#I need something with simple language so universal rated shows please

[littlefoxwithbighat]

Trying to improve my Norwegian. Anyone know where I could watch the Norwegian dub of the moomins with English subtitles? Or something similar? Tusen takk.

#Norwegian #Norsk #Also any Spanish cartoons #I need something with simple language so universal rated shows please

[bonvoyagenoona]

Stressed and Pressed | JJK

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

Rating: 18+ / Mature / Explicit

Synopsis: The job search is already frustrating enough. Preparing for the interviews. Anxiously waiting for callbacks. You really don’t need this smartass competing for the same job and pressing your buttons. Perhaps the most frustrating thing, though, is that you can’t stop imagining what it would be like to have him pressing other kinds of buttons instead… 

Word Count: 4.9k | read on ao3

Genres, Content Warnings, & Themes: office worker!au, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, graphic language, smut (public sex, fingering [female receiving])

Author’s Note: For dear Roomie’s / @mochilatae​​’s ask! Sorry this is so late. Furthering the dom!JK agenda. Hope you enjoy!

Permanent Taglist: @purpleheartsfortae​​ @btseditsworld​​ @greezenini​​ @missbickerbocker​​ @dearbambideer​​ @helenazbmrskai​​ @morti13​​ @skyys-universe​​ @somewhereofftheglobe​​ @imaginativedreams​​ @dreamamubarak​​ @m-yg93​​

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“I never stress,” he says with a sneer in your direction.

But he does stress. He stresses the first syllable in “never”, tongue tip nearly sucking flesh from the roof of his mouth as he spits out the word. He stresses his own self-importance with his determined gaze. And he stresses the disdain that he immediately has for you as he runs that determined gaze around your perimeter, outlining you, your form like a cookie cutter, thinking that you’re essentially just that — just another rando with a less-than-stellar resume under their arm.

You stress, too.

But you take a seat at the table anyway.

And you set your resume, kept pristine in a leather folio, in front of the man flashing curious eyes at you both.

“Glad you’re on board,” that one says, adjusting his glasses to inspect your resume. “We find that doing these stress interviews adds an element of competitive energy that is advantageous to the candidate selection process.” He smiles at you as he finishes reading your perfectly bulleted list of achievements. “The standouts really stand out,” he summarizes.

“Just appreciate getting to be part of the process, Mr. Park,” you reply, mirroring his smile as you hang your coat on the back of your chair.

“Call me Jimin,” he replies, his tone getting friendlier by the minute. “And I appreciate your appreciation.”

If there’s one thing you don’t stress about, it’s the ability to connect. While a rare few may admittedly have you beat on things like work experience or business savvy, no one can connect to people like you do, and that is a savviness of its own.

“Well, Jimin,” the other candidate butts in, leaning forward, “I think you’ll note that punctuality is something important to appreciate when dealing with clients.”

The candidate looks at his phone pointedly before sliding it back into his pocket, patting it to make sure everything else in that pocket is still in place.

“That is true,” Jimin replies, nodding and turning to the candidate, sharing a knowing glance with him. Jimin sets your resume down on the table, side-by-side with the other candidate’s simple folder, before looking back up at you and raises his eyebrows. “Mr. Jeon and I have been waiting for a little while.” He gestures to his coffee mug. “There was even time for a refill.”

“My train was delayed,” you reply, trying to relax your mouth so as not to push your words through grit teeth. “I also had a little bit of trouble finding the coffee shop. That street outside is so busy. I hope you got my texts as I was searching.” You hang your head a bit. “Apologies.”

“Excuses,” Jungkook mutters, tossing the word aside as he turns his body away from you and back to Jimin. “And, please, Jimin, you can call me Jungkook.”

From the looks of it, you and Jungkook do share quite a bit in common. Your resumes are comparable; a quick glance at both of your resumes shows that you’ve had similar paths and interests, and excelled at the same kinds of things. Your shared penchants for competitiveness seem to be rearing their ugly heads, circling as if about to brawl. And rather than feeling deflated, you both seem to be spurred on by the teasing, pot-stirring look in Jimin’s smirk.

“Great. Then you get the first question, Jungkook,” Jimin replies.

He leans down and picks up a tablet from his bag. The screen clicks on and comes to life. Jimin detaches the pen-shaped stylus nestled in a notch at the side of the case, and, in getting ready to capture your answers, he lets his hand hang near the top of the screen.

“In the first round of interviews, we talked about a scenario where our advertising agency had taken on a new client,” Jimin begins. “What do you remember about that client?”

“Bankers,” Jungkook replies. “They were consulting with us after some kind of security breach. They want to reassure their customers that they essentially have everything under control.”

“Nice,” Jimin replies. “Over to you, then.” His eyes meet yours. “What do you remember about the initial meeting?”

“I remember that they seemed quite impressed with the way I handled that hypothetical proposal,” you remind him, smiling brightly. “We discussed a series of commercials and social media posts that acknowledged rather than buried the scandal. Lots of imagery of unsure people changing their minds after reading updated brochures, meeting with financial advisors, and that sort of thing.” You feel so much pride in your idea, as if it had been a real proposal. The goal was to communicate ownership of the problem while also being transparent about what they’re going to change.”

Jimin chuckles to himself. “Yes. But let’s say that you’ve given that first pitch, and this client now expresses dissatisfaction with the direction our creative team has presented.”

“Probably because it wasn’t as impressive a proposal as you thought,” Jungkook murmurs your way.

You’ll let the gnat buzz all it wants. It doesn’t have teeth.

“Is there something specific that the client has given in their feedback?” you ask, keeping your eyes locked on Jimin.

“No,” Jimin says, seemingly thrilled to launch you into this hellish nightmare. “And they’ve been a bit aggressive, to boot. A complete 180 from the first meeting that you’d had with them. They don’t want to acknowledge the scandal at all. They want to move forward.”

“Maybe they were being fake at first,” Jungkook suggests. “I’d suggest catering to their current direction. No harm there.”

The gnat likes to stroke egos. You know that will only get him so far.

“Kind of harsh to judge the client like that,” you reply, disgusted at Jungkook’s quickness to appeasement. “And doing that doesn’t really address the situation that they’re coming to us for in the first place.” You turn to Jimin. “This is one of those times when a leader has to show a calm sense of assurance,” you explain. “I trust in the vision. I’d probably say something like, we’d be happy to change the creative proposal, but the core of the matter is honesty. There’s no getting around it. It’s absolutely vital.”

Jungkook scoffs, smoothing his tie against his body and leaning back in his seat. “You wanna make it in this business?” he asks. “You’re gonna have to examine what ‘honesty’ really means. I mean, you don’t exactly tell your boss when he’s got a terrible haircut, or that his suit is unflattering, or that he’s wearing awkward looking glasses that don’t really frame his face well—” 

Jimin pushes his lips out, his expression souring as his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose.

“I-I mean,” Jungkook quickly readjusts, “you don’t just call it out like that.” He gestures to the general space around you, at your table. “Instead, you should nudge. You should make suggestions here and there. You should sneak in messages of reassurance in a way that doesn’t threaten their pride.” 

You roll your eyes, and Jimin takes notice.

“You disagree?” he provokes.

As you take a deep breath, you think through exactly how you want to share what you want to say.

“Respectfully,” you admit.

“Honesty. Respect.” Jungkook grins. He hums. “Such a good girl.”

This is when you snap.

“Can we do this without all the condescension??” you demand. “Have I done something to upset you? Because so far, all I’ve done is say hi, tell you my name, sit down at the table, and try to answer Jimin’s questions. I don’t happen to agree with what you’re saying, but I don’t believe I’ve dismissed you outright. Besides, I believe in the vision that I proposed, and I don’t appreciate the way you critiqued it by telling me what I should do instead.” You force the last of your words out quickly, before your burst of confidence fades. “I’m a hard worker, and I always want to do right by people. I believe that starts with the way I treat the people I work with, clients and teammates alike.”

“Hmm.” Jimin grins to himself. “Well.” He exchanges a glance with Jungkook. “I think that means we’re done here.”

“Wait.” Your eyes widen. “D-done?”

“Yes,” Jimin replies, closing his tablet case and stuffing it and Jungkook’s resume into his bag. “Thanks for your time. We’ll, uh, be in touch.”

He stands and reaches out for your hand. Though you stand, smile, accept the handshake, and thank him for the opportunity as professionally as you can, once Jimin disappears into the crowd on the busy street outside, you flop down into your seat and sigh in aggravation.

It doesn’t help to see your resume still sitting on the table.

“Well, that was something,” Jungkook says, leaning forward in his chair and smirking at you. 

It’s probably a good thing that you haven’t had any coffee. You’re glad that you said what you said. You think it came out appropriately. But caffeine in your system might’ve meant completely abandoning decorum.

“Are you always that rude?” you ask.

Jungkook laughs. “Maybe.”

“Well, no wonder you’re still on the job hunt,” you grumble, picking up your folio and putting it into your purse.

You stand to leave, but you’re surprised to find that Jungkook stands with you, kind of getting in your way.

“Look, I know that was kind of intense,” he says, straightening his suit jacket. “You never did get a coffee. Can I buy you one now?”

“No,” you say curtly, moving to shove past him.

“C’mon.” Jungkook grins. “We both know I’m getting this job. Let me buy you a coffee on their dime.”

The anger is seeping through your pores. You’re sure people can smell it on you, stronger than the arabica beans being pressed up at the counter. 

“No harm, right?” Jungkook asks, shrugging.

You had planned on being in this interview for a few hours at least. Who knew what you were going to do afterwards. It’s not like you have any place to be. And a free coffee is a coffee that is free, even if it’s being served by a complete asshole.

You sit back down.

“Mocha latte,” you reply.

Jungkook nods once before strolling up to the counter.

You watch him interact with the barista. He seems calmer now. Probably soothed by the added confidence of knowing he’s secured a job. 

Or maybe that confidence comes from everything else about him. His build, strong and sure. Athletic. That’s probably where that competitive nature stems from. And those looks. Celebrity-tier. Not many people can pull off that long-haired look. If you hadn’t found out immediately that he was a complete dick, you would definitely be one of the people sitting at the tables off to the side, admiring and giggling about him as they observe the rest of the coffee shop. 

As he waits for your orders to be made, he pulls his phone out. His wallet pokes out near the top of his pocket. Some kind of blue cloth hangs out, too. A handkerchief? He checks his phone, types something, and then he stuffs it back inside, making sure nothing else falls out. 

You wonder what the message was. Was it Jimin’s offer? How much will Jungkook get paid?

It’s been so long since you’ve gotten paid. It must be nice to get paid.

When Jungkook finally turns around, two mugs in hand, you look away immediately and wonder just how long you’ve been staring.

He sits back down and sets your latte in front of you.

“Congrats are in order, no?” he jeers, raising his mug.

“If you think I’m going to cheers you on getting this job, you’re just as stupid as you act,” you say, tilting the mug against your lips and trying to enjoy this consolation prize.

“As long as I don’t look stupid,” he replies, smiling.

“Of course you’d be vain,” you grumble.

He laughs and sips from his mug. He watches you as you lean back in your seat, setting your mug back down and letting your gaze fall unfocused.

“Been rough out there, I take it?” Jungkook asks.

“You know how it is.” You pout. “I really wanted this job, too. I felt like I could really do it.”

“Can’t always get what you want,” Jungkook says, shrugging and taking another sip of his coffee.

You nod. You’ve learned that lesson before. You’ve taught that lesson before.

“Liked how you fought for it, though,” Jungkook replies thoughtfully.

You turn to him, thrown by the compliment. “Oh, so now that all is said and done, you shed the condescension?”

“It’s a rat race,” Jungkook replies, “but you and I seem to share an affinity for honest conversations.”

“I like mine to be a little less mean,” you point out, folding your arms.

“Fair,” Jungkook says, nodding. “But if it’s worth anything to you, I had to try really hard to be mean to you.”

You shake your head. So the gnat admits it. “You were trying to make me bomb this interview?”

“Well, I mean, yeah,” Jungkook replies. “Obviously. That’s how these things are done.”

“And so you think this coffee makes up for that?” you ask.

“No,” Jungkook says, in that calm, increasingly infuriating way that he seems to have a knack for, “I just figured you’d like a coffee.” He shrugs. “I don’t want this to get personal. I actually like your style. The way you think.” He grins, seemingly earnestly, at you. “Maybe we can get to know each other better?”

Jungkook’s hand chases yours as you give up on running your card through the reader on the turnstyle.

“Are you—” 

You turn around and furrow your brow at Jungkook.

“Are you following me??” you ask, voice a little more timid than you were hoping it would sound.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “No! This is my train.”

“This is my train,” you say, frowning.

He smirks. “So then it’s both our trains.”

You want to tear your hair out. “I can’t believe you followed me.”

“Seems like it helped you out,” Jungkook observes. 

You throw your card back into your purse. “The reader’s broken, or something,” you say. “I know my card is full. Now please tell me why the hell you’re following me.”

“Look, I swear, this is my train,” Jungkook says adamantly. “I didn’t realize you were right in front of me in this line. You ran out of the coffee shop so fast that I lost track of you in the crowd.” He frowns. He almost looks disappointed. 

You both make your way to the train platform, and Jungkook annoyingly waits next to you, just checking his phone or checking the announcements screen, completely unaware at how just his presence is making you want to throw yourself onto the third rail.

“Is the eastbound train the one you took up here?” Jungkook asks, gesturing to the train arriving at the opposite end of the platform.

You deny yourself the satisfaction of slapping him across the face. “Yeah, obviously,” you mutter.

“No wonder you were late,” he says. “That line operates on a new schedule. It only runs three times a day.” He blinks at the announcements screen. “Seems like this one is going to be delayed, too.”

You groan and wander over to some empty benches. You take your purse off your shoulder and set it in the empty seat next to you, rubbing where the straps had been digging into your skin.

Jungkook unfortunately follows you.

He stands there, close by, just kind of hovering.

And then, he asks, “Tired?” 

“C’mon, man, I clearly want my space,” you sigh. You lean forward to rub your ankles. Gone are the days of your joints being unknown to you. Running around the city in heels all day means that when you get home, you’ll have to do a soak.

Jungkook looks around. “Barely any people here.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Though, by the looks of it, that’ll also change,” Jungkook replies. 

You look over at him to see him blinking at the announcements screen. There are now two delays. Something about a driver shortage. The next train won’t arrive for a while, forcing you to have to deal with the after-work crowd.

Jungkook paces around, looking at the tiles on the walls, or the concrete floor. He switches sides, gazing at the posters and graffiti that people have hung up. He laughs a little when an old woman and her dog pass by.

You try to calculate how far you have to dash upstairs to the street level to try and find a cab or rideshare. Knowing how busy it is downtown generally, you wonder how long you’d have to wait for a driver. Also, what money would you use to pay for the ride? Your subway card is fully stocked for the month. Would it be worth it to ask Jungkook to help you out with a ride? But then, would he end up sharing the ride with you? Would that really be so bad? He’d probably say more insipid nonsense, but at least you’d get that much closer to your foot soak. Maybe you could put your earbuds in and listen to some music so that you could just look at him instead of having to listen to him.

Before you can finish your calculations, you and Jungkook are fighting for space as you cram into the late train’s busiest car.

You get shoved toward the middle of the car, meaning that you’ll have to stand and grip one of the poles running from floor to ceiling, nothing for you to lean on when the train makes its sharp turns.

Jungkook, perhaps in an attempt to help you out, stands behind you, shielding you the best he can from all the bodies pressed up against one another in this, your second hellish nightmare of the day.

You scowl and try to pretend like he isn’t there. But it’s hard to pretend. His cologne is tickling your nostrils, and his body is contoured to yours. You can feel how tailored his suit is. You can feel every muscle. You can feel every part of him.

“You… uh… you OK?” he whispers. 

You hate that you can hear him through the din in the car. You hate that his voice sounds so calm and reassuring. Why is he being so nice?

“I’m fine,” you stress, no longer feeling the need to hide your grit teeth.

“Just checking,” he whispers.

You sigh and look around. “I fucking hate this train,” you whisper back. 

He laughs softly, and you bonk your forehead on the pole in annoyance.

The train shudders forward and starts to take one of those sharp turns. Jungkook’s left arm springs to life, having no choice but to wrap around your waist to be able to access the pole that you’re surrounding. His arm being there helps you stay upright. You’re begrudgingly thankful, as everyone not sitting down starts to bounce wildly, all of them roaring with complaints.

“I fucking hate people,” you whisper, letting yourself lean into Jungkook as the train rocks you around.

Jungkook hums, and you feel it vibrating in his stomach as strongly as the metal around you.

You hate that oncoming feeling of pinpricks behind your eyelids, and when the train goes through a tunnel, engulfing you in blackness for a moment, you squeeze those tears out and hope that blotting them with the hem of your coat sleeve back at the back of your hand keeps the damage to your makeup to a minimum.

“I fucking hate everything,” you finish. 

Jungkook notices the way you’re gripping the pole. Knuckles white as the blinding light that you’re all washed in when the train exits the tunnel and ramps up, traveling above ground.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Jungkook whispers back. “This can’t have been a pleasant day for you.”

You glance backward, seeing his free arm dangling.

“No, it hasn’t been, and you’ve certainly made sure of that,” you snipe back.

Jungkook hums again. He wonders if you know that he can smell your perfume, too. If you know how well you actually carried yourself today. If you know what moves he’s trying to make.

“I wasn’t trying to ruin your day. And I wasn’t following you. But if I’m being honest, I’m glad that I met you today. And that I ran into you here. Now.”

You see his right arm starting to wrap around you.

His breath hits warm on the back of your neck.

You both look up at the crowd around you, scanning to see if anybody’s paying attention. 

Nobody is.

“I know you were watching me at the coffee shop,” he whispers, right into your ear, as you both keep scanning furtively. “Just like I was watching you.”

You think about his eyes roaming your perimeter. Maybe he didn’t think you were so cookie-cutter after all.

“And, after watching you, I’m wondering if I can… help in a… different way?” he asks hopefully.

You hold your free arm against your body, a buffer between you and him. “And what way is that?” you ask, quietly.

“You didn’t like my coffee,” he says, “and you didn’t seem to like my train card—”

You growl.

He chuckles. “But maybe you’d… like my fingers?”

He heeds your warning buffer arm and places his hand on your right shoulder instead. He starts to massage you there, putting just the right amount of pressure in all the knots that have formed.

You close your eyes and inhale sharply, letting out your gigantic breath slowly as he works the tension away.

“Good?” he asks.

You have to give it to him. “Yeah,” you admit. “That’s, uh… yeah. It’s good.”

He watches as your neck leans further to the left. If he could nibble on the space you’re making for him, he would. 

And when you let out an appreciative grunt at a particularly good rub, he nearly does.

“Where else do you want my fingers?” he asks.

You sigh and bite your lip.

His eyes glance around the subway car. Everyone’s too pulled into their own phones or books or newspapers to notice what you’re doing. Too lost in the grind.

“Maybe your back?” he whispers. 

You nod slowly, taking in a sweeping glance of the rest of the train. Usually, you’re just like them, using your phone to move onto the next thing. Check for the next appointment. Scan for the next message. It’s interesting, being in the moment, even if you’re still technically in the whirl of the hustle.

He places his hand on your lower back, just above the back belt loop of your coat’s sash, and starts to work on the knot of flesh there.

Your knees nearly buckle, his fingers work so well.

You lean back into him, sighing softly as he works away more of that tension. That frustration.

“Glad you’re liking it,” he says gently, his lips grazing your earlobe.

You take in a breath and hold it, looking around quickly to see if anybody heard you.

“What about… where you seem to need it most?” Jungkook asks. There’s an edge to his voice. Jagged. Almost uncaring if you happen to get caught.

You turn back to him.

Your eyes meet and lock, and you’re surprised that he’d even have the thought. Not because the thought is surprising. You’ve definitely fantasized about this sort of thing before. Maybe not on the subway, per se, and especially not on your train, where you might run into people you know. 

But you’ve fantasized about stopping in the middle of your day. Making everything come to a grinding halt. Allowing yourself just a moment of pleasure before you have to rush off.

You nod again, even slower.

He smiles and licks his lips.

But he doesn’t move until you raise your arm, making room for him to tighten his hold around you, and press you into the pole.

His hand searches for your sash. He pulls the long, free end and undoes the bow. He unbuttons the big, black, circles at your waist and hips. And then he presses his hand against the front of your skirt. Through your clothing, he dips his fingers into your flesh, wet and slippery, even with your layers of fabric soaking up some of your juices. 

He grunts softly into your ear, and you push back into him, moving your hips in barely discernible circles against his mound. You feel him stirring awake, but his pants are thick. He won’t be able to come, but you’re getting closer and closer, feeling him sort out what is cotton and what is flesh, and honing in on your clit. Unable to stroke it the way he wants, the way he knows you want, he changes tact and flattens his palm. He lets you grind against it, pressing into you, letting you press back into him, both of you moving forward against the pole for more of that delightful pressure.

