takes longer than he should in just one part of his work. With a curt nod, he continues taking pictures, finishing his job with a set of squads to get the perfect angle. Once the couple are gone, Johnny waves happily and then lets out a sigh. He can only pray that the next kid is not this annoying. “Ask for the payment first and then, let them in.”

“Gee, say please at least.”

“Dude, please.”

“That’s better.”

The fact that Johnny has a funny life would, could and will always be a statement. In this case, the moment he fixes his camera, prepares another layout and cracks his knuckles to start working at the entrance of Dongyoung. However, the clients are following soon after him, a set of three women—two adults, and the baby, approximately a one-year-old. Johnny does not think much of the first woman, but the second one has him widening his eyes for a second before a smile appears across his face.

Navy blue is the sweater that covers her frame, cropped, enough to show the waist he got tired of holding during their night together—or not, it’s an exaggeration—. Her legs do look amazing, but what is more interesting is her smile. If smiles could heal the world, hers would be enough to make a book out of the universe. He doesn’t say much, holds his camera and waits until she realizes, but she is too busy holding what he thinks is not her daughter…

A daughter never came into the conversation.

Is that her daughter?

“Good morning. I am here to take some pictures of my nie—” Almost as in cue, she stops talking when she looks at Johnny. The Johnny Seo, that one guy she slept with only three months prior to that moment and that she never talked to ever again. She wishes it would have happened, but conversations always fell short. He was busy, so was she and then, they never really tried. Her sister looks at her, squinting her eyes before clearing her throat.

“That’s my daughter. I want some pink background…since it matches her white dress, and just anything cute and bubbly!” Overly excited she is, and a little bit put off by the way her sister is ogling the photographer, but not that she knows anything about that. Johnny licks his lips, tries to push back his smile before nodding his head.

“Yeah, sure,” Johnny kneels down to prepare the layout and from far away, he swears he hears his one-night stand mumbling something to her sister. He doesn’t say much, just watches from the corner of his eyes as she suddenly gives her niece to her sister and crosses her arms over her chest. Flustered, much more when he catches her staring at the curve of his ass.

Caught on the act. And Johnny is proud of it.

“I, uh, I think I’m going to wait in the car.” She starts but her sister cuts her off.

“No, stay with me.” Whiny she is and that makes her shut her mouth for a second, watching Johnny, catching a glance of Dongyoung that is aware of the tension in the room for some unknown reason and she really wants to get out of there, the photographer can already sense it, but there is some happiness within him just to get to see her again. He fixes his camera, raises his eyebrows and soon after, he’s speaking again.

“Put your daughter down on that little arrangement, on the chair if you want…” He trails his voice, watching as the little baby looks at him out of interest. She’s curious, although a smile does not creep up her face yet.

Dongyoung immediately gets to work, moving his arms around and earning a big toothy grin from the child in front of him. “That’s it, a big smile! She seems sweet.”

The mother, with her arms crossed and a smile on her face, responds: “She is a ray of sunshine, to say the least.”

Johnny bites back the idea of responding ‘maybe, it is in the family’, because the least he wants to sound like at that very moment is like a flirt. He takes a few pictures, investing himself in his work until he feels someone getting closer to him, short steps welcoming the warmth of someone that stands by his side as he does his work. “H-Hi.” is all she can manage to say, or all she thinks about, really. Johnny doesn’t have to look to imagine her flustered expression, the way her lips let out the tiniest of mumbles to talk to him. Dongyoung is invested in a conversation with her sister and he has time to talk to her. “Huh…I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m a photographer.”

“I thought there were plenty in the city.”

Johnny smiles, biting his bottom lip and snapping his fingers to get the baby to look at him, holding a toy in the shades of beige and pink that could bring some depth to the picture. “Hug the plushie. Yes, that’s it!” He encourages the one-year-old and with one hand, he gives her a thumbs up before taking a picture. “None like me, I can assure you that.” He promises with a grin that has her smiling shyly at him. “How has it been for you these past three…months? Has it been three months since…you know?”

“It has.” She confirms. “I am on break currently, just…enjoying it.” Johnny nods his head, whispering the word ‘nice’ as he concentrates on his work. “What about you?”

“Taking pictures.” Johnny says the most obvious of answers and then, he looks at her from the corner of his eye. “Would you like some?”

“Take a mental picture first.” She replies cheekily and Johnny puts his camera down after taking the amount of pictures he was hired for.

“Oh, I have plenty.” Those words have her smile faltering slightly before growing in size, cheeks growing fuller with the way her eyes creak at the sound of his voice. His eyes rake up and down her body for a second, barely perceivable and soon after, he calls Dongyoung’s name. “Hey, we’re done here.”

“Joh—Johnny, we’re cool, right?” She asks, making the man in question look over his shoulder to finally stand face to face with the woman he grew fond of in one night, then kind of forgot about it, and one glance at her three months after brought back all those memories. The way they said their names to one another, the fondness, the kisses…no one would even dare to believe they had been lovers, but they had. Different in so many ways, yet fitting.

He shrugs his shoulders. “We are. Very much cool with one another.”

She nods. “Right.”

“Why?” He asks, voice low as he traces the outline of his big camera. “Do I still make you…nervous?”

Her eyes widen, she tries to hide her hands in the pockets of her jeans as a way of shielding herself. “Uh, ah…no.”

Johnny smirks, memories of the night they spent together filling his mind when he crosses his arms over his chest. “You sure?”

“Shut up.” She mumbles before looking over to where her sister is standing, holding her daughter in her arms. “Uh…I think I have to leave.”

“You’re always the one to leave.” Johnny is reminiscent of the night she had to leave, saying that she could not stay any longer because she had to drive back to the city to get ready for the class she had the next day. College is difficult, much more if you have to weight a job on top of that. “But I’ll take it—I’ll be abandoned again.”

She hisses. “Sorry.” It’s a whispered apology with one hand that touches his bicep, trotting over to where her sister is before waving at Johnny over her shoulder, leaving the store with a giggling little girl by her side.

Johnny smiles, because one glance at her is enough to revive the fire that was once there. Dongyoung, on the other hand, sees the glistening brown eyes of the man before raising an eyebrow. “Oh no,” He whines. “Don’t tell you had something with that one.”

With two fingers sliding across his lips as a way of showing that they are sealed before tossing the imaginary key to the side, he gives a response. “My lips are sealed.”

“…Oh my God, Johnny!”

And he wishes he can see her again, but for now, they are a little secret kept from reality.

Texting someone after a long time of not being in touch is the most difficult, if not headache-inducing, action someone could ever make. Nice, but wrong at the same time. Johnny thinks that triple texting is okay, but he finds himself out of words when he texts the woman he had met in his workplace only a month prior to that day. He had slept with her, sure, there was some kind of connection in between the two, or just some distance he needs to cut, trace and keep at that. Whether they are so close it is scary or so far away that they are basically strangers, he doesn’t know, but Johnny finally has a free Saturday and a new restaurant to try out, thanks to Ten’s advice and now, he needs someone to go with.

It is impressive, how she replies almost a few minutes later and he has a confirmation. It is as if the idea of a one-night stand doesn’t imprint in his brain. Johnny thinks one-night stands can last two nights, they can have a continuation, a sequel, some sequels are really good too—but at the same time, he knows that he is wrong. The title of a single man (ready to mingle or not) does not tie down to him, and he would like to be proud of that title if only he was not so…thrilled to go out on this date.

But Thai food is better with someone he actually enjoys talking to, and while the sex was incredible, her voice and her train of thought is what brings him back to a second date.

Is he fidgety? Not really, but he does try to look a bit less beach-y than he did on their last date. He may have her on a pedestal, for he is waiting outside of the restaurant only for her, ignoring the glances of people who cared about other’s lives more than theirs. Dressed to his own image of fashionable, with a denim jacket big enough to fit someone else inside and a rosiness to his lips thanks to the cold. White, denim and black, the fabrics and colors that match him that night and a smile that has yet to appear, but it will come with the woman he is waiting for.

The night is not painted in color rings, expensive dresses or even faux smiles. It feels genuine when she gets over to where he is, in a rush, like always, and wearing a shade of lip-gloss that makes him want to kiss her just at that moment. “Sorry I’m late. I am so stupid, my boss kept me back for some finishing touches and you know how he gets—” When she looks at him, she realizes that Johnny doesn’t mind, because fifteen minutes can’t hurt anyone.

Yet, Johnny is good with a pout, much more when it’s thrown her way. “Don’t know. I feel like that apology is half-assed.”

“Uh…it’s not.” She adds, bottom lip stuck in between her teeth and Johnny opens his arms slightly.

“Come here and show me just how sorry you are.”