He works hard, evaporating the last of the frustration and hate. His watch clinks against the metal of the pole, and the train dives back underground. You know that you’ll be in darkness for a little bit. You take the chance, hugging the pole and even riding his arm a little, eager to squeeze out that delicious orgasm before light hits you again.

No one knows when you come.

No one except him.

You exit the train station and, red-faced, re-tie your coat even tighter than the last four times since you left the train car, wanting to make sure that you’ve hidden any evidence of what you’ve just done. 

You stare at the ground as Jungkook tries to meet your eyes.

“Never had a train ride like that before,” he comments.

“Yeah, well…”

When you look up, he’s smirking.

You still want to tear your hair out.

“Thanks, I guess,” you say, a weird, confusing mix of emotions starting to layer themselves within you. “This was… interesting.”

Jungkook laughs. “Very.” He looks around your surroundings before looking back at you. “Can’t believe this is your stop, too.”

“One of them,” you admit. “I’m grabbing a few things from the store. I’m a few blocks up ahead.”

You gesture down the block, and Jungkook nods. “I’m that way,” he replies, pointing in the opposite direction. He smiles at you. “We’ll run into each other again.”

“Maybe,” you say.

Jungkook just smiles.

And then you part ways.

For the first time in a while, you get the itch to check your phone. When you reach into your purse and pull it out, you notice three missed calls from Jimin.

You stop in your tracks and call him back immediately. You feel the crowd around you continuing to move, your hair and your skirt ruffling in the breezes set in motion by their coming and going.

“Hello?” he asks.

“Hi, yes—” Someone knocks into you, and you take the cue to get off the sidewalk, moving toward your grocery store’s awning. “Is this Park Jimin? I interviewed today, just returning the calls I missed.”

“No worries. You mentioned the train, so I figured you just had bad reception,” Jimin responds. “Mind if you jump on video with me?”

“Sure, just let me—” You look around and find an alleyway to duck into.  You check your hair and try to ignore how flustered you still feel before switching on the camera. You’re glad to see that even though you shed some tears, your eyeliner and mascara have stayed put.

Jimin’s pleasant face appears on your screen. “Great! Thanks for making this a video call. This won’t be quick. I just like seeing people’s expressions when I deliver the news.”

“What news?” you ask, that mix of confusing emotions evolving into more puzzlement. 

“You’re hired!” Jimin cheers. “We’d absolutely love it if you could join our team as an account manager. I’m drawing up the paperwork as we speak, and I’ve got just a few questions—”

“What?!” you ask, shocked and still processing.

“Yeah,” Jimin laughs happily, “congratulations. You’re hired.” He smiles proudly at you. “Your resume is extremely strong, and I have been continuously impressed with how you’ve responded during our interviews. Jungkook felt the same.”

“Jungkook?” you ask.

And that’s when you notice a blue lanyard around Jimin’s neck, holding his work badge in place.

You think of Jungkook’s pocket.

“We both liked the way you responded to our stress interview questions,” Jimin replies. And then he blinks, suddenly realizing something. “Oh, right. I was so excited that I forgot.” He grins again. “Jungkook is another account manager, same as you. He and other teammates tag along on these interviews to mimic the stress.” Jimin laughs heartily. “God, he was trying so hard to pretend to be one of those difficult clients! He’s not usually like that.”

“He’s not?” you sputter. You whirl around, trying to catch Jungkook in the crowd. “He’s— I’m— He and I are— We’re—”

“Coworkers,” Jimin replies, “hopefully. If we can work out an acceptable contract. Sometimes the onboarding process can be a bit stressful.”

You laugh to yourself. 

You place a hand on your coat’s sash.

And then you look at Jimin.

“I’m learning that there are plenty of ways to deal with stress,” you say, smiling into the camera.

#bts fanfiction #bts drabbles #ficscafe #ksmutclub #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jeongguk x reader #jeongguk x you #jeongguk x y/n #jk x you #jk x reader #jk x y/n #bts smut #asks queue

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi!

I'm here for a pretty stupid thing actually but I've always found it annoying to do: summaries for fics. I never know how much is too little, how much is too much, or if what I'm putting is going to make people think “wow this sounds interesting” or “wow what a shit, keep scrolling”

Do you think it is better to make a summary as such, or include some lines from the story? Idk, any advice would be appreciated

Thanks for taking your time to read!

Hugss🥰

Hey Nonny!! *HUGS*

Ah, the bane of all writers... the blasted summary to describe your story in as little words as possible to get people interested. The LITERAL very last thing you have to do on a story. Always a fun time.

And it's daunting and can feel very overwhelming, because, just like in advertising (my professional background), you have a TINY window to grasp people's attention and make them WANT to click on your fic to read. As an avid reader of fanfic, I do have my own preferences on what I look for... but as a professional, I think I can offer some wisdom in this part here, for a change. PLEASE KNOW that this is different for EVERYONE! These are just some things I picked up in my 20 years in advertising, and applying it to – what is essentially – a "classifieds" board for stories.

Attention-Grabbing Title – Not PERTINENT, but the average reader is more likely to continue reading what you have to offer if your headline is interesting. Even one word ones can grab attention. Something whimsical or metaphorical to your story is always a winner.

Short and Concise Description / Call to Action – One to two sentences is an average attention span before someone gets bored and moves on to the next post. You need to entice someone into reading MORE of your summary in those first two sentences, if you have a long summary. Start your summary with the subject of the story. ie. "John has a problem: he's well hung." That example right there will entice someone to read your summary further.

Grammar Check your Summary – BECAUSE the summary is a representation of what's to come in your story, make sure you get that summary spell-checked or beta'd with your beta. It's a small thing, but it can help bring people in, and especially if you're trying to appeal to a language that you're unfamiliar with. Your beta can even help you refine the summary so it's more attention-grabbing.

Rate Your Story – "Not Rated" stories have a lesser chance of being read than something rated. Doesn't matter what it is, just put a rating there. At least, if people are doing a ratings filter, then you will show up in a search result.

If You're Writing a WiP, State the status of your story at the end of your summary. Many people such as myself don't want to start a WiP without the certainty that it will be done. Stating something like "Story is finished, new chapter every Friday" is a GREAT way to get engagement on your story, AND generate excitement and buzz for it from the day-oners. THEY are your advertisers. A LOT of people like the suspense of a week-to-week model... it's why syndicated television is still alive! A lot of our Fandom authors do their stories this way, working on chapters weeks in advance while posting chapters "approved". It gives YOU time to write and proof, while also having a Live / Active WiP Story that will keep people coming back.

So yeah, those are some tips from an advertising standpoint.

As a reader, though, my PERSONAL interest in a fic is based solely on these 4 things:

The Ship Tags – use "/" (slash for Slash-fiction) for romantic and sexual relationships, and "&" for platonic/friendships or non-sexual relationships. I, for a fact, DO filter stories by the ship tags FIRST, so I'm sure other people do too. Make sure that you use them.

The Story Tags – Ao3 has spoiled us with these!... List relevant tags, tropes, Universes, and genres that pertain to your story... these are what help get your story found in the search algorithm. Don't write "tumblr-style tags" (ie. "this story took way too long") into this field. It is a big turn off for many people (myself included), AND it fucks with the Ao3 search results. Use author notes or descriptions to write your Tumblr-style musings! The tags should ONLY contain content within your story that may appeal to people OR help trigger/content warn against stuff. Yes, I understand that many authors poo-poo on "spoilers in tags", but in all the years I have been reccing fics, I have NEVER ONCE been told that people don't like how meticulous I tag everything I rec. A LOT of people will use those tags to filter OUT stuff that they personally can't read or don't like. Apart from the summary, the Tags are VERY important, AND it can help you come up with a more interesting and short summary that doesn't need to be descriptive. Use the suggested tags that Ao3 offers when you start typing – these are tags, I believe, that have been used frequently on the site.

The Summary – I KNOW it is legit the worst thing to have to come up with, but your story has a higher chance of being read if you stick to writing a concise summary as I've pointed out above. Some people also may choose to use an interesting blurb from their stories as a preview, which some DON'T like, but it's honestly better than nothing. I know for a fact that I have skipped over stories that don't have SOMETHING in the summary box NOR any tags. I know this isn't what you want to hear, Lovely, but put something here, even if it's just "A literal fuck-tonne of porn without plot" (I give authors permission to steal that pun, LOL).

WiP or Not – This is one of those "gamble" things. As I mentioned above, some authors do a week-to-week advanced model for their story chapters, while others "post each chapter when done". The latter tends to wind up with stories in limbo. PERSONALLY, I don't read WiP's for the simple fact that I get confused REALLY easily on plot lines when I do – I like reading one whole story in one go. But PLEASE don't take this as the golden end-all/be-all. This is a personal preference, since I read a LOT of fics and I have very little time these days to do it. Some people love WiPs. A good way to indicate that you have a story plotted out, but is NOT a week-to-week model? Add the Chapter count, rather than leaving it as "?". People are more likely to follow your WiP WITH a chapter count, since it gives the illusion that you have a rough draft written out and you know how long it will be.

So yeah! I hope this helped you out a bit, Nonny. Sorry it's so long, but I thought with how long I've been reading fics and with how picky I am with fics, these tips would be helpful for you. Again, at the end of the day, it's ALWAYS up to personal preferences of the readers. And don't take it personally if you can't "get an audience" right away. Just be yourself, write because you LOVE writing, and you will have a fruitful and enjoyable time publishing your story!

If any experienced authors in the fandom want to add their two cents from a WRITER'S perspective, please do! <3

#steph replies #my advice #writing advice #ao3 #archive of our own #my thoughts

[hardskz]

a penny for your thoughts.

pairing — han jisung x female! reader

genre — trope inversion of the soulmate au, college au, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff-ish, smut; oral, possessiveness kink, praise kink, safe word, size kink, first time

synopsis — life isn’t easy when you belong to the 1% of the world population that has a soulmate, know who your soulmate is and happen to be utterly in love with said soulmate’s best friend. alternatively, jisung can hear all of your unfiltered thoughts and has heard enough of your horny fantasies to the point where he wants to throw up, so he takes matters in his own hands. 

note — i think i’m gonna cry this work is my 11k word BABY i’ve never been THIS invested over a fic. this is purely self-indulgent and an emotional rollercoaster ride if you ask me. this fic is all over the place it’s chaotic and i apologize in advance for many italics you are welcome i hope you CRY and SUFFER with me because completing this bitch was a midlife crisis in itself. that being said, i appreciate any form of constructive criticism so pls go ahead and rip my baby apart sdkjl

“You’re staring again,” Hyunjin notes. Seungmin and Jeongin stifle a burst of laughter while Felix, whose head is resting on Hyunjin’s lap, sends you a look that resembles Candace from Phineas and Ferb whenever she finds her brothers creating some whacky futuristic shit, laughs like a madman and then resumes to call her mother with an ear-splitting MOOOM! because she’s so certain that her brothers are busted this time.

“Am not,” you huff as you tear your eyes away from the guy just sitting a little bit farther away from you, basking in the warm glow of the sun. Today he’s sitting in the perfect angle, giving you the best view on his side profile. His signature cap is perched right on top of his head but even then, you can see how his eyes brighten up and how the corners of his lips tug upwards as he laughs at his friend’s joke.

“You’re a worse case than the Mary Sue protagonist of every romance anime ever.” Seungmin snorts before he playfully nudges your side with his shoe. “Just say you want Seo Changbin to bang you and go.”

“Hey! We have a child present!” Hyunjin chastises, to which Jeongin rolls his eyes.

“I’m not a child. We’re all in fucking college.”

“Fine, not a child then. The baby has been corrupted! Don’t swear, it sounds so wrong coming from you!”

“Shut up. It’s called freedom of speech!”

“It’s ‘shut up Hyung’ to you!”

Felix groans in distress and is probably rethinking his life choices. Seriously, what does Felix, resident hopeless romantic, see in Hyunjin? Sure, he’s good-looking and a great friend when he’s not bitching around or hovering over the nearest trash can after taking too many shots. But a romantic? Please, Hyunjin can’t even eat without making a mess out of his shirt.

“I don’t want him to bang me,” you mutter and receive a collective ‘yeah sure’ look. “Fine, I don’t want him to bang me only. He’s nice,” you retort before your eyes flit back to him for a millisecond. By now, Changbin has put his hands on the grass and is leaning back, enjoying the sunlight while listening halfheartedly to the other guy blabbering.

“And hot. We get it. Now get dicked,” Seungmin deadpans, earning flabbergasted looks from everyone and a smack from Hyunjin.

“Show a little more empathy, you dickwad. She’s whipped.”

“Anyway—“ Felix sits up, earning a pout from Hyunjin but he blatantly ignores it, and directs the conversation back to the previous topic before the other two bump heads, “(y/n), you have his number. You’re not strangers, so why don’t you just make a move?”

You glance at him with horror in your eyes. “What do you expect me to do? Ring him up and ask him to hang out with me because I find him cute?”

“Uh, duh? Last time I checked, that’s how you ask someone out.”

“Absolutely not.”

“New idea.” Seungmin butts in. “Why don’t you ask Han Jisung—“

“No.”

“Agreed.” Hyunjin shoots you a nod of approval before Seungmin can start yet another interrogation about your bitter hatred towards Jisung. Jisung, who happens to be said friend of Changbin that is laughing beside him right now. “He must think he’s so much better than us because he’s hanging out with the senior geniuses of the music production major. Then again, Seo Changbin and Bang Chan are on a different level than us commoners.”

“Speaking of Chan,” you quickly say to steer the conversation away from the personification of everything you hate. “Where is he? It’s so weird seeing the trio incomplete.”

This time, Jeongin chimes in. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Chan and that one language major — you know, the one who collapsed a while back?” When all he’s met with are clueless faces, Jeongin sighs. “Seriously, you guys should keep up with campus news. I swear, everyone and their mothers already know by now. But anyway, they’re soulmates. It’s also the reason why Chan has been pulled out of the boxing team until the end of the semester and had to cancel their training camp as soon as she broke down.”

Felix does a double-take. “But Chan’s the ace of the boxing club!”

“It is what it is.” Jeongin stretches his legs out, shrugging. “What else is to expect when you have the proximity link and need to be around your soulmate within a certain distance unless you want death?”

“Poor guy. Must be a smack in the face for him, now that he’s got a soulmate and happens to have the worst link one could have.” Seungmin says.

“The tattoos are worse though.” Hyunjin fires back. “I mean, you’re literally born with a tattoo of your soulmate’s name and then grow up knowing that you have one? And even if you never meet them, you won’t have better chances with others if you want some romance. Who in their right mind wants to have a lover who’s got someone else’s name tattooed on them since birth?”

“No one.” You chuckle. “Absolutely no one.”

In another lifetime, another universe, you and Jisung would probably be on better terms. He’s sunshine on legs and looks decent from an objective point of view.

In another lifetime, another universe, you’d like to believe you’re childhood friends and have been neighbors ever since your first shit in your diapers. Perhaps you would be clowned from being inseparable once in a while, but you’d go with it and then shrug it off as if it was nothing.

In another lifetime, another universe, you’d like to believe that being soulmates doesn’t equal the downfall of two people. Sure, the fact that people are bound to each other and the danger of growing too dependent on that person remains, but it probably won’t be so frowned upon. Probably. Hopefully.

However, as much as you want to twist it, another lifetime is not this lifetime, the reality.

In reality, you and Jisung are only neighbors because the universe has some kind of inexplicable hatred towards you. Seriously, you must’ve done something wrong in your previous life to be punished in this one. And because the universe has sadistic tendencies and loves to make you suffer, the laws of the universe are just as equally fucked up.

The concept of soulmates is a lot of things, but most of all, it’s a mystery. There are endless possibilities for soulmate links, not all of them discovered. And unlike popular belief, soulmates do not have to necessarily share the same link. So voilà, even more fuckery from the universe.

There’s only one reason that justifies your wholehearted, unfiltered hatred towards Han Jisung. Well, only one reason that seems justified in this lifetime.

The tattoo is simple; just fine black characters under your collarbone that are nicely hidden under high-cut shirts.

But the fact that it’s his name tattooed on you since birth remains.

“Let me crash here for the night.”

“No.”

“Let me crash here for the night, please.”

“My answer is still no.”

The exasperation is plastered on Jisung’s face as he tries to keep his temper in check. Truth be told, it’s damn satisfying seeing him wanting to rip your head off but refraining to do so. Perhaps you’re enjoying this more than you expected at one o’clock in the morning. For the past five minutes, Jisung has been asking you to let him stay over for the night. You’d save him out of his misery and help a neighbor out who locked himself out of his apartment at this hour — well, if he wasn’t Han Jisung.

By now, he’s growing more impatient with every further rejection. “Oh come on, all my friends live on the other side of town and you can’t expect me to ask the old grandma next door! At this rate, I’m gonna freeze to death overnight!”

“Then go break a window or something,” you deadpan, ignoring the dramatic hand gestures he’s making to accentuate his words.

“The fuck? I’m not going to break into my own place.”

Not wanting to draw out the pointless conversation any longer, you’re about to slam the door shut when he blocks your action with his foot. “C’mon, just this one night. Please.”

He’s not budging anytime soon. His bullheadedness reminds you of Seungmin, who always tries to get Hyunjin wasted whenever you attend those Greek frat parties. Seungmin, who always succeeds in getting Hyunjin wasted, followed by Hyunjin hugging a bucket for the next few hours as he tries to get over the hangover. With a defeated sigh, you gesture Jisung to come inside and don’t wait for him until he’s taken his shoes off at the entryway.

“Look, I know you don’t like me—“

“Well, ‘don’t like’ is putting it very lightly—” you scoff once he’s caught up to you in the living room. It’s not exactly spacious; the couch takes up most of the room and college assignments are spread all over the minuscule coffee table.

“You could at least treat me like a decent human being.”

That statement is enough to get your ears flaming. You whip your head in his direction, voice getting louder. “How can I when your existence is making my life worse than it already is! And I mean it literally! Just seeing your name whenever I look at myself through the mirror sickens me!”

“Stop acting like you’re the only victim here.” Jisung snaps back in the same manner. If there was a little bit of etiquette in the first place, it has all vanished now. “I’m not having it easier when all I hear from you is the dozen ways you want Changbin to fuck you dumb!”

You freeze.

“Cat got your tongue? It’s already bad enough that you have those kinds of thoughts about my best friend every single day.”

“But I thought— y-you had the proximity link?!” This has to be a joke. A very bad one at that. His proximity link is the very sole reason why you lived next to him. His soulmate link is the only reason why you’ve been stuck together like glue since you could walk.

Jisung taps his foot impatiently, running his hand through his hair. “That’s what I thought too until I started hearing things that nobody said around me. First, it was just a few thoughts every other day, but now you’re like an annoying radio that I can’t switch off.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? I would’ve—“

“Stopped fantasizing about Changbin’s dick? And then you would’ve jumped to the next person. I don’t care if you like him or not, it’s none of my business. Changbin’s hot, anyone with eyes can tell. Besides, it’s not like you have a chance anyway…”

You feel your blood boiling at his underlying message and cross your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jisung doesn’t bat an eyelash and says in a mocking tone as if stating the obvious. “No doubt that Changbin will make you feel good. But could you return the favor?”

That’s a low blow. Even for Jisung, that’s a low blow.

“I get that you’ve got a dirty mind. But those are just fantasies. Could you really execute them just the way you had in your head? You don’t even have experience in the first place.”

“If I sucked you off right now, you wouldn’t even be able to speak properly!” God knows what went over you when you countered. At this point, rage has taken over your brain and you don’t even realize what you just said right away. Not that it matters anyway; all you see is red.

Jisung just raises a brow, clearly unimpressed by your outburst. “Prove it,” he challenges casually and then flops himself onto the couch, legs spread wide. It’s an open invitation. “Go ahead, make me see reason with your oh so mind-blowing skills.”

The only thing you’re able to do physically is gape at him. He is joking, right? As if he actually means it—

“I knew it. Shameless in your head but too flustered to say it out loud, let alone following up with your bold statements.”

That seals the deal. You’re fuelled by anger and the desire to prove him wrong as you drop on your knees and are on eye level with his crotch. However, your spirit dissolves the longer you silently stare and realize that you have no fucking clue on what to do. Jisung is painfully aware of that too.

“I’m more terrified than turned on seeing your angry face.” He lets out an exasperated sigh before he pulls you up and directs you to sit on his lap. “Obviously it’s not working when neither of us is in the mood. You gotta get in the mood first,” he mutters, hands settling on your hips.

The look in his eyes is more composed now, but you can tell he’s being observant. As if you have clues written all over your face, he keeps you under his stern gaze. Then his eyes droop lower to your lips and he slowly leans forward.

Not even a second later, you firmly plant your hands on his shoulder and push him back. “No lips.”

If Jisung is judgemental about your sudden stunt, he doesn’t comment on it. “Anything else, your royal majesty?”

You’re too tired to react to his mockery and roll your eyes. “No marks.”

“I can work with that,” he mumbles more to himself rather to you. Then he leans forward again and buries his face in the crook of your neck. Surprised by his actions and new to the unfamiliar sensation, you tense up. Jisung seems to take notice of that too.

“Relax,” he orders, rubbing circles on your hips to help you loosen up.