She looks to the sides, widening her eyes and bringing her hands to rest on top of his chest as he brings her closer by the waist. “Joh—Oh my God, Johnny, don’t be so…shit.” She cusses, not knowing exactly how to describe him or what he makes her feel, but the man only gives her a smile and an eyebrow raise, one that she takes as a sign to finally give in. “Fine. A little peck is good for you?”

He doesn’t answer verbally, but the scent of his cologne surrounds her and his lips are pressing down to hers in the matter of seconds. Enough of a response to take her breath away. Anyone watching would believe that they are a couple, two birds starting to meet one another, creating peace at the sky, not minding the wind or the sun that will once be the rotten ending. When he pulls away, his hand is holding the back of her neck and his smile is enough to light up the world on fire. “Give me a hundred more pecks and we’ll be even.”

“Ah, shut up.” She pushes at his chest before grabbing his hand on hers, a wild card for what he expected from her, and with a little smile thrown over her shoulder, they enter the Thai restaurant. “You’re one for bringing me to good restaurants. What’s so good about this one?”

Johnny looks at her, lost in his thoughts, pondering if the only thing he wants to do is her, or spend his time with the woman that had captured his attention. There’s a thick line between sex and a crush—heck, they might mix but they should not, at least in the concept of flings. “My friend, Ten, told me it was good.”

“I’m starting to think this friend Ten is the mastermind behind our dates.”

“It’s all me, baby. I’m just stealing the rich boy lifestyle.” Johnny jokes and she lets out a chuckle, taking a seat by one of the tables. The decorations are not what he is interested in, although he takes in a lot of wood and rustic decorations, but his eyes are trained on the way she moves her hair away from her face, takes the menu that a waitress brings over before stealing a good glance at him over it. “Do I have something on my face?”

Flustered but with a smile, she looks down at the written menu. “No…”

“What are you looking at, if that’s what you’re doing?” Johnny asks, licking his bottom lip and ignoring her gaze when she finally stops looking at her menu.

“N-Nothing.”

Johnny nods his head, adding in a sing-song tune: “If you say so—”

“I’m…” There’s something deep within her that she doesn’t say, and Johnny has a smile on his face, so tranquil and sweet that she feels like her heart could explode right at that moment. There are words that are left untold, stories that have no developing, and people who never try, and maybe she is all three at once. “Nothing.” It’s how she finishes it before patting his hand over the table. “What are you going to eat?”

Inside Johnny’s head, he feels like he had already planned their second encounter. He wishes he expected it to be like the first, with a nice date and then enough attraction to finish it off properly, but there he is, having bites of Thai food as they talk about their lives and how they have been developing. She says she wants to change her job, try to do something else and stop working for the same people that have taken her in for the past few years. Johnny confirms that he thinks the same, and while taking pictures with Dongyoung has been something memorable, he wants a bigger job—somewhere where his photography skills are actually highlighted, where people would actually recognize his work in some way or another. He wants to travel the world with a camera in between his hands, see everything through a lens, but that is not what that night is about.

That night is about the realization that sure, Johnny started going out with her with the idea of sex, but there is more to her than just a body he wants for one night. It is in the way she speaks, how she reacts to him, how she makes the world a thousand times more likeable with just a smile. Now, Johnny is not one to believe movies when they claim that something from one night can turn into something else, but he can quite accept that he sees past her body whenever he goes out with her.

With only two dates, she already has him craving for more.

And it is stupid, how he finds an excuse to spend more time with her, and he says he wants to buy something sweet for her, ending up at a bakery nearby just to get her favorite pastries. As they walk around the crowded streets, trying to remember where he left his car and obviously confirming that he is going to take her home after that, thanks to her car being at the mechanic’s, Johnny realizes that he really enjoys spending time with her, and that is something that hadn’t happened since a long time ago. Past the flirting and the touchiness, there is something else. Maybe, strong. Maybe, as bland as water, but it is there. Johnny wants to call it the development of a crush, or the start of a nice friendship.

Yet, she had insisted on getting one of those lollipop rings that they used to have when they were children (“I used to take them to school because I thought they were cool,” Johnny said.), and Johnny is one to please, so as they stand near the Thai restaurant where everything started, he holds the lollipop ring in between his fingers and her hand with his free one. “Can’t believe you actually made me get one of these.”

“They were tasty in my memory. I am sure they are, still.”

“Yeah, and probably full of saliva.”

“Hey, I don’t drool that much!”

“I feel like I remember you drooling when you first looked at me.”

“I, uh, I—” She finds herself at a loss of words and soon after, she hits Johnny on his shoulder. “Stop flirting.”