Well, that’s easier said than done. It’s already bad enough that you’re gradually exposing yourself as the complete amateur you are, and out of all people who could’ve been the first to do any form of sexual advances on you, it just had to be Jisung. Perhaps you shouldn’t have rejected that one kid in high school who was the only one who ever had a crush on you. Even if that kid wasn’t your type and not a serious commitment anyway, maybe you would’ve at least some sort of experience with dick.

“A-ah—“ your breath hitches when he nips on the patch below your earlobe. He smiles against your skin as if he just made some scientific discovery and swipes his tongue on the same spot, eager to make you squirm. Not wanting to slip up anymore, you clamp your mouth shut with a hand.

“Let me hear you, baby. Just relax, I got you.” When the fuck did his voice start to sound lower and raspier? Where did ‘baby’ come from? All rationality and resistance leave your body when he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him.

The cologne of musk lingers strong on him, almost intoxicating even, and you can’t form a cohesive thought anymore. The only things you are painfully aware of are an arm forcing your chest flush against his and his hot breath all over your neck.

You’re so far gone that you fail to notice that you’ve started grinding on his lap. Jisung moans softly into your neck as he encourages you to move with his hands.

“On your knees, baby,” he whispers after a while. A rush of disappointment runs through your veins once he detaches his lips from you and slides you off his lap, but all of that is forgotten once you see the prominent bulge in his pants.

Right. There’s a reason why you ended up in this predicament in the first place.

Jisung urges you to touch him with a simple nudge. “C’mon, baby. Take it off.”

You don’t waste time discarding his sweatpants. Just when you’re about to tug his underwear off, you notice the wet patch on the fabric. A surge of mischief washes over you as you boldly cupped his hard-on over his boxers, causing an obscenely loud moan from him.

He flinches, definitely not expecting that brashness from you, and throws his head back. “S-stop teasing me already and take that goddamn thing off or God help me what I’m going to do if you push my buttons.”

That. That was a threat. That dealt much more damage to you than you like to admit.

As much as you want to watch him break and see if he’d make his threats come true, you decide against your feelings and hook your fingers under the waistband and tug the fabric down in one swift motion. A groan leaves Jisung as his cock, fully hard and leaking precum, is exposed to the cold air. He’s certainly above average; on the longer side probably, and you’re conflicted on whether to think fuck, I want him in my mouth right now or fuck, how on earth is that supposed to fit into my mouth?!

You don’t get far with your inner conflict when a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and slowly urges you closer. The next thing you know, something is tapping your lips and before you fully register it, the tip of Jisung’s cock lies heavy on your tongue.

You carefully look up and meet Jisung’s hooded eyes. His shirt has ridden up a bit and flashes just a little bit of his toned stomach. That’s just enough of an indicator to see that Jisung is holding himself back, in case his irregular breathing hasn’t been a dead giveaway.

Jisung opens his mouth, about to say something, when you give an experimental suck on his dick. “Do something— f-fuck, a little more, baby.”

That’s enough to build your confidence up. You slowly take in more of his dick, sucking carefully and making sure to cover your teeth. The rest that doesn’t fit in your mouth is barely covered with your hands, and you messily try to coordinate your hands, switching between rubbing the base of his dick to cupping his balls.

“Mmh, use more pressure,” Jisung whispers, not trusting the stability of his voice when you fondle with his balls. A groan leaves him when you suck harder on his cock and switch back to swirling your tongue around. For a total beginner, you are holding yourself up better than he expected. Fuck.

“Focus on the tip fir— hhh- aa-ah...” His brain blacks out for a moment when you swirl your tongue around his tip and dare an experimental hum, the vibrations going straight down to his dick. The grip on your hair loosens, but it’s still firm enough to experience a sharp tug. “You’re doing good baby. So good.”

The combination of his sounds, the decent taste of precum on your tongue and the way his adam’s apple bops is enough to send you into sensory overload. You notice the way Jisung tenses his thighs, as to keep them still. You’re about to pull out completely to prevent your drool from getting on your face. However, before you get the chance to complain, he forces his length back on you that it grazes the back of your throat, nearly making you choke.

“Fuck, I— I’m gonna— s-soon—“ he hisses and you take it as a sign to speed up. At this point, your jaw hurts and a mixture of drool and precum drips down your chin. It’s borderline disgusting if you think about it, but the delectable sounds leaving Jisung compensates for it.

He sharply tugs on your hair, ordering you to pull off, but you slap his hand away. “I’m going to spill in your mouth if you don’t pull off right now—“ Jisung chokes on his words when you interrupt him with a hum as if to say so what? It doesn’t help that you’re looking up at him with teary eyes and a lot of conviction, even though you’re visibly struggling to keep half of his dick in your mouth.

When he cums, it’s accompanied but drawn out moans, and you forcing yourself to swallow the horrible texture. It’s not horrible per se, but you’d gladly refuse to swallow a second time if you were given the choice.

Jisung looks down at you with flushed cheeks and is about to wipe off the drool or cum or whatever liquid is staining your bottom lip, but you quickly block his hand. “I’ll clean up by myself.”

For a minuscule second, he looks defeated; he looks borderline disappointed, but before you can pinpoint his feelings for sure, his expression changes. “But what about you?” he asks, eyes raking down your body and stopping at the waistband of your pants.

“I’ll deal with it on my own.” You shrug, avoiding his eyes. All of sudden, you find it hard to breathe in the room as the realization settles into your brain. You just sucked off Jisung. Jisung, out of all fucking people.

“You sure?” Your eyes flit to him who looks like he’s been observing you the entire time. His breathing has calmed down, his lips look a little bit plumper than before and his hair sticks out in all different directions. Looking at his current state makes you feel sick, and your undying hatred for him starts growing again. It’s your fault that he looks so fucked out and—

Why the fuck did you even do that?

“Yes. Now stop asking before I change my mind and kick you out.”

Before he can have the last word, you turn on your heels and rush into your bedroom, ignoring the fact that your underwear is practically drenched.

You wake up to the smell of pancakes emerging from the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making breakfast?” Jisung throws you a questioning look and then plates the last batch of pancakes from the pan. “It’s the least I can do after you were friendly enough to let me crash on the couch.”

Your eyes wander to the countertop to the two plates stacked with pancakes. Jisung finishes up the second plate and hands it out to you.

You stare dumbly at the plate. It’s too early for your brain to mouth filter to work, so the first thing you spit out is, “How do I know you didn’t poison it?”

“Are you fucking serious—“ Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, mutters something inaudible under his breath before he puts on the fakest smile he can muster. “I can take a bite if you really insist.”

“Give me that plate.” You point to the other plate on the counter. Presentation-wise, it looks the same as the one Jisung is offering you, minus the visible steam.

“There. Wanna switch again or can I finally eat?” he scoffs when you walk past him to get cutlery and sit at the dining table; it’s essentially a round wooden table where one of the legs is about to break. Two plates and a pitcher at most take up the entire surface. You really should consider buying a new table, but you have better things to spend on rather than that.

From your peripheral vision, you see Jisung rolling his eyes. Perhaps you were making an entire unnecessary circus, critically cutting through the pancake and inspecting each and every side before stuffing it in your mouth. But again, in your defense, it’s too early in the morning to show basic etiquette towards him out of all people.

You have to admit that visually, the pancakes look good. What you didn’t expect were the pancakes to taste just how they look. It looks like you couldn’t contain your surprise in you, judging by the amused smirk that finds its way onto Jisung’s face as he claims the chair across from you.

“As if you could actually cook,” you splutter because there’s no fucking way you are giving him that satisfaction of the day.

However, it seems to bemuse him even more. “You literally eat this every day and know the recipe by heart. With the excessive number of times you recite the ingredients a day, obviously, something got stuck in my brain,” he explains while cutting through his own portion.

The rest of breakfast is spent in silence. You both finish at the same time and while you’re washing the dishes, he’s stayed put in the chair, mindlessly checking something on his phone.

“You didn’t have to cook, you know. You could’ve just left.” you start. It’s already awkward enough that he’s still here. Bloody hell, you should’ve just waited with the plates and ushered him out of your place instead of just getting away as fast as possible from the table. Now that you think about it, this was probably the only time you two were somewhat amicable at such proximity. (Even if you didn’t talk at all. Still, it’s progress.)

He drops his phone on the table with a soft ‘bang’. “It’s the least I could do. Besides, I was starving too.”

“In other words, you’re taking advantage of my fridge?”

“Exactly.”

Just as you’re drying your hands, he’s about to leave. “I’ll get going, lecture’s starting in a few. And, uh, thanks for letting me stay here.”

You just shoot him a weird look. “You already thanked me once. How often do you wanna repeat yourself?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Fine, next time I’ll just leave without a word then.”

It’s when he’s finally out of the door that his last words sink in.

“Yo, I have pics of sweaty Changbin in a jersey. How much do you wanna pay for those gems?”

You nearly choke on air. “What the fuck?” Really, that’s the only appropriate reaction.

“Hyunjin, this needs more context.” Felix looks like he’s seriously second-guessing his taste in men before shaking it off with a sigh and elaborates. “He’s been trying to find out some scoop about Chan for the campus blog and caught him in his angry boxer mode and Changbin was also there assisting him. Hey, did you know that Chan doesn’t tape his hands before punching the bag? Fuck, that’s so intimidating but so hot at the same time—“

“Yah! I’m your boyfriend! How can you say that in front of me?!”

Changbin. Changbin in a jersey. Changbin in a jersey and drenched in sweat. And Hyunjin seriously has HQ pictures of that Changbin.

It really, absolutely shouldn’t have been the first thing that crossed your mind, but the idea of that Changbin — bonus if he still has anger pent up in him — barging into your place and instantly throwing you on the bed—

“I’m not a perverted creep who’s gonna buy pictures of him that he doesn’t even know exist. Besides, isn’t that a violation of his rights? He never consented to those pics. This is college, you’re only working for the campus blog, not fucking Dispatch.” you deadpan.

“So you don’t even want to take a sneak peek at a picture?”

“No.”

You barely stepped a foot into your apartment when Jisung storms out of his own place and stops in front of you. “You fucking liar.”

“Excuse me? What the— hmph!”

The next thing you know, Jisung forces his way into your hallway, slams the door shut and crowds you against it. His face is invading your personal space, eyes enraged and jaw locked. Even though his anger is far from justified as you haven’t glanced at him ever since he stayed over, a tiny part of you believes that you pissed him off for good. It's not the first time you witness him angry. However, it's the first time you witness him look as if someone murdered his family and was trying to get revenge.

“I thought you took care of it yourself!”

“Took care of what?”

“Did you already forget that I can read your mind?!”

You scrunch your nose, trying to connect the dots in his words. It doesn't take long for you to realize that there’s no point in trying. A frustrated groan leaves you. “Why are you getting so riled up? I just breathed and you stormed into my place!”

“‘Bullshit. You weren’t just breathing,” he snaps, and you flinch when his hand lands a few inches beside your face with a loud pang. “You were thinking of Changbin again! And I mean that in the thousand sex positions and locations you want him to bang you kind of thinking! And also—“

“Also what?”

“I know you’ve been pent up for days. Seriously, why don’t you just get off like every other sane human being?”

His brutal delivery leaves you flabbergasted. How the fuck does he know that? No. No. No. He doesn’t know. He can’t. Just because he can read your mind doesn’t mean that you didn’t pleasure yourself after giving him that blowjob. Jisung’s probably bluffing — he has to be bluffing.

“W-why should I answer you?” you stutter. Suddenly the walls look much more interesting. When was the last time you painted the walls? Maybe it’s time to switch things up—

“Are you really about to get all cocky with me? Give me a break.” Jisung chews on his bottom lip after little deliberation. “You wanna know why? Because one of my best friends is going through a hard time that can utterly destroy his entire future thanks to the fucking universe! If that isn’t stressful as it is, I also see and hear all kinds of things you want Changbin to do to you. And your fantasies are also affecting me.”

You stare at him as if he sprouted eight new legs. “So you’ve also been…?”

“Sexually frustrated? Fuck yes. And it’s all your fault. So take responsibility and do something against it before I do.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“So what if I am?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine once you meet his stone-cold gaze. Frustration is displayed all over his features, from his labored breaths to the raised brow. He’s not playing mind games this time, he’s actually frustrated.

There are a billion red flags, a billion blinking signs saying NO DON’T YOU EVEN THINK OF DOING THIS! DON’T BE A FUCKING IDIOT in your mind. There are so many countless reasons why you should listen to your head, but the way Jisung is lusting after you is terrifyingly attractive.

You don’t trust your voice to respond verbally. Instead, you look down at your trembling hand and tug at the hem of his shirt. It’s just then when you also realize that your thighs are clenched. Fuck.

Jisung takes the hint. In the blink of an eye, he’s yanking you to your room, kicks the door shut with a loud ‘thud’, and manhandles you on the bed. You’re too stunned to react, and gulp when he hovers over you and strips off his jacket, leaving him in a white shirt that doesn’t hide his toned arms.

“Use the color system, alright? Green when everything is alright, yellow when you want me to slow down, and red when you want me to stop for good?” he asks.

“I know what the color system is,” you mutter, tearing your eyes away from him.

“That’s not an answer to my question.” he presses.

“Fine, color system it is. There! Happy? Now get on with it—“

Jisung pins your wrists above your head vigorously. “You don’t call the shots here. I do.”

Your stomach swoops. You really should’ve listened to your brain. This Jisung isn’t comparable with the Jisung you sucked off a few days ago. That Jisung was cocky — he’s always cocky, what are you even saying — but he still gave you room to breathe. This Jisung is downright scary.

“Good thing for you, I know exactly what you want me to do—” he starts sinisterly as his thigh settles firmly between your legs, pressing up against your clothed core. You suddenly regret wearing a skirt. “—and trust me baby, even if I couldn’t read your mind, I would do all those things because that’s what I plan on doing to you regardless.”

The look he gives you should be illegal. He shouldn’t be in the position to look down at you, as if he’s the king and has free reign over the consequences you are about to bear. Your head suddenly feels dizzy, and it’s way too hot in the room. It’s as if your bedroom has morphed into some vacuum as you’re desperately trying to breathe. Your system ceases to function once he presses his thigh even harder on your cunt, and all you manage to make is a pathetic whimper.

A menacing grin makes its way to his face. He’s clearly thriving on this ego-boost and continues to grind his thigh on you until your hips start to sway along. It seems like you found your voice again once he leans down and nibbles on your neck. Your moans are barely audible at first, but they slowly turn into drawn out mewls and labored breaths.

Your eyes snap open when he suddenly retreats his thigh and holds your hip in a vice grip, stopping you from moving. “W-what the fuck? Why did you stop?”

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Huh?” You squint at him. “But you can read my mind!”

“I want you to say it out loud.”

There’s no way in the universe that you’ll do that. You’ll gladly wipe off that shit-eating grin out of his face whether he likes it or not, but with his hold on your wrists, that is deemed impossible.

You should say something out loud though. Yellow. That would save you from the humiliation. You could regain at least an ounce of control, not feel so pathetic anymore. It’s a simple word, just two syllables, six letters. The tables can be turned to your advantage. It’s easy.

You don’t.

“You’re embarrassed, aren’t you? You can’t say all those filthy thoughts in your head out loud because you’re ashamed, huh? Not when you love feeling so powerless, subject to anything I do to you. Face it baby, just admit that you’re a needy little bitch who wants to get off on my fingers so bad, and I’ll give you what you want,” Jisung growls in between hot, wet kisses he leaves on your neck.

“I—“ you whimper after some difficulties, “I’m your needy little bitch w-who wants to get off on your fingers.”

Jisung’s head pipes up, his face just hovering a couple of inches away from yours. With that little distance between you, you know it’s not a trick of the light and that his eyes are blown up with hunger, hunger, and more hunger. "Not just any bitch, but mine? Do you like it when I call you mine?"

You nod. From there on, it’s a chain reaction.

He wastes no time slipping his fingers past your panties, mindlessly trailing along your folds. You throw your head back in pleasure, bucking your hips into his touch. A cry leaves you the moment he slips a finger inside you, his thumb simultaneously flicking your clit. It’s sensory overload, rendering your rationality to a standstill.

Your utter downfall is marked once Jisung adds a second finger, never slowing down. He groans at the way you clench around him like a maniac, and the sounds he makes send jolts all over your body. You’re writhing under his grasp at this point, overstimulated by everything yet at the same time, you feel your arousal slowly fading.

“Does my baby feel good? Are you close?” Jisung asks, nipping on your earlobe.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?”

The pit in your stomach grows. You’ve never experienced claustrophobia, but right now, it’s like everything’s suffocating you. “A-as in I don’t fucking know!” you exclaim shakily.

Jisung stops his movements. The weight on your wrists is lifted, and he looks at you, face unreadable. “(y/n), color. What’s your color?”

“Green. It’s just...” your trail off, avoiding his eyes.

“Just...?”

“I’ve never come before,” you confess in defeat. You really can’t believe that Jisung out of all people is the one to make the call of judgment. “I mean it! I’ve tried getting myself off but I never managed to... so cut me some fucking slack because I’m trying my best here and am still new to everything!”

Jisung stays silent. He stares at you in… confusion? disbelief? You really have no clue how to read his expression. Something negative for sure, though. He’s Satan’s spawn, for fuck’s sake. He’s probably thinking twice about going down on you, thinking about the gravity of a mistake he’s dealing with this time. He just has no clue how to articulate his irritation—

“You’re so cute, fucking hell,” he whispers.

You do a double-take. What? What did he say?

A small chuckle escapes his lips. As if he doesn’t mind. Wait. He doesn’t mind. “I’ll take good care of you. Trust me on this,” he says.

“That’s a little late coming from you, your fingers are literally up my vagi— h-ha-aah—“

“Just shut up and let me do the work.” Jisung rolls his eyes as he works you up again, fingers moving at a slower pace this time. Within minutes, he’s reduced you into a panting, stuttering mess. “You look so tiny and helpless underneath me. How adorable,” he coos, to which you just whine.

“Yeah? You like it when I call you tiny? Like it when your tight cunt already feels stuffed with just two fingers? Maybe we should stretch it to a third one, think you can handle that?” he presses on. That’s when he rams his fingers into a particular spot, making you arch your back. A knowing smile makes its way onto his lips. “Found it.”

“N-no, fuck— t-too much—” you babble, but he continues to abuse your sweet spot without remorse.

An unfamiliar pressure builds up in your abdomen, threatening to burst. Your whines grow louder, breaths shallower. You squeeze your eyes shut as you thrust your hips into his hand, desperate for more friction. “Jisung, I think I’m gonna—”

“Oh no, not like this,” he growls. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to look at me when you cum. So you’ll remember that it was me who made you cum for the first time. It’s me who’s making you feel good.”

That is easier said than done. You manage to open your eyes, though with a lot of difficulties. Scratch that, your eyes are barely open. Jisung is a blurry image, and you’re unable to register everything he says, the sound of his fingers squelching in your heat blaring in your ears.

You deem it fucking impossible to keep your eyes open when your orgasm hits you hard, body spasming from the sensation. But you keep on trying, keep forcing to set your eyes on him.

It’s all worth it though when the reward you get is a proud smile on his face, as well as streams of praises coming from his mouth.

It’s a continuous pattern that goes as follows:

1. You spend your days glued to your friends.

2. At least one of them (usually, it’s Seungmin) preaches how you should get your shit together and ask Changbin out.

3. Somehow, Changbin manages to leave a strong presence in your fantasies and you end up daydreaming about a scenario that stars him, you and a bed (if you’re feeling more daring, any other kind of surface or object he could pound you into.)

4. Jisung notices and forces the horniness out of your system.

5. You tell yourself that it’s the last time Jisung has such control over you.

And then the cycle repeats.

But here’s the thing: you find yourself doing no. 5 you with less conviction the more it happens. No. 5 is a formality at this point. You don’t know when you went the wrong path, but are you really in a position to complain? Jisung is good with you, he’s good with his fingers, even better with his mouth.

But then there’s this side of Jisung after he’s ruined you. He knows what you want to eat after you’re all cleaned up, knows what show you want to watch, knows if you want to just drop dead in bed or need someone to force you to finish your uni assignments. In short: Jisung is good. If you ever said that out loud and someone caught wind of it, they might assume that you liked him.

But Changbin. You like Changbin. You like Changbin you like Changbin you like Changbin—

You like Changbin, right?

“You’ve been looking at me as if I had the word CLOWN written over my forehead. Do I have something on my face or what?” you cross your arms and are met with your friends quickly averting their eyes from you.

Felix is the first one to break the silence. “Is that a new dress?”

“Not really. I recently found it when I cleared out my closet and decided to give it one more try. Why—“ you pause, and your expression turns grim once it dawns on you. “I look ridiculous in this, don’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“No!”

“You look like a clown.”

“Seungmin-Hyung, did you really just???”

If your crippling self-esteem hadn’t reached its all-time low before, then it definitely did now. “Geez, thanks,” you deadpan.

Jeongin is panicking, trying to provide some damage control as Felix snaps at Hyunjin and Seungmin. “Nobody cares about your two cents!”

“Well, but she asked for our opinion!”

“Nobody cares about your honest two cents!”

“Let’s just have lunch at the burger place and talk about this later, Hyung!”

You’re still dazed, chuckling dryly like those cartoon characters usually do when their soul leaves their body after someone dragged them. The entire situation is downright sad to witness. Is this a sign that your period is coming soon? That’s it! That probably explains why you’re acting so uncharacteristically sensitive today—

“The dress suits you, (y/n). You should wear it more often,” Changbin says.

“Hah?” you flinch and you’re sure your soul actually left your body when you turn to face Changbin smiling genuinely at you. Out of your periphery, you see Jisung and Chan behind him, but that’s not the point.

What? The? Fuck? Did he really just? Did Changbin just… compliment you?

You don’t realize how long you’ve dumbly stared at him until Jeongin nudges you. “Uhhhh, thanks!” you squeak out, cringing at how your voice just went up by an octave. You can feel Jeongin facepalming internally at your response, but you don’t blame him; you’d most likely do the same.

Changbin just smiles before he turns away to get to his next class, tugging Jisung and Chan with him.

Nevermind. Wearing this dress was the best decision you’ve made in your entire college career. The way you suddenly beam almost gives Felix whiplash — it’s obvious in the way he stares at you as if he ended up watching a comedy instead of the melodrama he was expecting. Hyunjin seems just as flabberghasted, Jeongin is still cringing from the secondhand embarrassment, and Seungmin just grins.

“Ah, so lover boy is the reason, I see.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh my god, just shut up, Seungmin.”

Jisung is eating you out with such fervor that has you sobbing and thrashing around. He’s merciless in every literal sense, keeping your hips planted on the couch with his hands to the point where veins are bulging out, and lapping up your juices with his tongue, continuing even though you already came. He only pulls away, lips glistening in your release, once you tug on his hair despite his orders to not do that.

“Already spent now? But baby, we just started.” he pouts. “Or is it because it’s me? Would you defy if Changbin was the one eating you out?”

You stare at him with blown out eyes. Why the fuck is he bringing up Changbin now? The words hang heavy in your throat and are threatening to burst, but the death stare he delivers stops you from doing so.

Something’s not right.

“Don’t tell me... you’re wet again because I just mentioned Changbin. Changbin this, Changbin that, huh? It’s always only Changbin, Changbin, Changbin. And I thought I was doing you good all along,” he rages, making you flinch. He can be terrifying when he wants to be, but this time, he seems completely out of it. “You know what? I’m fucking done with holding back. You’re mine, got it?”

With that, he dives back into your cunt, sucking harshly on your clit as he slides a finger in you. You try to pry him off, but his weight is restraining you to the sofa.

“Jisung, it hurts— ouch—“ Panic starts to rise in you when he finally detaches himself from your nub, but instead, moves down to your thighs and starts sucking on the skin with a force much harder than you’re used from him. “What are you doing? S-stop—!”

“You’re mine, you’re supposed to be mine. I am literally written on your skin. So why can’t you just wish to be with me? Do I have to mark you up so that you’ll finally get it?”

It hurts. It hurts. Once you feel teeth on your skin, you burst into tears. “Red, Jisung, red!”

As if it was the spell to break the cast, Jisung finally snaps out of it. His features break once his eyes meet yours. Regret sticks onto him like a second skin, and he slightly moves his hand in an attempt to reach out to you. Your muscles react faster though, and you instinctively pull your legs towards yourself and shy away from him. The way his face drops by another layer of remorse tugs at your heartstrings, but the impending fear overpowers everything else you’re feeling.

“What’s going on? What went over you?” you ask.

Jisung’s breath is shaky. He feverishly opens his mouth several times, but no sound is coming out. He’s struggling to find the right words, maybe trying to find a somewhat reasonable justification for his behavior. In the end, he lets out a defeated sigh. “I can’t do this anymore without having feelings—” his voice is weak and vulnerable and you’ve never witnessed him break down like this before, “—I like you. I like you the way you like Changbin. I just...”

Silence.

“Leave,” you whisper, but in this silence, your voice rings out loud and clear. This is… too much weight for your heart to carry.

Jisung complies. He grabs his belongings from the floor, slips on his shirt, and leaves with his head hung low. His footsteps grow more and more distant, but then he stops.

“Are you really in love with Changbin?” His voice cracks.

You don’t muster up the courage to face him. “Just read my mind.”

It’s silent again. Too overwhelming. You’re waiting for yet another outburst of him, waiting for his “I want you to say it out loud”, because that’s how the conversation always goes.

The last thing you hear is the front door falling in its lock with a soft click.

You like Changbin. You like Changbin you like Changbin you like Changbin you like—

You like him, right?

Things have changed.

You and Jisung haven’t crossed paths ever since, not even passed each other by in the hallways. It’s weird since you’ve grown used to seeing him every day outside of your apartment complex. You’ve never really acknowledged each other’s presence with a wave or something in the sorts; it was just a second where your eyes met, and then your days went on.

That being said, you run into Changbin quite frequently. If you ever exchanged words, it’s nothing more than friendly small talk and the one or other compliment about his music. Talking to Changbin is nice; he makes you smile.

You know a little bit more about Changbin now, like his favorite ice cream flavor or the fact that he has a pokemon plushie named Gyu. It’s cute, and you chuckle when you think about how you’d pay good money for that information a few weeks ago.

Changbin is nice, and there’s nothing more to the story.

The chaotic quartett you call your friends however, doesn’t seem to buy it. They are loud and nosey and have eyes, so it was set in stone that they’d tease you about it sooner or later. It’s all fun and games, and you played along with it at first, because that’s how you guys are. But as time went on, when the banter became so repetitive and blown out of proportion to the point where they have made clowning you about your small interactions with Changbin the pinnacle of their entertainment, you’ve begun to be fed up by it.

“Will you finally stop bringing him up in an indecent manner every single lunch break? Or even better, stop bringing him up altogether?” You snap, which shocks everyone at the table because you never snap.

Nobody has time to react as you quickly stomp away to grab some fresh air. You mutter out every curse under the sun, not intending to let your anger take over you this much. You’ve only made it past the door when Felix catches up to you, placing a hand over your shoulder.

“(y/n), what’s the matter? Clearly, something’s bothering you. And I know it’s not because of just Seungmin.” Concern is woven in his smooth voice.

You have to admit, it was a smart and calculated move from your friends to send Felix your way. He’s always been the compassionate one out of your little friend group. Like a pillar, he’s the one who keeps you all grounded (and he’s the one to drive your asses back home after the wild Alpha Beta Gamma frat parties).

“I don’t like Changbin that way, I realized. So it’d be very much appreciated if you asses didn’t allude to that every time,” you huff.

Felix sends you an understanding smile. “We can work that out. You know that Hyunjin and Seungmin in particular can be insensitive and sometimes don’t realize they’ve taken things too far..”

“Fine, but that’s not the main thing that’s eating me up alive, Felix.” you sigh. The words seem to flow out of your mouth like a waterfall. “I’ve realized I’ve never really liked Changbin. Okay, fine, he was just a crush I had but I don’t like him.”

He nods slowly, his brain processing your ramble. “So you like someone else.”

“Yes. And I don’t know how to fix it because we got into a huge fight.”

“Talk to them. That’s the only thing left to do.” His response is immediate, and he says it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Every relationship has its ups and downs, and if you want to be committed, you have to fight for it. If you were made for one another, you’ll make it.”

The last part makes you laugh internally. If only he knew.

“Let me guess, you expect me to barge into his place to sort things out,” you say.

Felix gives you the look of judgment. “I mean, you could also show some human decency and text him in advance so he’s also prepared. But that works fine too.”

Come to think of it, you’ve never been to Jisung’s apartment. That’s about to change when you knock on his door sometime in the evening, shortly after sunset.

Jisung’s face immediately drops once he opens the door. “What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, drenched in regret.

It’s not that his appearance has reached rock bottom. He still takes good care of himself; however, you pick up the dark circles under his eyes and his complexion seems a little paler. Not sickeningly pale, but in a sense that he hasn’t seen the light of day for a few consecutive days.

You shift your weight on one leg and fiddle with your fingers. “Can we talk?”

Jisung gulps. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbles after a moment of hesitation before inviting you in.

“I’ve thought a long time about this. Everything, really,” you start awkwardly as soon as you’re both standing stiffly in his living room. “I, um…”

You cringe inwardly as your voice trails off. Truth be told, you’ve rehearsed what you wanted to say many times a few hours ago. Even wrote down the entire speech. Then threw the draft away, only to compose a new one. And then again and again and again. After what felt like an eternity, you had polished your final speech and memorized it from top to bottom, even making sure that your flow sounded natural. But now that this is the real deal, your mind goes blank. Of course, of fucking course, your illiterate brain had to give up on you in the situation that mattered the most.

Jisung purses his lips. “Do you want something to drink first? No need to rush—”

“I don’t like Changbin!” you blurt out. Jisung stares at you in confusion. “I mean, I used to like Changbin — I still do, he’s a nice guy! Don’t get me wrong — but that’s all he is. He’s… nice. I like him, as a friendly guy. I had a crush on him, but now it’s just, uh, like. Platonic! Yeah, platonic.”

Despite him nodding slowly, you know that he is still lost. You would be too if you were on the receiving end of this painfully clumsy delivery.

You give yourself a mental slap as you take a deep breath. It can’t get any worse than this. Definitely impossible. You’ve already proven to him how bad your public speaking skills are. Might as well get over it with the bluntest words. “I miss you. And not because of the sexual things we did, but everything else. I miss you coming over, miss the movie night, and all that. I miss you, Jisung.”

He stares at you silently. Your eyes search his face for any sign of emotion, and for one too many times, Jisung is impossible to read. Okay, perhaps you did manage to tell him what you wanted to tell him even worse than whatever the fuck your initial attempt was.

But then his blank armor cracks. Little by little, his eyes soften, disbelief and remorse on display for you to see. Jisung is looking at you as if his world has fallen apart even more. He’s looking at you as if he’s clinging to the last threads of reason, trying to make sense of the situation. He’s looking at you with eyes that could hold stars behind them, stars that were supposed to burn out yet shine brighter than the universe.

“How can you say that? I hurt you. I made you cry! I was being a selfish asshole who put out his anger on you!” he exclaims, voice breaking towards the end. Pain clouds his red eyes, and he’s fighting to keep the tears at bay.

You slowly prod closer to him, testing the waters. He doesn’t react once, not even when you stand directly in front of him. Not even when you gently place your hands on a shoulder each. Not until you say, “It’s alright. I’m alright. No hard feelings.”

That’s his breaking point. Tears stream down his face, while quiet hiccups jump out of his throat. “How can you be so nice to me?” His sobs are muffled as he eases into your touch, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around your waist, clinging onto you as if you’re his lifeline.

The answer is simple, you say to yourself, as you thread a hand in his hair. “We’re soulmates.”

The weight of the words hangs in the air, shattering the previous tension and all the worries in your heart. It’s liberating, finally being able to say it out loud without feeling like an abnormality for saying those words with happiness. You’re soulmates. You’re soulmates, and that’s okay.

Jisung’s sobs resound throughout the room, and so do his countless, tiny yeah, we are’s. You need a moment before you register the wetness on your face. It feels like an eternity standing in his warm embrace, even after there are no more tears left to cry.

“Can I kiss you?” Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but Jisung catches it. two fingers gently lift your chin so that you’re facing him. You almost melt when your eyes meet, his gaze filled with adoration that makes you want to burst at the seams.

“Yeah. I’d love that.” Jisung smiles.

It costs you your willpower to tear your eyes away from him before they flutter down to his lips. Despite his bottom lip being a little cracked, they look inviting and you wonder what they taste like. You expect him to nudge you, expect him to tell you to hurry up and do something because you’re pretty sure you’re staring at his lips for far too long.

He doesn’t. The grip on your chin is loose as if to tell you to take your time and go at your own pace. But the longer you wait, the more reluctance builds up. It’s a lot of power he’s given you; hell, it’s the first time he hands the reigns to you.

“Can you… uhm… I’ve never done this before, so yeah…” you look at him with a crooked smile.

The breathless chuckle that leaves him sounds like music to your ears. Jisung moves his hand to the back of your neck before closing the distance between you.

The kiss is short and sweet, but that alone suffices to make the butterflies in your stomach burst. The faint taste of coke lingers on him, and before you know it, you’re kissing again. Jisung’s lips are like an addiction, reeling you back in for another one. Somewhere along the way, the kisses change. Innocent presses of lips are long forgotten, replaced by teeth playfully tugging on your bottom lip, and Jisung kissing you deeper to the point where he steals all oxygen out of your lungs.

Your hands slide down his chest, tugging on his shirt. Startled by your bold actions, he pulls away, but you catch him back into another liplock that leaves the two of you breathless. All you can think of clearly is Jisung Jisung Jisung—

This time he forces himself away from you. Gasping for air, he places his forehead on yours. “If we go farther than this, then I don’t know if I can control myself.” His warning is barely above a whisper.

“Then don’t,” you whisper back.

That’s all the reassurance he needs before leading you to his bedroom, all the whilst latching onto your lips once more. He doesn’t let go of you until your back hits the soft mattress and he’s on top of you. Warm, slightly calloused hands trail from your cheeks to the hem of your shirt.

“Color?”

“Green,” you respond, smiling up at him. The sun has long vanished at the horizon, replaced by the dim moon and stars. Despite only a little light surging past the blinds into the room, you can see Jisung’s features crystal clear. The endearing smile is cast into the back of your mind, so is the delicacy in his touch, fingertips lightly grazing your skin as he sheds all your clothes off until you’re left in your underwear. After hearing your complaints, he discards his own clothes with an amused glint in his eyes.

Jisung takes his time pounding every single detail of your features into his memory. His hands roam all over your body, inciting goosebumps. You lean into his touch with a sigh and flit your gaze to him once he stops on a particular spot.

The look on his face is unreadable, but the hesitation in his voice speaks for itself.  “Does this bug you?” he asks, uncertainty laced in it as he runs his finger over each character of his name that’s inked under your collarbone. You shake your head with a hum that turns into a soft moan once he leaves kisses on the spots his finger burned before, one for each letter. Eventually, his actions spiral out to sucking lovebites and rutting his bulge against your heat, enticing louder whines out of you. Your vision morphs into blurriness as you move your hips in sync with his, locking your arms around his neck to pull him even closer to you.

“(y/n), baby…” Jisung heaves for air, “Is it okay if I…?.”

“Please,” you mewl, “want you inside me.” Your desperation must’ve shone through your tone, as Jisung presses a loving kiss on your forehead before he reaches over to the nightstand for a condom, grinning like a lovesick idiot.  

In books and movies, this is the part where the virgin would reach peak nervousness. Too many fears would be inhabiting their mind; the fear of pain, fear of not fulfilling their partner’s needs, fear of the entire situation, essentially. Whatever they depict in those books and movies, it doesn’t match up with the warmth and want pumping in your veins. Even after Jisung slipped your and his underwear off and slid the condom on his leaking cock, there’s no sign of fear bubbling in you. It’s rather the opposite; you nudge him to finally slide into you.

“So impatient,” he tuts playfully, and because he can’t help being a bit sadistic, he teases your dripping entrance with the tip of his cock. Tears begin to form in your eyes from the frustration of clenching around nothing. You feel like crying for good once he slowly pushes into you. The stretch feels unfamiliar and completely different than what you’re used to from his fingers, but it’s not unpleasant as you throw your head back. While you’re adjusting to his girth, Jisung observes your every expression, faltering whenever you scrunch your eyes shut. 

“You still there?” he asks in hushed tones, caressing your cheek.

In awe about his concern, you nod. “I’m fine. It’s just… new. I’ve never done this, but I guess you already figured that out.” It takes you a moment to catch your breath, and then you give him the green light to continue.

The way Jisung has your hands firmly against the bed lacks the usual roughness; he isn’t gripping your wrists as if he’s about to cut off your blood circulation. This time, he has intertwined his fingers with yours as if he doesn’t ever want to let go of you. A firework of colors and stars is all you see as he thrusts into slow and deep and with all the passion he has to offer. His lips don’t leave space for a breather either; he kisses you with so much fervor that it swallows your heart up whole. At that instant, you realize that he’s claimed your heart and isn’t going to give that up any time soon. You don’t mind, because you know that you’ve committed the same crime.

It’s not long after until you feel the orgasm building up. Jisung brings one hand down to flick your clit, and just like that, you unravel beneath him. His own release follows suit, a muffled groan coming from his lips as he spills into the condom.

It’s quiet for a moment, no words spoken between you except for harsh breathing. Eventually, Jisung slides his softening dick out of you and disappears for a moment to clean up, returning with a damp towel for you to freshen up a little, as well as a glass of water.

“I think I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” you say after you gulped down the drink in one go, voice devoid of emotion. A laugh leaves Jisung. The way you deliver it is so casual as if he didn’t just have his dick in you minutes before. “Also, isn’t this the part where we should cuddle?”

“So bossy, your royal majesty.” He even takes a bow before he climbs back on the bed, pulling the covers over your bodies, and scooting up to you. He says something else, but you don’t register what exactly. All you care about is being wrapped in his warm embrace. The stench of sweat isn’t prominent on him anymore. Instead, it’s a huge cloud of Axe overpowering your senses. You would complain, but you’re too blissed out to bother.

Jisung must’ve noticed at a certain point that you’ve wandered to daydream paradise. “You’ve been quiet for a while. A penny for your thoughts.”

“But you can read my mind.”

“I want you to say it out loud.” His answer comes like a shot while his hand is brushing through your hair. “That, and your thoughts are too jumbled and my head is going to malfunction if I try to decode everything running in your head right now.”

The corners of your lips quirk upwards. “I’m just thinking about how we did everything in the wrong order. It’s just now that we kissed, before that I only sucked you off or something. We’re so fucked up.”

“If you word it that way, we definitely didn’t follow the book.” Jisung laughs in agreement. The vibrations from his chest causes you to bubble up in warmth.

“I don’t mind, though. That’s not the point. I’m happy.” You don’t have to look up to know that his eyes lit up. “Jisung, I’m happy that you’re mine.”

The hold around your waist tightens, and you feel a soft kiss being pressed on top of your head. “And I’m happy that you’re mine.”

In another lifetime, another universe, you probably wouldn’t have to go through these struggles. Society would normalize having someone that completes you. You wouldn’t go through countless stages of denial, countless stages of frustration, and countless stages of doubt.

In another lifetime, another universe, you potentially could’ve been on even worse terms. Just like in those cyberpunk movies, maybe you two would be enemies, one fighting alongside the government, the other assisting the villain who tries to overthrow the system. Star-crossed lovers, that’s what you two would be dubbed as.

In another lifetime, another univer—

No need to fantasize about what could be. The only lifetime that matters is this lifetime, this universe, your reality. In reality, people like you live in hiding. In reality, society is doubtful towards people with soulmates. In reality, people like you are destined for a tragedy. It’s taken you a long time to wrap it around your head.

That’s alright though. You’re alright. You’ll always be alright. The universe might have not played in your favor in this lifetime, but you still found each other. Perhaps, the universe will be more forgiving towards you in your next lifetime. Or the one after. Who knows? Whatever happens, at least you know you have one person you’re bound to meet wherever you are, whenever you are. One person who won’t ever let go of you. One person you won’t ever let go of.

“Yeah, I’m yours.”

#i'm never writing a oneshot again this is too stressful for my heart #stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung smut #jisung smut #stray kids dark hours #dom!jisung #sub!reader #jijiri.txt #smut.mine #i winged the ending so pls go easy on me dlskjflkjsa

[wickednerdery]

Title: Save a Mobius, Ride a Loki: Mort 2 Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Loki, Rick & Morty Pairing/character: Loki & Mobius, Rick & Morty Rating: FRM Summary: “You’re coming with us.” Notes: This is a continuation of the last part and something that’s been stuck in my head since before Loki premiered I’ve been dying to write, so I have. Knowledge of Rick & Morty is helpful, but not required. This story has adult content, language, and violence. For length, etc, there’s a Read More:

“Hey!” Mobius waves big, with both arms, to gain the other two’s attention. “I’d like to talk, can we talk? Hey, hellooo!!” With their fighting he’s able to reach the ship before anyone takes note...and it’s the ship.

“Hold it right there, ass-hole.” It’s like being cursed at by an analogue Miss Minutes, if she were a ship with weapons at the ready.

“Woah, woah, hey, what the fuck?!” Rick’s attention snaps to the man. “You don’t just sneak up on a man’s space cruiser!”

The boy leans over. “You don’t just sneak up on a man’s space cruiser, man.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Yeah, what the fuck is wrong with you?” The boy repeats.

Loki exits the saloon, magic at the ready, as weapons appear in Mobius’ direction. For all their rough start in the interrogation, he admired Mobius and did not wish him harm.

The agent’s hands are already up as he back away. “I...I just want to talk!” He tries to make himself out over the other two. “Can we talk?” Then catches sight of Loki approaching. “Loki, stop!” 