“I can’t when you’re that cute!”

A gasp is heard soon after, a little bit broken at the end, and Johnny frowns at the idea of someone being surprised by their mere presence. The gasp sounded too close to not be for them. Once the two people in their date look over to the left, they realize an old—and adorable—woman is covering her mouth with her two hands, looking at the ‘couple’ with squinted eyes and a smile that creeps up her face. “Oh, my Darling! Someone’s proposing over here!” Johnny figures out that the elderly woman is at least a bit blind, squinting at the sight of a lollipop ring and Johnny putting it around his date’s finger.

His date is quick to speak up, however. “You’ve gotten it wr—”

But Johnny likes the attention, or making her flustered, so he gets on one knee in front of her while holding the lollipop ring, catching the attention of a few people who clearly are not aware that it is candy that he is ‘proposing’ with. “These past few years, honey, have been excellent with you.”

She hisses through her teeth. “Johnny,” She mumbles, eyes looking around the place to find the attention placed upon them. Can’t people just get closer so they can realize this is all Johnny’s fault?! “Get up, now.”

“Let me speak.”

“No.” She whines, but Johnny continues.

“I never thought I would have met the Bonnie to my Clyde, the Jimmy to my Sheen—” She wants to laugh at that, biting down on her bottom lip and letting a smile out. People probably think that she is smiling out of happiness, but she wants to hide at that exact moment. “So, for all these years, would you marry me?”

“…Oh my God.” She whispers before taking him by the bicep and bringing him up to his feet. “I guess. Let’s just leave.”

And the few people that had gathered are awestruck, maybe because she did not give the answer people expected, or because someone just proposed to his supposed ‘girlfriend’ with a lollipop ring, but after closing the doors to the car, Johnny lets out the biggest laugh and holds her thigh with his right hand. “That was so funny!” Johnny comments but the sight of her face shows otherwise, rolling her eyes before she feels him pressing his lips to hers sweetly, smiling throughout the process. “Come on, you know it was funny—and it wasn’t my idea, that old lady thought I was proposing.”

She chuckles, shaking her head before covering her face. “How embarrassing, Johnny!” She places her hand on top of his on her thigh before kissing the back of his hand. “You owe me one.”

“Owe you one?! I already proposed.”

“Shh, don’t talk.” Johnny nods his head before starting the car, pressing his lips together before she pinches his hand softly. “Hey, do talk. I was joking.”

“See?!”

“You’re annoying.”

That brings a smile to Johnny’s face.

With a straw in between his plush lips, taking a long sip from her canned soda, Johnny raises an eyebrow at her preposition. “Foosball?” He asks soon after, holding onto her waist to bring her close before nodding his head. “I’m in.”

Johnny doesn’t know how it happens. How the third date comes after the second, and how the second doesn’t even include something more than a few kisses in the front seat of his car. And sure, Johnny knows the world doesn’t rotate around physical attraction, but he is surprised that a Tinder match has gone as far as it does. Now it is a few weeks later, and Johnny is more than happy to be in front of her, preparing for a game of foosball as he watches her. All he needs to do is win so he can hear her pretty voice complaining about it.

But Johnny does score in the first try, and that earns a boisterous laugh from him and a scowl from her. “I give you some of my Coca Cola and you do this to me, really?” His heart aches the moment he hears those words, and it is not a bad type of ache—it makes him feel better, like a way his body has of telling him he’d do a lot of things to protect her. He particularly adores her voice, but he loves her expressions and reactions the most. “Ugh, Johnny—don’t score, don’t score—”

“Sorry, baby. Kind of have to win.” Johnny adds with a shrug of his shoulders and as they continue playing, he bites his bottom lip. “So,” He starts. “Why exactly did you accept going on a third date with me?”

He never hears it from her. They have been sexually together, they kiss whenever they feel like it and the flirting is always there, though kept a secret from those who know them personally. She knows that he likes her, but she has never been one to voice out what she exactly feels for the man whom she continues going on dates with. “…Just because.”

“Oh, really?” He asks. “You also deleted your Tinder just because?”

She looks at him, moving her arms frantically as they hear the sound of the TV going off in the background, mixed with voices from other people and a lot of noise. “…Don’t make me say it.”

“If I win, you have to say it.”

Feigning ignorance, she looks at him for a second. “Say what?”

“That you like me.” He confirms and she gasps at his words, running short on her own before responding.

“W-What…Why are you asking?” One would think that Johnny Seo would not be affected by someone acting nervous in front of him—not nervous, flustered, but he does get a little bit fidgety at the thought. It makes his heart race, to know that he has that power upon her when he feels slightly the same for her. If not completely. Her distraction is enough to have Johnny moving his hands quickly and scoring the last one out of three goals, making his date gasp as she takes her canned soda from his hands. “You are not having this, for being mean to me.”

Anyone who looked at them would think that they are a couple, as always, his hands wrapping around her waist and making her look around as he adds in a cheesy tone. “Come on, say it—”

“No.”

“It’s not like I don’t know.”

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

With a movement of his fingers, a chuckle leaves her lips and her hands end upon his chest, tugging him close but not really. Johnny has this kind of face that makes her feel safe, but it not fully his attractiveness and overall height that turns her into putty in front of him—it’s how he is, so lively, so chill, as if life is coated in paint and he patiently waits for the colors to dry. He knows how to have fun, just like how he takes that part out of her just to show her how beautiful life can be.

Really, it was unlike her to sleep with someone on the first date—and Johnny had changed that. He had always attracted her enough to make her take (not irrational decisions), but decisions that are very unlikely on being taken by her beforehand.

There’s always a sentence that starts a story, then there’s the first comma, the first dot, the continuation, the development…and there’s an end, but Johnny keeps adding on more paragraphs. One moment, she thinks it’s the end, the other, he’s back.

One moment, he is a one-night stand. The other, there’s something in this gaze…he, kind of, looks at her as if she means something more.

And she wants to mean something more, so she finally lets out a breath that she does not know she was holding before tilting her head to the side, blinking as if she is lost in thought, but it is more of a nervous tick. “I like you, too.”

What he does is stupid, how can’t it not be, he is the same guy that faked a proposal with a lollipop ring, but she did not expect him to throw a fist in the air before chuckling. “Hey, I finally got you to say it.”

She squints her eyes at that. “If you knew already, why ask me?”

She doesn’t get a response more than a fleeting touch to her waist, a peck on her lips and the promise of anything she wants to have for dinner. Johnny is not one to confess, but she knows it’s there, the promise of ‘perhaps, this will turn into something else’ and, she sure hopes it becomes a reality.

“Dongyoung?” Johnny asks with an empty can on his hand, watching as Dongyoung—whom is seated on the couch—jumps at the sound of his voice and hides his phone behind one of the cushions in the couch. Now, he knows Dongyoung and he can be a little bit jumpy, but he has never acted this way. “Did you eat my canned peas? I can’t find something to make for dinner and I was going to make this but—”

Dongyoung sighs out of relief, pushing the dark strands of his hair back before pressing a hand to his chest. “No, I didn’t. Jesus—”

“What are you doing? You’re super jumpy.” Johnny replies and Dongyoung widens his eyes, standing up from the couch with his phone in his back hand before replying.

“N-Nothing. I’m just going back to my room…”

But Johnny is quick, and messily into people’s business, so he takes Dongyoung’s phone from his hand, completely ignoring the male’s complaints. He unlocks his phone, knowing Dongyoung’s password like the palm of his hand before he is met by the sight of nothing more than the Tinder app. That one app that Ten tried time and time again to get Dongyoung into in the past, but somewhere along those lines of Dongyoung denying him, he had completely forgotten. “Dongyoung…you’re using Tinder?!”

“Don’t get into people’s business.” Dongyoung grumbles under his breath before taking his phone back into his hand. “I…” A look at Johnny’s smirking face lets him know that he is never going to live it down. “Listen, Ten gets to sleep around thanks to this app and you got a girlfriend. It must work for something!”

“Little Dongyoung wants to get laid.”

“N-No!”

“Aw, that’s sweet. I never thought you looked up at my relationship.”

Dongyoung rolls his eyes. “You know it wouldn’t have worked if your girlfriend wasn’t so nice.” He says and then, he clears his throat. “And Ten ate the canned peas.”

Johnny smiles at the thought of Dongyoung going through the same happenings that occurred after downloading Tinder. Maybe, Dongyoung will find the same luck as him, but for now, he really wants to call his girlfriend to get some takeout.

And maybe later, he will tell Dongyoung to take that Mariah Carey quote in his description away. No one will match him with that there.

#johnny scenarios #johnny seo #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #nct fluff #johnny fluff #nct au #johnny au #tinder!au #one night stand to lovers!au #lISTEN #i loved this edit omg #hopefully it's good????#fnjakjfad i'm so excited for you guys to read this

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