The order halts Loki in his tracks - it is not said in anger, but concern. This is new, from just about anyone. He lets his magic fade, sending only a bit in the other’s direction. A way to protect, to ensure Mobius’ll not be harmed should the others or their ship turn violent.

“Loki, like the Norse god?” Rick’s eyes narrow towards the being. “Mmm…” He belches. “No wonder he took my shit.”

Morty looks over with interest. “I thought Loki had red hair, Rick?”

Rick huffs. “Multiple universes, multiple Lokis.”

“Well, which one is this?”

“How the hell should I know, you think I follow every Loki? Think I’m some kind of Loki-worshipping fangirl that knows every single one there is out there?” Rick starts to think, calculate and eliminate possibilities. “Looks like the Mousey one.”

“Mousey one?” 

“I beg your pardon?” Loki interjects his offense.

Rick pays the god no mind. “Yeah, Mort, you know the one. The one that that mouse-loving company made people fall in love with only to make him progressively weaker and more ridiculous until he’s finally choked out by a giant grape.”

“Oh...yeah...that one.”

If Loki wasn’t so flabbergasted at the commentary, he’d have blasted them both into oblivion.

“Hey, give me back my portal gun, you Mousey son-of-a-bitch!”

Mobius senses the increasing tension, the loss of interest in him. “I have a proposition for you...Rick.”

The elder man turns back to the one standing beside his ship, burps. “Not interested.”

“I think you might be. You’re a man of science, right? Pretty smart guy.”

“I’m not ‘pretty smart’...” Liquor bottles and cans tumble out, spill across the floor, as Rick opens the hatch. “I’m a fucking genius.”

“I know.” Mobius confirms.

Rick scowls, unconvinced, over the mass of liquor bottles. “All right, Brokeback Mobius, thrill me.”

“If looks could kill.” Mobius smiles back, confidently amused. “Here, tell me what you think of this.” He hands the defunct TemPad over.

While Morty shows interest, Rick only gives a cursory look. “Earth-618 TemPad used by the mindless bureaucrats at the Time Variance Authority. It won’t work here.”

“Yeah...we figured that out, but…” The agent shifts, smile remaining. “Maybe you can do something with it.”

“Why?” He tosses it behind him. “I don’t do time travel.”

“No?”

“Time travel’s broke, inter-dimensional space travel’s woke, bro.”

Mobius presses on. “Okay, but someone like you…”

“A genius.”

“Could probably turn it into something else.”

“Sure. I could also turn myself into a pickle or make a robot that gives my grandson nothing but blowjobs and a constant high off Adderall. So what?”

Loki pulls his magic forward, preparing to teleport himself and Mobius in case negotiations go sideways. He’ll not simply hand over the portal gun; something the lad seems to intuit as his eyes set on Loki like a watchdog.

The agent gets up with a sigh. “Never mind, I was wrong thinking you’d want to do anything with a…useless piece of technology.” He collects the TemPad, muttering disappointment. “Probably can’t anyway...”

Rick narrows eyes at him. “Are you trying to bait me? Is that it?” 

“No, no…” Yes, yes, he absolutely was. The man reminds Mobius of Loki, utterly brilliant, and completely unable to resist proving himself. “You’re not interested, I respect that.” He tucks the TemPad into his jacket. “Everyone has their limits.”

Rick gets up, bottle in hand. “Hey, fuck you and your not-ginger Loki, I have no limits!”

“Oh, sure you do.“

Morty whines. “Rick, just freeze them or something so we can grab the portal gun and go!”

“How the fuck am I gonna freeze a frost giant, you dumb little son-of-a-bitch?!” Before the boy has the chance to offer an alternative Rick continues. “There’s no fucking way I’m letting some know-nothing pencil pusher with a secret hard-on for a god of pranks...”

The statement flusters Mobius, throws him off his rhythm, as Rick’s rant continues.

“...Think I can’t do something as simple as turning some shitastic time travel device into something actually worthwhile!”

"Then prove us wrong.” Loki jumps in to point Rick in the direction he and Mobius ultimately need. “Make the TemPad something worthwhile, perhaps another portal gun, and we will return yours.”

“Fine!” Rick snaps, then belches into calm. “But I need my lab.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Mobius chimes back in, simply relieved it’s worked. “We’ll stay here until you return. I promise.” A promise he intends to keep, to make Loki keep.

Morty looks to his grandfather, who looks back, before they both burst into laughter. “Yeah, right, how stupid do we look?” The boy was young, not naive.

“You’re -” Rick belches again. “Coming with us.”

Mobius and I both agreed it best he handle this lest someone end up dead, haha! I’m sure Loki and Rick will interact more later and am excited for him and Mobius to meet the rest of the Smith/Sanchez family. After that they’ll either return to a (different) cowboy world or move on...not sure, lol! (And, for anyone curious Morty is about 14 years old.)

All gifs made found on Google, combined by me, credit goes to whoever their OG makers are!

Those who may read: @holykryptonitekitten @lady-crowned-with-stars @ultrarebelheart @chibiyanai @dreamsofapiratelife @biiskuitx @delightfulheartdream @antoniostarshadow13 @mobiusbmobius​ @zippythewondersquirrel …If you wish to be tagged in future pieces, please let me know!

#loki #loki series #rick and morty #crossover #fanfiction #mobius #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #mobius m mobius #loki x mobius #rick sanchez #morty smith #time variance authority #tva loki #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #cowboy au #my writing #not my gif

[yeongwvnhi]

》Troublemaker《

Superpowers AU, College AU, Poly AU

Taglist (send an ask if you want to be added): @twancingyunhoe @biaswreckingfics @donghanies @moonshineboyz @soleilsuhh @trashlord-007

Genre: crack, fluff, angst, suspension, suggestive

Rating: 16+

General Warnings: rituals, lots of fighting, language, injuries, weapons, detailed descriptions of fights and injuries, some mature themes, lots of kissing and teasing

Chapter Specific Warnings: teacher and headmaster being overly rude, cussing

Pairing: The Boyz x fem reader

Synopsis: in a world where superpowers are nothing special and everyone is gifted with some kind of special ability, you and your friends quickly grow tired of it and all the rules. So when one of your friends brings up a certain ritual, with which you can travel into another universe, it sounds like heaven, but you quickly realize it's harder to adapt than you'd like.

Word count: 2.7k

》Next《   》Masterlist《

It's fairly early when you leave your home for college, around 7am something. The air around you is still fairly crisp and cool, but you're not bothered. Others would be shaking if they went outside in just skinny jeans and a simple sweater when it's 0°C outside. 

But you? You're not bothered in the slightest as you calmly walk down the street and towards the giant building. 

It's metallic cover reflects the sunlight, slightly blinding you in the process. It makes you squint and avert your eyes. 

"Y/N!" 

Your head turns in the direction of the call and you see your best friend jogging towards you with a bright grin. "Oh, hey." 

"Good morning!" He beams, way too enthusiastic for your liking at this hour. 

A demonstrative yawn escapes you as you lazily wave at him. "Morn'..." You mumble and wipe the tears out of your eyes which gathered due to your yawn. 

"Aren't you gonna give your bestie a hug?" He pouts and his dimples make an appearance. "I'm disappointed." 

A chuckle escapes you before you turn towards him completely and give him his desired display of affection. 

A happy sigh escapes him as he tightly slings his arms around you. "I'm never letting you go, it's too cold!" He whines when you move to break the hug. 

"Wear warmer clothes then, you buffoon." You mumble, struggling to push him away and ultimately just giving up. 

"Nahh, why would I do that when I have my personal heater right under my nose?" He teases. 

"Shut up and let me go, we have classes soon." You whine and push at his chest again. 

He relents with a high pitched laugh as he watches you stumble back, his arms letting go easier than expected and making you lose your balance for a few seconds. 

"You fucker" You hiss while taking big, fast steps towards your destination. 

"My baby! Don't be mad!" Your friend whines while jogging to match your pace. 

"It's not even 8 yet and the two of you are already having a quarrel." A new voice joins the two of you. 

Startled by the sudden intervention, you whip your head to pinpoint the source and find another guy of your friend group. 

"Sangyeon? Where did you come from?" You ask, eyes moving up to meet his.

"You must have forgotten that I always meet you at this section in the road, tsk." The older one answers and shakes his head. 

"Sorryyyy" You say with a chuckle, "but Changmin here decided to be an ass first thing in the morning! It's his fault" 

"HUH??" The culprit screeches in surprise, "Excuse me??" 

"Be quiet you two, I don't need a headache right before classes." 

"Sorryy" Changmin and you chime in unison, "dad." the former adds and snickers, earning himself a glare from Sangyeon. 

The three of you continue on the rest of the way in silence and you couldn't be more grateful. Your mind is not yet in the right place for any intellectual conversation. 

The enormous college building towers in front of you all as you reach the campus. 

"Ohh look, the others are already here!" Changmin happily points out, proceeding to skip towards said friend group. 

Sangyeon and you exchange an amused glance before also walking towards them. 

"Morning everyone." You wave at the guys and they all greet you back. 

"Y/N my love!" Your other best friend exclaims and jumps to hug you, "I'm so glad you're finally here! Please warm me up, I'm freezing!" 

The other guys laugh at their youngest friend's antics, you included. Nonetheless you proceed to hug him around his middle and make use of your powers. Your skin immediately heats up to a nice and cozy temperature and the guy hums in relief. 

"You're such a baby." You chuckle and pat his broad back affectionately.

"Classes start in about 10 minutes, we can go inside now." 

"Oh, look who decided to show up." Sangyeon teases. 

"What? Why would I show up half an hour before classes?" Said newcomer replies. "I can take all the time I need, unlike you guys~" 

"Stop being arrogant, Hyun." The oldest playfully scolds. 

"Now now, don't fight." Jacob intervenes, voice clearly expressing his worry. 

"Hold on, what class do we have now?" You suddenly realize and look up to meet Sunwoo's eyes. 

"Uhh I'm pretty sure it's chem." He replies, now looking at Younghoon for confirmation. 

"Yeah" he nods. "We should go, it's all the way on the top floor of the building." 

Sunwoo and you groan in unison, totally not thrilled on having to walk up 10 flights of stairs. 

"I actually also have chemistry, but in another course." Jaehyun says, "It's on the same floor though." 

The three of you guys look at your friend with hope. 

"Urgh, fiiine." He groans, already knowing exactly what you were all going to ask of him. 

"Yay!" You beam happily and peel yourself away from Youngjae. "Sorry hun but you gotta get inside quickly to stay warm I guess." 

He grumbles something inaudible and you immediately attach yourself to Jaehyun's arm instead and give him a smile. "You're the best, Hyunnie!" 

He can't help the amused smile to crawl onto his lips. "I know." 

You hear Sunwoo make a gagging sound, prompting you to laugh. "Let's go now." 

"Sure, sure." Jaehyun hums and within a second the four of you are up on the top floor. 

"Thank you~" You happily chime and stand on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to the man's cheek. Then you turn around, link arms with Sunwoo and Younghoon and drag them into your chemistry classroom with a content smile on your face. 

Both men exchange a glance at that interaction and internally behead Jaehyun for having his useful ability. 

When Sunwoo turns his head to look at the older guy, Jaehyun shows him a priggish smirk and waves before disappearing. 

"He really-" 

"Good morning you three!" Your teacher greets and Sunwoo immediately stiffens, startled by the voice. "Class starts in 5 minutes, find your seats!" 

"Yes ma'am!" The three of you reply and give a quick bow before scurrying to your seats. 

"Miss Im is so scary…" Younghoon shudders and you nod. 

—

Your teacher had given the class an experiment to work on in groups of three. Funnily enough, a student had broken one of the school's bunsen burners, so now your group was without one. 

"Great, just great" Miss Im angrily says under her breath. 

"Miss" You say and raise your hand. She looks at you and nods. "I can use my power instead for fire-" 

"Under no circumstance will you do that!" She immediately shoots down your idea and raises her voice. "What if you set fire to something in here? You could hurt us!" 

You don't know what to say, feeling at a loss for words at her sudden outburst. Sunwoo and Younghoon notice your shaking hands and glare at the teacher. 

"Did you really have to lash out at her like that? She just suggested it!" Sunwoo angrily replies and stands up from his chair, smacking the table. "We all here have been living with our powers ever since we were 5! We have them under control! Y/N would never hurt someone on purpose!" 

Younghoon had hugged you close to calm your anxiety down while everyone just watched and listened to Sunwoo's outburst. 

Then it was quiet for a moment, Miss Im too stunned to say anything back and the rest of the class only agreed with him. 

Sunwoo was quite literally charged, you could see little lightning bolts dancing all over him. 

"Sunwoo…" You quietly say and he looks at you. "It's okay." 

He takes a deep breath and shoots the teacher another sharp glare. 

She clicks her tongue angrily and just ignores this incident, instead opting to not grade your group on this one. 

—

After class ends the three of you quickly make your way downstairs and onto the campus to meet the others. Sunwoo was stubbornly clinging onto your arm with an annoyed pout on his face. 

"Hey Sunwoo." you speak up and nudge him so he looks at you. "Thank you for interfering." 

He gives you a tight-lipped smile and says "No big deal."

"Thank you too Hoonie." you turn to the older guy and give him an affectionate smile which he returns shyly. 

"Oh look, the troublemakers are coming." Someone teases when the three of you proceed on your way towards your friend group. 

You turn to glare at the person, your red eyes flaring dangerously and they immediately look away, visibly flustered. 

"Hey hey, we already heard you guys got in trouble." Jacob says first when you are within hearing range. "What happened? Are you okay?" 

"Don't worry, we're fine." You answer and wave him off, but the way he eyes Sunwoo tells you that's not what he wanted to hear. 

"Miss Im went off on Y/N after she offered to use her powers for the experiment because a burner was missing." Younghoon explains and you feel Sunwoo tighten his group on your arm even further. "A- Sunwoo what's gotten into you?" You exclaim to him and prod at his arm to give you some room. 

"I'm sorry Noona, I'm just still mad at Miss Im." He mumbles and hides his face on your shoulder. 

"Stop being a baby." Juyeon speaks up and pries the younger one from you… well he tries. "Argh, let go already! Chanhee, come help me out!" 

"Wha- Hyung what am I supposed to do??" The younger one replies incredulously. 

"Just help me get this walking taser off of Y/N!" 

You snort at that exclamation and Sunwoo gives Juyeon a pointed look. "Did you really just call me a walking taser?!" 

"So what if I did?" 

"Unbelievable." Chanhee shakes his head, but an amused smile plays at his lips nonetheless. 

Your eyes basically scream 'help me!!' As you look at Youngjae, the youngest out of you all gives you a laugh before nodding. And suddenly Sunwoo's grip on you loosens and you quickly peel yourself away and hide behind the culprit. "Thanks Jae." you snicker against his arm as you peek out to look at a confused Sunwoo. 

"Yah!" He literally screams, making all of you flinch besides Changmin. "Youngjae I swear-" 

"Enough now, kids!" Sangyeon finally steps in and silences Sunwoo quickly. He pouts and crosses his arms in front of his chest. 

You move from behind Youngjae to stand to his left, now in between him and Changmin. 

"Ohh guys!" The latter suddenly speaks up with sparkly eyes and everyone looks at him. "How about we have a sleepover at my house this weekend? We're free next week so we can have some fun together!" 

Everyone quickly makes eye contact with the others. "Sure!" Haknyeon nods and adjusts his choker. "I'm itching to take this thing off, it's really weird to be as close to normal as it can get here." 

You all laugh at that, remembering how he has to wear it due to his powers. His hyperawareness is a very useful power, but also hard to live with, since he gets easily overwhelmed in crowded places. He had someone in his family create that ability dimmer for him so he could live without being constantly overwhelmed. 

"You over there!" 

All of you turn to see who called, finding it to be your headmaster. "Kim Sunwoo and L/N Y/N, come over here." 

You give Youngjae a panicked look and he shoots you one right back. That can't be good. 

The two of you slowly walk towards the man, stopping about a meter in front of him. "Do you know why I came to speak with you?" 

"No, sir." You shake your head, not daring to look into his eyes. Out of the corner of your eyes you see Sunwoo trembling slightly. 

"Well, I came here because Miss Im told me about what happened during her chemistry lesson. Shall I remind you, Miss L/N, that it is strictly prohibited to use your powers on campus grounds, unless they're unable to be deactivated?" 

"N-No, I know that, sir." You reply quietly. "But we were missing a burner, so I thought-" 

"You thought what? That it would be a good idea to use your powers instead and to risk hurting your classmates? Hm?" 

"I'm so-sorry. It won't happen again, sir" 

"And now on to you, Mister Kim." The headmaster turns to Sunwoo instead and you try to calm your racing heart and keep your anxious tears at bay. "You're really cocky for a 2nd year, just raising your voice at a teacher like that AND using your powers in a classroom." 

"Miss Im has started it." Sunwoo replies through gritted teeth, "She could've calmly explained it, but instead she decided to humiliate Y/N Noona in front of the whole class! Was I just supposed to watch?!" 

"Sunwoo-" You hiss, scared for him. 

"Excuse me?" 

"You heard me right, sir." 

"Don't make me call your parents." The much older man threatens. 

"Oh, go ahead then." Sunwoo replies, "I don't care." 

"Sunwoo!" You say with big eyes. "Stop it!" 

"You should listen to your little friend, Mister Kim." The headmaster sneers, "I'll let you off the hook since you never did anything before. You better behave." he clicks his tongue and leaves. 

You grab Sunwoo by the collar and pull him to match your height. "Are you out of your mind?!" 

"Hey hey…" Jacob quickly makes an appearance and gently touches your shoulders with nothing but worry all over his face. "Please calm down Y/N." 

"You idiot, he could have expelled you or something! Don't do stuff like that!" You practically beg him with teary eyes. 

The younger one's eyes soften. "I'm sorry Noona, I won't do it again, but please don't cry." 

Jacob takes a step back and just watches, mostly relieved that you weren't angry and that he wouldn't have to break up a fight. 

"Give me a hug you idiot…" You grumble and wipe your eyes. Sunwoo gives a panicked wheeze, locking eyes with Changmin and Youngjae. They both just wave him off. 

"Okay okay, don't cry." He says and gives in, pulling you close and patting your back. 

The others watch from a bit away, soft smiles on their faces, almost forgetting why you two are in that situation in the first place. 

But then the bell rang, snapping you all out of your thoughts. 

Changmin drags you by your wrist, Chanhee on your other side as they lead the way to your next class. 

"Are you feeling better now, Y/N?" Chanhee softly asks from your left side and you turn to look at him. 

"I feel okay now, thank you for worrying." You reply and flash the taller man a quick smile. 

Changmin intertwined his fingers with yours. It's nothing new, the two of you used to do that ever since you became friends. 

"Chanhee Hyung, where is the literature classroom again?" 

The oldest of you three thinks for a moment and looks at the numbers next to the doors. "It's room 371." 

"Ahh thank you~" Changmin happily replies and you guys make your way into the room. 

—

Chanhee stretches his long limbs after the bell chimed, indicating the end of the class. "Today's lesson was pretty intense, don't you guys think?" 

"Yeah, there was a lot." Changmin frowns a little. "Y/N how were you holding up?" 

Your head shoots up in surprise, caught off guard while packing your stuff. "Uh- It was alright. I understood most of it actually." 

Both men give you weird looks. "You never understand stuff in literature, what happened?" Changmin says with furrowed brows. 

"I think it's because she actually paid attention this time." Chanhee adds with a chuckle, "She looked so concentrated, it was cute." 

You feel your body heating up and avert your eyes. "Whatever, let's go." 

The two men exchange amused glances but don't speak on it any further, opting to just follow you out of the building. 

You didn't expect to run into this particular person when you exited through the large glass doors. 

After all, he got expelled for using his powers on campus and a few other things. 

"Hyunjun?" 

#yuki writes #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #wkcnet #destinyverse #prism.nw #fkp net #tbz #the boyz #tbz fluff #tbz angst #tbz fanfic #the boyz fluff #the boyz angst #the boyz fanfic #yeongwvnhi.txt

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

stars in the sk(eyes)

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil, Roman, Remus, Janus, Patton Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Analogical, background Intrualiceit Warnings: Language, food, like 1 line that’s maybe suggestive but also said half-jokingly Word count: 5592

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Logan has always loved stars. Virgil has always loved music. Maybe they can put those together with a little help from some friends.

Notes: Day 2 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read.  Patton, Janus, and Remus are all nonbinary folks who use he/they pronouns and masculine terms in this universe (but in the flashback scene, Janus is only using they/them); Roman, Logan, and Virgil are all men who use he/him. (I know absolutely nothing about music or concerts or anything, so please don't roast me too hard for any inaccuracies, lol.)

They were only opening the concert; the real attraction was a band from out of town with a midsize following, making a stop on their tour. Not that Virgil was complaining to have landed this gig. It would be the biggest performance his band—the band he, Janus, and the twins had formed a few years ago—had given, by a lot. And that was exciting. Sure, Virgil had absolutely spent hours stressing over how big it was, but he knew how to manage his anxiety, especially when it came to performances, and the anxiety didn’t stop the excitement.

“You’re going to do wonderfully,” Logan had told him earlier that day as he’d been getting dressed, passing his fingerless leather gloves and then holding his jacket for him to slide into. He’d spoken it with a simple, unassuming confidence, as if it were a given fact. It had been more comforting than Virgil thought Logan knew.

With the memory of his husband’s words carefully nestled against his heart, and the jacket Logan had helped him paint rainbow stripes on sitting on his shoulders, Virgil found it easier to let go of the anxiety. Some lingering tension remained as he paced backstage, running through lyrics in his head and triple checking that everyone knew the schedule, but it wasn’t as bad as usual. Most of it, if he was being honest with himself, wasn’t even about the performance—it was about the surprise the band had put together, the surprise Virgil had had to bite his tongue a couple of times to keep himself from thoughtlessly mentioning it to Logan, even though the surprise had been almost entirely his own idea and the others were just helping. But he’d successfully kept the secret, and now Logan was out in the audience, and Virgil was backstage, and there would be no more chances to spoil it.

But Logan was out in the audience, and Virgil was backstage, and the final round of jitters was setting in. And when Logan wasn’t there, Virgil’s jitters took the form of pestering the hell out of everyone in the room, to make sure everything was perfect.

He checked all the instruments, giving Janus’s keyboard a once-over without touching because he knew better by this point. Remus’s drumset was already on the stage—he was drumming with his fingers on the end of the fallout table in the corner—so there was nothing to do about that. Roman was actively tuning his guitar, so Virgil left that alone too and instead checked his bass, just in case it had gotten out of tune in the last thirty seconds.

All of the instruments were fine, great, even, and Remus and Roman were undeniably being productive; Janus, who’d been on their phone in the corner, had stepped out for just a moment, probably to get a drink of water or something.

Things were in order. Which was good. Great, even. But it gave Virgil nothing to do with his restless energy.

“Are we ready?” he asked, jiggling his leg and tracing the pattern of his fishnet tights through one of the large rips in his jeans.

Roman looked up. “Yes,” he said shortly. Roman’s nerves tended to take the form of a very short temper, which didn’t mix well with Virgil’s perfectionism.

“Yeah,” Remus agreed, running a hand through his dark green curls and straightening his denim jacket.

“We all know the order things go in?” Virgil followed up after a minute of tense silence.

“Mmhm,” Remus said easily. Remus, and Remus alone, somehow always managed to remain at ease and unbothered no matter what. Virgil didn’t know how they did it.

Virgil took stock of everyone’s outfits. He himself was wearing fishnet leggings that went all the way up past his waist. Over them he had ripped black skinny jean, and a black crop top splattered with white paint. On top of that, he wore his black denim jacket, which matched the ones the other three were wearing. Virgil’s had the rainbow pride flag painted on the front, all down the lapel area; the rest of the jacket was covered in patches. He checked his makeup, examining the black eyeshadow and lipstick in his phone’s camera; it looked fine. Perfect, even.

Roman was the neatest of the group, made to stand out as the lead singer. He wore the same high-heeled doc martens as the other three, but in white where theirs were all black. He had a tight white longsleeve shirt made of a shimmery material and a matching pair of white pants, and the black jacket contrasting nicely against it all. Roman’s jacket had the aromantic pride flag where Virgil had the rainbow, and the rest of his jacket was painted with red roses all at the ends of long, intricate, thorny stems. His eyeliner was sharp enough to cut, and his curly hair was piled up atop a black headband wrapped around his forehead like a crown.

Janus still wasn’t back, but he’d been on the neater end too, to counter Virgil and especially Remus’s scruffiness. Their outfit was sleek and all black save for a thin white belt around their waist. A black hat with a broad round brim framed their face like a dark halo. His jacket had nonbinary and pan stripes on the front, and thin white squiggly lines running up and down like warped pinstripes everywhere else. (Virgil knew where on the jacket one line ended in a tiny snake head, and where one trailed off into a tail, but you wouldn’t notice unless you knew to look.) They were wearing black lipstick to match Virgil, and winged eyeliner to match Roman, and contour that emphasized the sharpness of his cheekbones; definitely the heaviest makeup of the group.

Remus, sitting in the corner and making noises to themself, was a sharp contrast to his boyfriend Janus’s sleek elegance. His black jeans, splattered with white paint to match Virgil’s crop top, were ripped almost to shreds, open nearly entirely from mid-thigh down to his ankles, with only a few clinging strands of fabric keeping them anywhere in the realm of being pants. The tee they wore—black again, with his own name painted on it in large white letters—was also ripped full of holes, these ones much more deliberate; he’d slashed it carefully with an exacto knife, kneeling on the ground and focusing with their tongue stuck out slightly, until it was exactly how he wanted it and you could catch glimpses of their top surgery scars when they moved. His makeup consisted of dramatic green and black eyeshadow, and his jacket had the trans and polyamorous flags on it—he and Janus, who had nearly identical collections of pride flags between them, had split two and two which color schemes they wanted to use. The rest of Remus’s jacket consisted of a few jagged holes and some incredibly detailed paintings of green tentacles.

The instruments were fine. The costumes were fine. The makeup was fine. What else did that leave for Virgil to fret over as the final minutes ticked away?

“How about the blocking?” Virgil said. “We can go over it again if anyone—”

“I promise we know, Virge,” Roman snapped.

“Come on, kiddo, you know he’s just trying to help!” piped up Patton, Janus and Remus’s other boyfriend, who was suddenly somehow present and sitting in Janus’s lap, his pastel outfit completely out of place amidst the varying edgy styles everyone else in the room was sporting.

“How did you get back here?” Roman and Virgil demanded in unison. Virgil hadn’t even noticed Janus was back, let alone that he’d brought Patton, who was supposed to be in the audience with Logan until the performance was over.

“Oops,” Janus said, not sounding even a tiny bit remorseful as they played with Patton’s dark curls.

“Did you leave Logan alone?” Virgil demanded of Patton, hands on his hips.

“Only for a minute! He’s getting snacks, anyway,” Patton said, wrapping his arms around Janus’s neck. “We both know where our seats are, he’ll be fine.”

“You already have a partner backstage, stop being greedy,” Roman scolded Janus. “Patton, you know we need to focus right now, can you please not distract my horny bandmates until after the show?”

“You sound like Virgil, with all that worrywarting,” Remus commented, snickering.

“Take that back this instant!” Roman demanded as Virgil gave Remus double birds.

Remus only guffawed, looking incredibly amused.

“Seriously, though, uh, Patton, with all the love in my heart: get out,” Virgil said.

Patton wrinkled his nose, but pressed a warm smack of a kiss to Janus’s cheek and hopped to his feet.

“Do I get a kiss?” Remus asked, reaching his arms out hopefully.

“Makeup—” Roman began warningly.

“I haven’t got any on my mouth!” Remus said triumphantly. “Suck it, Jan.”

Janus smiled wryly, fingers rising to but not quite touching their black lipstick that Patton had avoided so carefully. “The prices I pay for beauty.”

Patton giggled, crossing to Remus, clasping both his hands, and leaning down to kiss him sweetly.

“Great, you’re very very cute together but now is not the time, Patton get out and stop distracting your boyfriends,” Roman said, shooing Patton towards the door.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “High strung much?”

“Not all of us possess your—your stupid coolheadedness powers, Remus!” Roman snapped.

Patton paused in the doorway and pointed at Roman, getting out his dad voice. “Hey. Be nice.” The finger moved to Virgil. “Be nice.” His eyes flicked to Remus, then Janus, and his voice shifted to a different tone, half flirty and half joking. “You two be good boys.”

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god, I said to stop being horny!” Roman shrieked, chasing a giggling Patton out of the room and down the hall. He returned moments later, Patton-less and fixing at his hair to make sure it wasn’t too messy. “We had better not have any more alloromantic bullshit from any of you until after the show is over!” he announced. “Okay?” He didn’t sound quite as annoyed as before.

“Homophobia,” Remus accused teasingly.

But instead of snapping back, Roman giggled. “Oh, shut up.”

The twins began joking back and forth, Janus making the occasional amused interjection.  Evidently Patton’s intrusion into the room, although technically unhelpful, had done wonders to break the tension, and Virgil reminded himself to thank Patton later.

Virgil’s phone buzzed with a text from Logan.

Logan: Patton found me, don’t worry. Logan: How are you doing?

Virgil: hahahahahaaaa i don’t wanna think abt it

Logan began typing, then the little bubble went away; a second later, the phone began to ring, Logan’s caller ID plain to see.

“Hi, babe,” Virgil greeted.

“Hello, dear. Would you like to walk me through your plan for the performance, to reassure yourself?”

Virgil let out a small sigh of relief. “Yes, please.”

“I am listening,” Logan assured him.

Virgil took a deep breath and launched into a detailed itinerary, knowing that Logan didn’t mind if he got a little too technical in his terminology because Logan was listening for Virgil’s sake.

“And then that’s about it,” Virgil wound down, carefully leaving off the final item from his explanation. It wouldn’t do to spoil the surprise now. “Oh, looks like we’re getting ready now, gotta go.”

“I love you,” Logan said quickly. “You’re going to do a wonderful job.”

Virgil let out a short laugh. “Thanks, L. Love you too.” He hung up, set his phone down on the table, and picked up his bass.

“You ready?” Roman asked, nudging Virgil with his elbow, as the group finally headed towards the stage.

Virgil sucked in a long breath. “Yeah. I think so. Are you?”

“Oh, you know it!” Roman grinned, a spring in his step. He paused after a second and glanced back to Virgil. “Sorry for being so wound up earlier.”

“It happens.” Virgil shrugged. “Right back at you.”

Roman nodded and put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey. He’s going to love it. Just wait and see.”

Virgil looked away, half smiling. “I sure hope so.”

“He will, I know it!” Roman insisted as they climbed the steps onto the stage and emerged into what could practically have been the eye of a hurricane, for all the noise and light that surrounded the stage.

The sky above was fully dark; bright lights everywhere in the area contrasted against it. There was a decent crowd. The venue seemed almost full, as a matter of fact. The observation added a thrill of adrenaline to compliment the goosebumps from the chilly breeze across Virgil’s bare midriff.

Roman stepped forward and spread his arms wide right as the spotlights came up. “Hey, folks, thank you for being with us here tonight!” he said, his smile gleaming in the bright lights and his voice booming in the speakers. “We have some great hits lined up for you tonight! Let’s get it started, huh?”

Virgil waited a few seconds for the cheer of the crowd to peak. Janus began the melody on the keyboard; Virgil came in with his bass at exactly the same second Roman began to sing, and Remus picked up the beat on the drums on cue.

Virgil was quickly able to get lost in the music, all his focus on playing and providing backup vocals, leaving him with no more brain space for his anxiety. This was his favorite thing about music: its ability to keep him in the moment.

They played three songs. Two covers that always went over really well, and one song that the twins had written together about family that always left Roman just a little teary. Normally that would be their closing song.

But tonight was a little bit different.

Roman took a step back, nodding at Virgil; the pair of them traded places onstage, putting Virgil front and center.

“So,” Virgil said, the mic on his cheek picking up his words, “we were thinking we’d let you all be the first to hear our new song. Uh, I wrote this one. And normally Roman does our singing, because—well, you’ve heard his voice. But this song is kind of special. I wrote it for my husband. So. We thought I’d perform it tonight.”

As Janus began playing the melody, Virgil searched the front row of the crowd, squinting against the lights, until he found Logan, sitting next to Patton and gazing up at Virgil with shining eyes. “Lo, I love you so much, babe. More than every star you’ve ever shown me.” He took a deep breath and began to sing.

***

10 years earlier

Unknown Number: Hello. This is Janus. Logan’s roommate

Virgil: how’d u get this number?

Janus: I broke into Logan’s phone after you started dating and saved you to my contacts just in case

[read 3:43pm}

[3:46pm]

Virgil: i Virgil: wtf dude

Janus: Your boyfriend has been moping in his room all day, can you please come fix it? Janus: Roman is starting to mope too for no good reason, but he’s doing it in the living room and at this point it is starting to affect my quality of life

Virgil: yk i literally could not care less abt that part u asshole <3 Virgil: i’ll be over in 15 Virgil: is he ok?

Janus: He won’t talk to me, I don’t know what happened

Virgil: i’ll be over in 10

It was normally a 12-minute walk from the dorm Virgil was an RA in to Logan’s apartment just off campus, but Virgil could walk fast when he was anxious or alone, and in this case he was both. Even taking the time to grab a jacket, he still made it to the building in nine minutes flat.

Janus let Virgil into the apartment almost the second he knocked, relief plain to see on their face.

“You see?” Janus said over their shoulder in a scolding tone. “I had to resort to outside measures to deal with your bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Roman whined from where he was slumped on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through Netflix on the TV.

“Oh? And what’s this?” Janus demanded, hands on their hips. They dramatically pushed the button to open the microwave door, revealing a limp burrito wrapped in a damp paper towel.

“Lunch,” Roman mumbled defensively.

“You hate microwave food, and it’s four in the afternoon!” Janus snapped.

“I am in a creative slump, Jan! Have some sympathy!”

“No! Get your whiny ass off the couch and stop ruining my afternoon!”

Virgil took a deep breath and pointedly walked in between the pair of them down the hall towards Logan’s room. Roman and Janus’s still-bickering voices faded into the background.

“Hey.” Virgil knocked on the door, which had a piece of printer paper taped to it with Logan’s name written on it in blue sharpie and a couple of stars, both scribbles and stickers, scattered around it. He waited, and when there was no reply, he added, “Are you okay, Lo?”

“I’m fine,” Logan said, in a voice that had obviously been crying.

“Can I come in?” Virgil asked.

“Okay.”

Virgil pushed open the door and stepped into the dim room, closing it behind him. The blinds were closed, and Logan was curled up under a mound of blankets.

“Hey, baby,” Virgil murmured, kicking off his shoes and climbing to sit on the bed beside Logan and stroke his hair. “What’s wrong?”

Logan made a muffled noise of misery into the mattress.

“What?” Virgil said after a moment.

Logan rolled over. “Teacher didn’t like my essay.”

Virgil chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment. “Okay, I promise I’m not making fun of you, but you do know that that is possibly the most stereotypically you thing you have ever said to me, right?”

Logan let out a little huff that was not quite a laugh. “I guess.” He was silent for a moment as Virgil continued to stroke his hair. “And I know it’s stupid. I still got a B+ and my overall grade in the class is fine and I know I’m a good writer and everything. But it sucks. I was really proud of it.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Virgil said, choosing to ignore the squirm in his gut that always happened when grades came up. It was so easy to compare or to worry about others comparing and then to worry about others getting upset over comparisons and—he dragged himself back to the present, forcibly setting the issue aside. “You’re allowed to feel upset,” he told Logan. “About anything that upsets you. Even if you wouldn’t choose it.”

Logan didn’t respond, but after a minute his hand snaked out from under the covers and grasped Virgil’s.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Virgil asked, struck with the idea.

“Huh?”

“A walk. Get out of your head for a little bit and hang out. We can talk if you want, or just be together.”

Roman’s voice grew particularly loud outside, and Virgil picked out a teary, petulant, “I hate you!”

“Plus it’ll get you away from that energy,” he added wryly.

Logan drew in a breath and sat up. “Alright. Let’s do it.” He pulled out a denim jacket while Virgil put his shoes back on and retied the laces. They made their way out of the apartment, hand in hand.

Roman was on his feet now, releasing an angry tirade at Janus, hands clenched into fists and sounding on the verge of crying, the TV remote cast on the floor beside him. Janus was sitting on the kitchen counter with arms crossed and an intimidating glare on their face.

“Hey!” Virgil snapped, and Roman cut off abruptly. “Eat some food,” Virgil told him on a hunch. Sure, Roman could be a little immature at times, but this was on a whole different level, and a lack of food seemed like the simplest culprit.

Virgil looked over at Janus, to make it clear that they weren’t off the hook either. “We’re going out. You two better make up before we get back. Clear?”

“You can’t tell us what to do—” Roman began stubbornly.

“Janus literally called me in to fix all your problems, so yeah. I can. Also open your windows, it’s gloomy as fuck in here.” Virgil opened the door and held it for Logan, tossing one last glare over his shoulder at Roman, who looked dumbstruck, and Janus, who avoided eye contact.

Logan was quiet as the two of them walked down the stairs and exited the apartment building, hands in his pockets (one still clasping Virgil’s) and eyes on the toes of his slip-on shoes.

“Wanna talk?” Virgil asked.

Logan tilted his head to the side for a moment, his thinking face slipping over his features, and then shook his head.

Virgil nodded. “Okay.” He fished in his pocket for his earbuds and plugged them in. “Let me know if that changes, okay?” He received a small nod and turned on his go-to playlist—a 12-and-a-half-hour-long composition of all his favorite emo songs that he could loop without having to put any thought in.

The two of them wandered through the streets, hand in hand, music blaring in Virgil’s ears and Logan’s fingers soft and warm against his. They made their way towards downtown; their university was in a small city, and it was pretty walkable.

As they walked, weaving around and across different blocks, occasionally stopping to peek into particularly interesting shop windows, the tension in Logan’s shoulders slowly began to relax and his gaze migrated from the toes of his shoes upwards to take in the surrounding scenery. Virgil felt himself relaxing in turn. The subdued, almost sullen look on Logan’s face was beginning to shift back to his typical bright-eyed curiosity, which meant that while maybe not all was right with the world, a whole lot was right with the world.

As the sky began to darken, Logan’s pace quickened with sudden purpose—but he didn’t lead Virgil in the direction of the apartment. Instead, he headed in almost the exact opposite direction. Virgil was lost for a moment as to where they were going, until the park in the center of downtown came into view. Ah. That explained it. He was kind of glad; he didn’t feel ready for the quiet time they were spending together to be over.

A scent caught his attention as they entered the park, and he tugged gently at Logan’s arm, nodding towards the mediterranean food truck. A small smile answered him, and a nod, and the pair of them made their way over. They both ordered gyros—Virgil chicken, and Logan, who was trying out vegetarian food, falafel.

Fifteen minutes later, seated side by side on a park bench and finishing the last of their sandwiches, Logan cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Virgil bumped his shoulder against his boyfriend’s. “Of course, babe.”

“I am feeling… better,” Logan said cautiously, as if he were testing out the words in his mouth to see if they felt true.

Virgil nodded. “Better is good.”

Logan nodded, eyes moving to the sky, which was now almost fully dark except for a streak of orange sunset leftover on the horizon. The stars were out, at least the brightest ones that could be seen even past the floodlights placed every so often across the park.

“You like space, and shit, right?” Virgil said, scooting closer to Logan and dragging his arm to wrap around Virgil as he rested his head on Logan’s shoulder. It was a bit of a rhetorical question, since he knew Logan had an astronomy minor and was the vice president of the astronomy club and had gone on no less than three eager rambles about space in the last month alone, but one could always do with a conversation opener.

Logan blinked and looked down at him. “I do.” You know this, his tone said, a little puzzled at the question.

“What star is that?” Virgil pointed at a particularly bright one, although he wasn’t paying nearly as much attention to the star as he was to Logan’s face.

Sure enough, Logan brightened, his eyes more interesting than any star. “Oh! That’s not a star at all—it’s actually Mercury!”

“Really?” Virgil asked, grinning and scooting closer.

Logan wrapped his arm a little more tightly around Virgil’s shoulders with an answering smile. “Yes, and it’s actually very fascinating…” And just like that, he was off, words spilling out of his mouth at a breakneck pace, gesturing eagerly with his free hand to emphasize his points.

Virgil listened, doing his best to follow along and asking a few questions whenever Logan started to wind down, but mostly just happy to watch his boyfriend’s lips as he excitedly infodumped, and his eyes, too, alight with delight, the frustration of the disappointing grade all but forgotten as he held Virgil and told him stories about the night sky.

It was nearly ten at night by the time they made their way back to Logan’s apartment, chatting back and forth in quiet voices and giggling. Logan broke off as he opened the door and got a look inside; he glanced over his shoulder at Virgil and put a finger to his lips.

Virgil hushed and followed him in, then saw what the need for quiet was: Janus and Roman were asleep on the sofa, Roman sprawled on his stomach on top of Janus with his limbs everywhere and his face buried in Janus’s chest, Janus with their arms wrapped around him and a throw pillow propping their head up and a worn copy of Crime and Punishment flopped over from where it had clearly been propped up on Roman’s back.

“Precious,” Virgil commented softly as Logan picked up the book, tucked a bookmark off the coffee table into it, and set it down with the tender care he seemed to reserve exclusively for books and Virgil.

Logan smiled. “They are, rather.” He looked down at his roommates. “Sometimes I wonder why I picked the two most dramatic people I know to live with.”

“Sometimes like this afternoon?” Virgil said with a chuckle.

Logan snorted. “Maybe. But then they do things like this, and I remember why I like them.”

Virgil noticed something on the tiny kitchen table. “Or this?” He pointed.

Logan came over to examine what Virgil had found. “Oh,” he breathed, a smile spreading across his face.

A plate of cookies sat on the table, together with a hastily handmade card.

“Sorry :( ❤️” it read in large, expressive cursive, and beneath it in smaller, neater handwriting, “I actually didn’t do anything wrong, but these are for you and I did the dishes, also you’re welcome for the date night.”

Logan laughed quietly, taking a cookie and offering the plate to Virgil, who accepted one cookie—they looked to be snickerdoodles. “Yes. Things exactly like this,” he said. He took a bite of the cookie and raised his eyebrows. “Not bad.”

Virgil grinned and leaned over to kiss him. “Not bad at all,” he agreed, pulling away.

“I literally gave you your own cookie,” Logan whispered, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, but it tastes better this way.” Virgil winked, mainly for Logan’s reaction—he pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling an amused smile that was still visible in his eyes. “I should go,” Virgil added, glancing at the time. It was Sunday tomorrow, so he didn’t need to worry about how late he was up, but he disliked walking home at night.

Logan nodded, taking another cookie and pressing it into his hand. “Text me when you get home?”

“I always do,” Virgil said, accepting the cookie and a goodnight kiss that still tasted just faintly of cinnamon and sugar.

And he did just that; he always felt a little awkward simply texting “I made it home,” or the like, so he usually tried to come up with interesting questions to send to Logan instead. Tonight, it was:

Virgil: hey Virgil: if u could pick one Thing u always wanted to do Virgil: and get a guarantee that u’d get a chance to do that thing no matter what Virgil: what would u pick?

Logan: Fascinating question! I would like the opportunity to name a star. Logan: I don’t imagine it will ever happen in real life, but I’ve always thought it would be… cool, for lack of a better word.

Virgil: ghfdkjghksdhj i will never be over ur love for space Virgil: u have a Brand and u stick to it

Logan: Well, a brand is important in life. :-) Logan: What about you? What would you pick?

Virgil: i think it’d be neat to be in a band Virgil: idk Virgil: like i don’t wanna be super famous or anything but like Virgil: being in a band would be neat Virgil: yk?

***

Ten years later, Virgil sang the last lines of his song looking right at his husband. “And I don’t even need to look to the skies/Because all of the stars are in your eyes.”

The noise around him didn’t fade away like in the movies; to the contrary, the cheering was so loud it was almost hard to focus. But Logan’s face was absolutely alight—Virgil couldn’t be sure at this distance, but he thought Logan might even be tearing up—and he was looking at Virgil like he was his whole world. Even with the bright lights and overwhelming sounds all around, it was easy to focus on Logan in the midst of it all, Logan pressing a hand to his mouth but smiling too wide for anything to hide it, Logan leaning into the side-hug that Patton—oh, and there was Patton, right beside him—was offering, but never taking his eyes off Virgil. Logan looked so happy, even though Virgil knew concerts weren’t really his favorite type of event, and Virgil was hit right in the chest with a renewed realization that Logan was Virgil’s whole world and damn, Virgil wanted to make sure everyone knew it.

But their time onstage was up, and the next few minutes were a bustle of packing equipment away and cleaning up the space they’d been allotted backstage, and it all went by in a bit of a blur, helped along by the remnants of Virgil’s performance mindset and slight overstimulation—though that was getting better now that he was offstage.

Virgil took a quick break, when the bulk of the urgent work was done, to just stand in the empty restroom and breathe for a moment, the noise of the other band who were now onstage thudding in the background so quietly he could hardly hear it. When he’d fully composed himself, feeling much calmer, he took a deep breath and headed back out.

On his way out, he ran into Roman, pushing a dolly with a box on it. “Oh, good, there you are,” he greeted Virgil. “Can you—oh, for crying out loud,” he broke off, looking ahead.

Following his gaze, Virgil snickered as he saw Remus, leaning against the wall with their hands clasped behind his head, grinning down at Patton, who was leaned forward, bracketing Remus with his arms, looking up at him and speaking, although Virgil couldn’t hear him from here.

“We still have work to do,” Roman said under his breath, but the exasperated gaze he leveled at the pair was altogether far too fond to have much real bite.

Virgil’s mind was on other matters; if Patton was here, that meant—

“Lolo!” Patton’s voice called brightly; he’d seen Roman and Virgil and stepped back from Remus, waving happily at the pair of them. “Virgil’s here!”

At the sound of Patton’s voice, Janus emerged from the room, a little further down the hall, that had served as the headquarters for the band. He bent to give the tiny man a kiss, then turned to Remus for another kiss.

Logan popped his head out just a moment behind Janus. “Virgil?” He brightened when he saw Virgil’s face, and stepped fully out into the hall. He hadn’t changed from his work outfit, still wearing a button down with the sleeves rolled up, a tie, and a pair of jeans, and a smile that he looked like he couldn’t wipe off his face.

He was still the handsomest man Virgil had ever seen.

Virgil looked to Roman. “Permission to get back on my alloromantic bullshit, captain?” he asked teasingly.

Roman rolled his eyes and swatted Virgil’s shoulder. “Go be cute,” he said benignly.

Virgil took off down the hallway to Logan, not quite running; Logan took a few steps to meet him, and Virgil caught him in a hug so eager he actually lifted the taller man off his feet for just a second.

Logan, half-laughing with surprise, grasped Virgil’s shoulders for balance as he regained his feet. “You wrote me a song?”

“Did you like it?” Virgil asked, holding him tightly.

“Virgil, I—” Logan seized Virgil’s face in his hands and kissed him.

Virgil wrapped his arms more firmly around his husband, kissing him back exuberantly and swaying slightly back and forth.

“It’s perfect,” Logan told him, breaking away only just far enough to speak. “You’re perfect.”

Virgil grinned, reaching up to run his fingers through Logan’s neat hair. “Careful, you’ll spoil me.”

“I don’t think I could ever do that,” Logan told him seriously. “It’s not spoiling if you deserve it.”

And really, what was Virgil supposed to do about that except kiss his husband again?

#analogical #analogicalweek #analogical week #sanders sides #thomas sanders #thatsthat24 #logan sanders #virgil sanders #ts logan #ts virgil #romantic analogical #intrualiceit #moceit #dukeceit #demus #intruality #aro!roman #aromantic roman #language #food #ts fic #ts fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #peregrin's starlight universe

[hi-5-sunflower]

Mysterious Plants short story!

I can't even explain how stoked I am about this month's @monthly-magic theme! Without further ado, here's my submission for July!

[Picture ID: A marbled background in various green hues, yellow and white. A black writing in the middle saying "#3 Mysterious Plants" End ID]

Word count: 1,200

Summary: a young gardener gets a real shock when he tries to figure out an unusual plant.

Content notices: Some eerieness/creepiness, metaphorical violence, a sense of being trapped and disembodiment. (But it has a happy ending!) (Also please let me know if anybody feels other warnings need to be added.)

Author’s note: This event is not canon, but it features one of the protagonists and the magic system from Through the Eyes of the Aether.

Saeed sat with his back against a birch tree, gently twisting the little sprig between his fingers.

What are you?

At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about it: a narrow, flexible vine, with blade-shaped leaves sprouting out at regular intervals, reddish purple in color. A simple cutting from a simple plant. If all he was going on was its look, he’d figure it was one of thousands of ordinary plants native to the three realms.

But he was Saeed Azhari, and he wasn’t going on looks alone.

He took in a breath of crisp mountain air and let the background chatter of his mind fall silent. Within seconds, the aether filled his awareness, swirling and flowing around him like an invisible, immaterial mist. Lifeblood of the universe, the aether was the force which gave life to all things; even now he felt it coursing through him, humming throughout his body, providing the sturdy strength of the birch tree behind him, the contented calm of the grasses carpeting the hills as they drank in the warm afternoon sunlight.

And then, against the backdrop of all that, was this.

This anomaly of a plant. Absorbed in aether-oneness as he was now, Saeed sensed the plant’s essence more strongly than ever—the flickering, staticky edges, the buzzing hunger, the too-large energy signature for a thing of its size.

He’d been gardening since before he could remember, and had since spent his whole life dealing with plants of all sorts. To be sure, there were some unique ones out there, ones with strange and powerful qualities…and yet, none of them had ever been anything like this.

He narrowed his focus onto it, resisting the urge to flinch away, shaking off the sense that he was peering into the gaping jaws of a many-toothed beast. He borrowed a dose of the birch tree’s unwavering calm, letting it wash over him and hoping it would last. Then he allowed the edges of his metaphysical self to meet with those of the strange plant, dissolving.

As the bond coalesced, he spoke to it in the language of flora, which wasn’t one of words but of simple feelings and impressions. He let a soft, soothing reassurance blossom inside him and sent it outward. It’s okay, he tried to convey. I’m not gonna hurt you.

He gritted his teeth as the plant’s response lit up within him. Its energy was cold and blinding-bright, like winter sun glancing off an icicle, and it was restless, agitated. Barely contained. Saeed continued to radiate calm, hoping to settle it, but its disquiet only seemed to grow.

Back in his body, he felt his heart rate pick up. Something in his gut was telling him to back off, retreat, leave this thing alone and never look back—

Too late.

Without warning, it swallowed him.

It happened so fast it took him a moment to make sense of it. His essence was engulfed by that of the plant, siphoned from his body and confined within a bubble of icy, sparking voracity, leaving him trapped and formless.

No!

As far as he knew, his physical self was unharmed—probably—assuming he could get back to it in short order. If not…

No. No time to think about that now.

Hey! He turned his attention to the plant-being, thrusting out with a pulse of what little he had left of his energy. Let me go!

But it bounced back inward, and the plant didn’t listen. Now that he was…within it, he sensed its singleminded drive to expand itself ever further. That tiny, innocent herb was a ruse. This thing, whatever it was, had a bottomless desire to strengthen itself at any cost. What else—who else—had it consumed before him?

Tiny wisp of life that he was, Saeed use everything at his disposal, which wasn’t much. He thrashed and flailed, struggled and strained, but nothing worked. He did his damndest to scream.

Let me out of here!!!

The plant ignored him.

Saeed fell still, his hope rapidly fizzling. He needed to get back to his body. But what was he supposed to do? What could he offer it? Did it want for the same things plants usually wanted?

Please, he begged. If you let me go, I’ll find you a nice patch of earth. Some rich soil. Plenty of sunlight. Water. Anything you want.

Nothing.

For a long moment he remained quiet, thinking. There had to be something he could do to convince it.

An idea slowly took shape, and he decided to try one last thing.

He focused on his presence, and calmly, he began to expand it. He claimed a wisp of energy from the bubble around him, and then another, drawing it into himself. The plant reacted frantically, fighting to maintain itself. He could practically hear it hissing and spitting, clawing at its precious aether. But Saeed didn’t waver, and he felt himself grow stronger.

No, he said firmly. This belongs to me.

With rigid concentration, he soon had control over more of the shared energy than the plant did. He opened a gap in the bubble, letting himself flow back into his mortal form.

All at once he had lungs again, and they burned as he gasped for air, opening his eyes. The plant had fallen to the grass below, deceptively limp, but the connection hadn’t fully broken. It pulled at him, desperate to take what he’d reclaimed, but he was ready for it this time, and he pushed back.

Absolutely not, he said. This is mine. You can’t have it.

Reluctantly, the plant’s presence shrunk back into itself. He could’ve sworn he heard it whimper. He paused, staring at it, purple leaves splayed against green grass.

Then he made up his mind. Let me show you a better way, he offered to it, extending an incorporeal hand. Cautious but curious, the plant sent back a meek puff of agreement.

With the plant bearing witness, Saeed felt for the loose energy drifting all around them, floating in the air, the excess aether given off by living forms, yet unclaimed by new ones. It wasn’t as concentrated as the energy powering a living being, but it was there, freely available, and he demonstrated how to absorb it, invigorating himself with it.

“See,” he said aloud to the little vine, “you just have to be patient. But there’s plenty of it here, and you can have as much as you want.”

It repeated his action, and afterward, he felt a ripple of satisfaction flutter through it. Good, it seemed to say.

Saeed didn’t conceal the pride that swelled within him.

“Hey, you wanna go for a ride? There’s this neat place I can show you…”

He slid his fingers beneath its leaves, and in response it gently coiled around his wrist. As he stood up and set course for the riverside, he had no doubt that he’d found a very special new friend.

#monthlymagic #fantasy writing #mysterious plants #TRR stuff #short story #my writing #my ocs

[alexlabhont]

I didn’t mean to fall in love with you

Chapter ten

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing:  Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes)

Genre: Canon re-write (Because I can)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really

Tags: @dopeyouth @theymakemegayer @save-me-the-last-dance @poppysmc (If anyone want to be tagged in or removed, just tell me)

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so… i’m sorry fo the grammar errors. I also installed recently Grammary, so… hope its worth it.

CHAPTERS

Chapter nine

ONE-SHOTS

Just a dance (Zoey x MC)

——————————————————————

Poppy:

See you then, tushi face 😉

She wrote on her phone, knowing very well what It meant: She succeeded. Again.

That was the very first time Beck had actually asked her out, which was a sign that every single move worked just right; nothing to be surprised though, she was pretty damn fabulous and she wouldn't pretend otherwise. 

"It took you a while, actually." Veronica said later that day when Poppy reached out to their friends at the fraternity house. "Nor even Carter gave you so much trouble."

"Carter is just an immature boy who thought a pretty girl plus a gigantic football player were just meant to be." The blonde responded with a snap. "Beck's slightly different, they didn't care for a face. The trick is to be yourself, but not too much. It took me a while to figure that out, but now that I get it, that one is mine to be borrowed." A strange feeling of satisfaction filled her, making her smile at that thought.

"But... have you guys fuck?" Chloe asked suddenly with a confused gaze, Poppy couldn't help but roll her eyes as hard as she could while she felt how both of her friends were watching her, gosh, even Veronica left the phone aside just for that question.

"What the hell, Chloe? Not everything's about sex, you whore." 

"Are you serious?" She heard her brunette friend said, intrigued. Poppy could smell the problems that what she just said was about to bring. There it was one simple rule: If Poppy wants it, Poppy has it, and it has been like this since ever. So yeah, that matter was definitely weird. "Why? Don't you tell me you're too afraid to do it."

"Of course not!" She said angrily. "I did my research, and fucking Beck’s no different from any other experience I've had. I think it is them who's not ready..." A tiny hint of concern showed up in Poppy's voice without helping it. Of course she noticed it! The relief coming from their eyes when Zoey walked into both of them, as if they were scared, and being caught in the middle was a much better option than to actually do it. She was so offended by it that she told them she had something to do and disappeared from there.

"I think it might have something to do with their life back at Farmsville. I don't know what it is, but if I get to sleep with them, I know I'd have won. That's the next step." Poppy said, taking a ballpen from her desk to write down her new goal, she was that kind of girl who loved to put her ideas on paper to think them through. 

"So… You're counting on gain their trust enough to fuck them to finally control them?" Veronica pointed out, looking at Poppy as if she was a mad.

"Exactly… And all I need is tomorrow morning. It needs to be perfect and I have just the thing for it." a smirk showed off on her face, the determination of winning was written down on every single muscle of her body.

“Don’t you think you’re putting a lot more effort into it than it’s needed?” Chloe asked again.

“Mind your own business and let me do the planning, Chloe. After all, we know you forgot to pay your brain bill.” 

The bitch-y mode was on. She hated when she was being questioned about her actions especially when Poppy knew that everything she has been doing was necessary to achieve a goal; her enemy was powerful, she just had to see the rankings to realize it, Beck climbed as easy as the wind, doing things in this short time than a lot of people couldn’t do in years being here and they didn’t seem as trying. She needed to have them next to her for control.

Or at least, that's what she was telling herself. Something deep down her core murmured something else, something that might be too scary to admit, so she won’t. Never. However, that went down to the trash when she saw Beck the next day. It wasn’t their looks at all, actually, it was on point as always even though it was casual; the problem was her. Poppy could feel her heart becoming warm to the sight of that stupid lamb look of theirs with that sexy yet cute fucking smile they gave her. A little red alarm sounded in her head, but it wasn’t that big of a deal, so she shoved it down.

"Hey" Beck greeted her. "You made it."

"Of course I did, I have a driver for my needs. What are we doing here?" 

Beck asked her to meet them at Whitehall street at nine sharp, but they didn't tell her what to expect, so Poppy was rather curious. Beck put his hands in his pockets, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Yeah, sure… You have money and stuff, but… have you ever seen the Statue of Liberty from a helicopter?" Poppy's eyes went wide open, she was frankly surprised, how did they manage to get that? Wasn't Beck poor? It had to do with their YouTube account?

"No." She managed to say, trying not to sound so amazed; that was a pretty impressive idea, not going to lie.

"Well— Today is not the day you'd get to do it, because we're taking the ferry." Gosh, she should have seen this coming.

"You're such an idiot." She pointed, irritated by having been fooled like that. "Wait, what ferry are we taking?"

"That one." The strawberry blond could have sworn a mischievous spark lighted up Beck's eyes as they pointed at an awful orange ship coming to shore, that ferry looked so old that maybe it saw her grandmother born and grow.

"What?! There is no way in hell I'll be onto that thing."

"Oh, come on, Popps. Don't talk about it like that. The Staten Island Ferry is full of a butch of history on its own. It's the door to new experiences!"

"Like death?"

"It's totally safe." Beck replied chuckling. "And free."

"Whatever you say, I'm going home." She tried to go, but Beck's hand took her by the arm with a delicate touch.

"Give us a chance, just one chance —well, maybe two actually— but I promise you won't regret it."

Poppy turned to see them, still not sure about any of it. She had never been on that ferry, and she didn't care too much about it anyway when the destination was Staten Island. She didn't know what was their motivation to go to the most boring part of all New York, but that fucking face of theirs! Sometimes she wished they weren't that good-looking.

"I swear to God, Beck if something happens to me or my outfit I'll kill you and your entire music career."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Cruella."

They waited for a few minutes to get on the ferry, but once both were there, Poppy couldn't help but cling herself to Beck's arm. Truth be told, she hated boats. A lot. Once when she was a kid she fell from one of those little keels into the lake, and when she tried to come out, Poppy discovered that the boat was right above her head. She literally had nightmares about that day, especially on rainy days. With the time Poppy got to overcome that fear and now she loved to be invited to yacht parties —with the rightful security system, clearly—, but that ferry was ancient for god knows how many decades, and it being free was a bad forerunner to her, how many drowned people were behind all its story?

She jumped when the ferry started to move into the waters, the surprise was so much that her nails dug their way into Beck's clothes, reaching for the skin.

"Ouch! That fucking hurts!" 

"Good." 

Beck didn't say a thing after that, they were more focused on the shore as if they were waiting for something to happen back there. Then, after a while they smiled.

"Now that's a view." They said with a wide grin on their face. "Turn around." Poppy, who was too busy looking at the Upper Bay and thinking how awful would be to fall from there, suddenly found herself being turned over by Beck to the other side of the ship. 

And what she saw was spectacular.

Maybe it wasn't from a helicopter at all, but getting to see that part of the Statue of Liberty going far and far away from them both was incredible, a breathtaking picture that she had never appreciated until that day. Unexpectedly that made her think about how much she was missing even after living in New York a while now: The smell of the ocean, the sea breeze hitting softly in her face, the sun illuminated the statue and the clouds behind it. It was like a painting coming out alive.

"It's beautiful…" she whispered without her noticing it until it was outside her mouth.

"Definitely it is…" Poppy heard Beck mumbled, so she looked at them almost immediately. Maybe it was one of those moments in movies where Beck would talk about her and not exactly the panorama, but no. Beck's eyes were glued to the sculpture. For a moment she felt disappointed, but then she caught a glimpse of blush into their cheeks and tension in their lips proving her that she wasn't wrong. Yes, definitely they were talking about her.

"I know it doesn't look as fancy as the other ferries, but… this is why it's worth the while. And I have to admit that watching it with you was so much better than doing it alone, so... thank you."

“Why?"

"For trusting in me." They said. Poppy stopped a little, thinking through those words. 

"I guess I like you more than I thought." She then replied. The weird thing? The blonde actually meant what she said. But that didn’t mean anything, Beck was not as lame as she thought, no big deal, right?

Both spent a while like that, quiet but freely relaxed, looking at what the ocean had to offer. She didn't recall the exact moment when she started to do it, but at one point she laid down her head, resting it on Beck's shoulder while they hugged by the waist, it was as if in that exact moment nothing else mattered; she didn’t have to think about her obligations, about popularity, about pretending . The ride was about twenty-five minutes long but for some reason, they went very fast. She almost was disappointed when it came to an end until she remembered there was only one way back.

“So now what? We wait for the next ferry?”

Beck raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really think we came all the way here because of one ride?"

"Beck, is Staten Island. What else could you do?" 

"Damn, Poppy. I'm starting to think you're too boring on your own." Beck teased

" What if you stop saying bullshit and tell me what do you have planned from now on instead?" Beck smiled as if they were waiting for that question.

"Come with and find out." That cursed smirk of theirs came as a challenge, while Beck started to walk towards the bus stop.

God, this was going to be terrible.

________

Next

#poppy min sinclair #queen b choices #poppy x mc #choices stories you play #choices #choices poppy #bea hughes #mc x poppy #beck hughes #choices queen b mc #trans #ftm

[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

The Girl Out of Time

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Background: Willow Roffe was born and raised in Brooklyn. She lived her life as happily as she could with her two childhood best friends Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. When they both left her to join the military she tried to continue with life but that didn't get to happen for her for the simple fact that she meant something to James Buchanan Barnes.

Rating: Story will be overall MATURE but not every chapter. There will be strong language, talk of both mental and physical abuse, some good ole angst, and smut. There will be a warning at the beginning of the chapter when it includes smut.

Chapter 37

Not long after the wedding life had become pretty normal for James and I. I couldn’t be happier about it. He trained with Okoye daily to keep track of his progress while I worked closely with Shuri trying to learn as much as I could from the young genius. Steve had called us a few days after the wedding. When we told him about it he lost his mind. He was mostly excited and happy for us but a bit upset that he couldn’t be there for us. We understood he was still on the run and couldn’t risk being seen in Wakanda and bringing T’Challa into anything.

“How are you feeling?” Shuri asked me suddenly snapping me out of my thoughts.

“I’m good” I shrugged.

“No more getting sick or feeling faint?” She asked.

“Oh no” I lied.

Shuri looked at me flatly. She knew I was lying.

“I haven’t been sick again but I’ve been nauseous.” I told her honestly.

She used her finger to tell me to come to her. I stepped closer. She grabbed my shoulders then gently guided me to stand in the weird machine she had tried to explain to me before. It seemed to be able to tell you anything that was wrong with you. I watched as she pushed a few buttons then stepped back. She silently watched the small screen as the machine worked. I watched as a smile slowly spread across her face. When the machine stopped she gestured for me to step out.

“Why are you smiling like that?” I asked her cautiously.

“Take a look for yourself.” She said then tapped something on the small screen.

She turned towards the much larger screen. The image that came up stopped my brain completely.

“You’re joking” I told her.

“Not one bit” she chuckled.

I looked down gently placing my hands over my stomach. Was I really ready for this? What was James going to say?

“You worry too much Willow. James is going to be overjoyed.” Shuri reassured me.

“What would I do without you keeping me together.” I chuckled.

“Glad we don’t have to think about that.” She smiled then hugged me.

“At least I have the best medical team in the world.” I told her.

“Damn straight” she laughed.

Later that evening I was sitting outside our hut in the grass thinking about the perfect way to tell James this news. When he did show up he quietly sat next to me in the grass.

“Rough day?” I asked him.

“Okoye really likes to kick my ass.” He chuckled softly.

“Well, I have some news.” I said softly.

“Oh yea? What is that?” He asked curiously.

I grabbed his hand then gently laid it against my stomach trying to silently tell him what the news was. He looked confused for a moment as he stared at his hand on my stomach. His eyes suddenly lit up as he looked up at me.

“Are you-“ he stopped like he was lost for words.

“You’re gonna be a dad Jamie.” I told him softly.

I watched several different emotions swirl in his eyes before he laughed a hardy heart felt laugh. He moved to kneel in front of me placing both hands against my stomach.

“You’re serious?” He asked looking up at me with sparkling eyes.

I nodded. He laughed again as he got to his feet pulling me with him. He hugged me tightly then showered me with kisses.

“This is- I mean- I have no words.” He chuckled.

“Me either but I’m definitely nervous.” I smiled up at him.

“Oh hell yea me too but me and you together we can do anything.” He said happily.

A few days passed of James excitedly talking about the baby. I had never seen him so excited about something. He seemed like a completely different person. We hadn’t had a chance to tell Steve yet but I’m sure we would soon. We were laying in our hut just talking when Shuri ran inside out of no where. The look of panic on her face made my heart drop.

“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.

“Both of you need to come with me. Now.” She said sternly.

We didn’t hesitate to follow her back to the palace. When we arrived T’Challa was pacing the large open room as a TV played the news. It was New York in unmistakable ruins as Iron Man and some others I didn’t know seemed to be fighting aliens.

“What is this?” I asked.

“This is live in New York. There’s also a report in Europe of another ship.” T’Challa said as he continued to pace.

I shared a worried look with James. What is happening? I jumped at the sound of a phone ringing. T’Challa answered it then continued to pace.

“Your majesty, it’s Steve Rogers. Could you tell Bucky we need all hands on deck. That means Willow too. I’ll explain more when we get there but that war we talked about. Looks like it’s here.” Steve’s voice rang out through the room.

“We will be waiting for you Captain.” T’Challa said then hung up.

“War? What war?” I asked panic rising inside me.

“Your friend will explain everything when he gets here. I don’t know much.” T’Challa said simply.

“Do you have some where you can keep Willow safe?” James asked suddenly.

“What? I’m not leaving you.” I told him sternly.

“Yes you are. You and our baby are the most important thing to me. I don’t care what happens to me as long as you two are safe.” James said in the most seriously tone I’d ever heard him use.

“I know I just don’t want to loose you again.” I told him my voice cracking from just the thought.

“I’ll do everything I can to get back to you.” He said as he grabbed a hand full of me hair.

He kissed me deeply. It was his way of sealing a promise.

It wasn’t long before Steve and the others were arriving. I made my way outside with James to greet them. The moment Steve came off the jet T’Challa greeted him. James stepped up grabbing Steve’s arm and hugging him close. Steve turned to me. He instantly noticed my lack of armor.

“Everything okay?” He asked me.

“Not here. Let’s go inside.” T’Challa answered for me.

The group made our way back into the room where they explained the situation all the way down to Vision’s predicament. Wanda seemed broken but she stood strong by Vision. Once everything was explained Steve finally turned to me.

“Are you okay? You don’t look ready for a fight.” Steve said sternly.

“She won’t be fighting.” James said moving to stand between me and Steve.

“Why?” Steve asked.

“Because Shuri will be taking her to a safe place to protect her and the baby.” James said glancing back at me.

Shock overtook Steve’s features.

“Baby? You’re pregnant?” He asked me.

I nodded placing my hands over my stomach.

“I wish I could say congratulations but with the fate of the universe up in the air I don’t feel those are the right words to use.” Steve said with sadness in his eyes.

James turned to me suddenly. He grabbed each side of my face. He kissed me hard like he’d never do it again. I hated that thought.

“Shuri, please get her to safety.” James said then stepped back from me.

“I love you.” I told him.

“I love you Willow.” He said softly as I was pulled away.

Shuri passed me to one of Okoye’s warriors. We hurried through the palace. Just as we came out into the open fields the earth started to shake. I turned to look over my shoulder. I was pulled causing my attention to go forward.

“We don’t have the time for you to check what’s happening. We must get you to the village.” She said sternly.

We picked up speed running as fast as I could stand towards the village. Once there the warrior placed me in the center of the village to be guarded with the rest of the villagers.

All I could do now was watch as my husband and father of my child fought for the fate of the universe while I sit here helpless. I knew why. The life of our child was more important than either of us but what would I do without him?

I sat there for what felt like an eternity huddled together with the rest of the terrified villagers. Shouts and screams of horror had me jumping to my feet. As I looked around for the attacker I noticed the people disappearing. Right before my eyes they turned to literal dust. A fear like no other came over me as I took off back towards the palace. The sudden disappearance of these people could only mean one thing. We lost.

I ran and I ran until I reached the front of the palace overlooking the battle field. The terrifying sight in front of me was not one of dead bodies covering the land but of what looked like only a handful of people where there once stood a massive army. With no alien attackers in sight I ran onto the battlefield towards the small group of people that was forming. Among them I saw Steve. I ran straight to him. The look of shock, fear, and a broken heart was enough to tell me that I wasn’t going to find James.

“Where is he?” I asked to make sure.

Steve just looked down at me with a look of sorrow.

“No, no, this can’t- he can’t-“ I stumbled backwards only for Steve to catch me.

He hugged me tightly to his chest. I turned around to search for him. It wasn’t true he had to be here. I tried to pull myself free from Steve’s arms.

“Willow, he’s gone” Steve said his voice cracking.

A sob ripped from my chest.

“No! No! No!” I screamed as I fell to my knees.

Steve fell with me keeping his arms wrapped tightly around me. I went limp against him as I sobbed. Not again. I lost him again.

—

#nothingbutfangirlsmut #fanfiction #bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #the girl out of time #bucky imagine #james buchanan barnes #bucky x you

[realityhelixcreates]

Beta, Theta, and Me Chapter 7: The Invisible Cage

Chapters: 7/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now),

Characters: Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags:  A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses, Loki Has A Throne Now, But It’s Not What He Wanted

Summary:  Loki and his servant discuss the nature of freedom.

You found yourself hiding in your apartment for several hours that day. Loki had gotten a call-the first you could remember-and had instantly bid you leave his presence. In fact, he said he would have preferred you leave the building altogether, but it was suddenly pouring outside, so you'd opted to hide out in your room instead.

You didn't know what would cause him to act that way, but you'd tried to use the time to take a nice relaxing nap. But the sound of rushing wind had rattled the tower, and someone had entered Loki's apartment without bothering to be quiet about it.

Shortly after that, the shouting had begun.

So much for napping.

You opened your door just a crack, and peered out into the round living space down the hall.

Thor was there.

THE Thor, the God of Thunder himself, the only man you'd ever thought might make a good case for monarchy.

He was pacing back and forth in front of Loki, gesticulating broadly, both of them speaking in raised voices. You didn't understand the language at all, it was round and bouncy, with long rolled R's, and rock hard consonants. They didn't seem to be fighting; this was not a shouting match with each other. This looked like shared anger, a common indignance over some other subject.

They discussed loudly with one another, Thor standing across from Loki, around the little table where you shared meals. He was drawing something in a note book, tapping the paper for emphasis, while Loki took up the pen and drew something else. Eventually, the loudness died down, both men becoming absorbed in whatever plan or problem they were going over, and you hid back away in your rooms, satisfied that there wasn't going to be a fight.

They were more than a little frightening when they shouted. There was power in those ancient voices, and it jellied your insides. What must it have been like for people, hundreds of years ago, to hear these beings speak? It wasn't surprising that bygone societies had been built around them.

Thor left eventually, with grim laughter, but seemingly on good terms. When you slunk back out into the hallway, Loki remained at the table, writing in his notebook. He seemed tense, but not angry.

“So...” You started. Loki blew out a long breath.

“I desire some kind of sweet confection.” He said. “If you do not already know how, please learn to make some kind of cake or cookie, and then do so.”

“And then...”

“And then eat some with me.”

Dismissal then. So be it. He'd tell you, or he wouldn't, what business was it of yours?

It was time to level up. It was time to learn how to make cookies.

                                                                         ******

You knew that if this were a movie, or TV show, smoke would billow out once you opened that oven, and your cookies would all be burnt. But that's not what this was, and your cookies were actually fine. A little flat and crispy around the edges, but perfectly tasty. Loki seemed to take extra pleasure in their crunchiness, a detail you filed away for later. He was still agitated, but it was like a swift current at the bottom of a calm stream. You found yourself a bit afraid to step in.

“What do you think freedom is?” He asked abruptly. He'd been back into his extra-long-titled philosophy books again. You'd been trying to convince him to move on from Keirkegaard, but the existentialism spoke to him.

He'd had you sit with him next to his huge fireplace, and sing a few times now, and he even translated excerpts from his books for you in order to discuss them with you. He liked your somewhat cynical, layman's view on these lofty subjects, even seemed to find validity in your sometimes frustrated “I don't know, why should it matter?” answers. This time you thought about it for a while.

“I think it doesn't actually exist. It's an unobtainable idea.” You said.

“Care to expand?”

“Well, okay. So what is freedom? That's a really tough question, right? Like, for some people, its 'not being discriminated against because of skin color' or something like that. For others, it as simple as financial stability. But both of those have something in common with what I think is the average definition, which is 'not being beholden to capricious authority figures'. But is that even possible? I mean, say you're a king.

Not literally!” You exclaimed, as Loki opened his mouth. “But as a king, there's supposedly no higher power than you in all the land, right? But...you also have responsibilities. Burdens. You have to rule, and you have to do it well, or you won't be king for long. You still, in some part, owe your time and effort to the people you rule. You aren't free. You can't just do whatever you want, whenever you want. The people won't put up with it. Eventually, they'll rise up an overthrow you, maybe even kill you. It happened a lot.

But if you go with the Divine Right idea, even though you're telling the peasants that they have to do whatever you say because it's God's will, it's still admitting that you answer to a higher power. Therefore, you are not free, because you are under the authority of a deity and supposedly have to abide by their rules and doctrines. If you don't, your Divine right to rule may be revoked and again, if you have ruled poorly, you'll be overthrown and killed.

You can't even reach freedom by removing yourself from the chains of society. Take yourself off to some deserted place with no other people around, and you can do whatever you want, right? Except you still have to eat. You still need shelter. You still have to spend a lot of time dealing with those things. You are still trapped by the laws of nature. Try to defy them, and you will be killed.

Even in death...either there's no afterlife, and you just stop existing at all, and therefore can't engage in concepts such as freedom, or there is an afterlife, but it follows the rules of the god who created it, and you have to follow those rules while you're there. There's no such thing as true freedom. It can't be achieved.”

“How does that make you feel?” Loki asked softly.

You shrugged. “Not as frustrated as I should, I guess. I don't feel strongly about it. What am I supposed to do about it, rebel?”

“Isn't that what your parents did?”

“Yeah, and they're both dead!” You exclaimed. Loki fell quiet.

“I'm sorry.” You said. “It's just that everyone who finds out about them expects me to be like them, but I'm just not. I'm not their opposite, but I'm not...them.”

“What happened to them?” He inquired. “I don't actually know about them, save for what you have alluded to.”

“You have a phone, right? Look up the 'Joyful Liberation Compound'. I'll clean up these cookies.”

You washed the dishes and cleaned up all the flour and crumbs. When you joined him at the table again, he was staring at his phone, expression grim.

“Yeah.” You said.

“You are the only survivor.” He stated.

“Yeah, because I ran away when I turned seventeen. Had to smuggle myself out in the back of a supply truck. They didn't let us back outside once we came in. Only very carefully vetted individuals, high in the pecking order were allowed back into the outside world, and then only to recruit or bring back supplies that we couldn't create at the compound. 'Liberation' was right in the name, but we were very Not Free.”

“Brave little thing.” Loki said. “It must have been very difficult to make that choice.”

“We joined when I was fifteen.” You said. “I was only there for two years. Not like the other kids, who were raised there, or spent most of their lives there. They didn't know anything else. Now they never will.”

“Your government baffles me sometimes.” Loki said. “Billionaire slavers are elevated rather than criminalized, yet they're perfectly prepared to raze an entire compound to the ground? With everyone inside? Even the children?”

“They were an accelerationist cult.” You pointed out. “They thought the end of American civilization was coming, and that they were supposed to help bring it about.”

“And your government is full of dominionists and fascists.” Loki pointed back. “This seems nothing more than one civil deconstructionist cult destroying the competition while it is still small.”

“Yeah, it sucks all around.” You agreed heatedly. “That's what happens when you have one set of laws for a favored class of people, and another for everyone else. The scum rises to the top and then chokes out everyone else...Sorry.”

Loki regarded you sourly. “You speak very freely, brave thing.”

“Is it different where you come from?” You asked.

“Yes, actually. We have an unbroken line of succession that oversees a thriving and prosperous culture, kept that way by firm, yet judicious leaders.”

“You tried to take over a whole planet by force!”

“I intended to fix your crumbling infrastructure and even out your unbelievable inequality issues.” Loki insisted.

“By enslaving us all? Making us all equally subservient to you?”

“There is a difference between bravery and foolishness.” He warned. “I meant to rule as a benevolent god. You do not wish to see me vengeful!”

You snapped your mouth shut. His Alpha scent intensified when he exerted his personality, but it was the power in his voice that shivered through you.

You hated that. You hated it. The scent made you so uncomfortable, dredged up so many tainted memories. And the vocal power of an Old God squelched your spirit. You sat, still and quiet, practically radiating resentment.

After a few moments of extremely uncomfortable silence, Loki sighed.

“It would not have worked.” He admitted. “My intentions were not pure. I would certainly have tried, yes, I would have given my best effort, but there were...other...factors.”

“What other factors?” You asked. Hadn't your real boss, the one that paid you, the Tony Stark one, asked you to find out things about this exact subject?

Also, you were curious. What was the secret? What had brought the great god Loki low?

His mouth opened and then closed. No sound came out. As you watched in growing confusion, his face began to twitch, twisting into a grimace, his eyes filling with frustration. Breath hissed through bared teeth, his fists clenching over the armrests of his wheelchair. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Loki? Loki! Stop!” You exclaimed. “Stop, you don't have to! Stop!”

Loki let out a groan of pain, then shoved you away when you grabbed his hand. You fell right on your rear.

“Get out of here!” Loki roared. “Get out of my sight, and do not show your face again today!”

You scrambled to your feet and rushed to your apartment, slamming the door behind you. Your organs felt like water, as you slid down the back of your door, flinching at the sounds of destruction coming from outside.

What was that? What had just happened? Did it hurt him to try to speak of what happened to him? It had seemed like some painful, physical battle. You fumbled for your phone and called your real boss.

#betathetaandme #loki (marvel) #loki x reader #tw: cult mention #tw: death mention

[alirhi]

it's back XD

I know no one cares, but I'm enjoying this fic, so I'm gonna keep writing and posting it as long as it keeps bringing me joy.

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 11/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. WARNINGS: not much, just some swearing and a little silliness. Notes: Here is where I offically say "fuck the canon." Just so we're clear. XD

Never before had Loki been so grateful that his brother was an idiot. While Thor returned to Asgard with a powerless double, Loki made his way to New Mexico. He'd thought to slip away to Siberia and go straight for Bucky, but he was too tired and in far too much pain to fight again any time soon. Besides, he'd been away from his sweet baby for nearly a year; he needed to check on Eira before he did anything else.

"You could have at least signed it!"

He smirked, not even lifting his head from his daughter's tiny shoulder and he squeezed her with all his might. "And risk you refusing to care for her?"

Darcy huffed, crossing her arms. "I wouldn't do that. She's an innocent baby. But some warning that she's not human might've been nice before she started teleporting!"

"I figured the fact that she materialized on your doorstep would have prepared you for that."

Though he could see a thousand retorts dancing behind those fierce blue eyes, the fight seemed to drain out of her and she sighed, sinking down into the nearest chair. "Are you okay?"

"Not even a little," he admitted, nuzzling Eira's chubby cheek and smiling as her giggle soothed his frayed nerves. "But I will be." Smile fading, he looked directly at his daughter's unwilling caretaker for the first time since his arrival and murmured, "Thank you, Darcy. Eira's... She's everything to me."

The soft, somewhat reluctant smile Darcy gave him warmed his heart, just a little. "She looks just like her daddy."

"Yes, she does." Loki finally eased his grip on his daughter and let her step back a bit, more so he could look at her sweet, cherubic face than for Eira's comfort. "Hopefully soon she'll get to meet him."

"...What? So she's... she's not your daughter?"

"She is. I'm just not her father." Even exhausted and aching in every inch of his body, he found such immense joy in something as simple as a human's hilariously baffled face. "I'm her mother."

Darcy stared at him for a moment in silence, and then stood abruptly. "I need a drink. You want a drink? I think we need... just... all of the drinks."

Reminded of Stark, he chuckled and nodded. "That would be lovely, Darcy, thank you."

Once they each had a frosty glass of vodka in hand, Darcy invited Loki to join her in the living room and they settled side-by-side on the couch, with little Eira curled up in her mother's lap. As she turned on the TV and began channel-surfing, Darcy stumbled across a news report on what had just happened in New York. Loki flinched as his own face flashed by on the screen. Setting the remote down, she closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a frustrated whoosh. "Please tell me there's some sort of explanation."

"There is." He didn't offer one; he waited for her to look at him, met her eyes, and then glanced down at the top of the fluffy black head he'd been absently stroking. Catching Darcy's eye again, he waited.

It didn't take long. She was sharp, for a human, and she winced as the dots connected. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter. He won't come after her now." Even as the words tumbled out of his mouth, he realized with a sinking feeling that he might. Thanos hadn't gotten what he wanted out of this insanity. The Avengers had the Tesseract and the Glowstick of Destiny – even in such stressful times, that moniker made him smile. The smile didn't last long as he realized that his double had likely already dissipated and now Thor, and soon Odin and then the Avengers, would know that Loki was still free. "...Fuck."

"Really? Language like that, in front of a little kid?"

"It was appropriate for the moment." With a wince, he eased himself back against the back of the couch and dropped a hand over his eyes. "He wouldn't have come after her, if that absurd errand he'd sent me on had been successful. It had no chance, of course, but still... Darcy, I may need you to watch over Eira a little longer." Something twinged painfully, making him hiss, and he grudgingly added, "And me."

"Nope. No way in-" She stopped, glanced at Eira, and growled, "heck. No. She can stay as long as is needed, but you're a walking bulls-eye and you need to go."

"Darling, I'm rather incapacitated at the moment."

"You shouldda thought of that before you blew up New York!"

"It's not my fault 'Earth's mightiest heroes' couldn't get themselves motivated fast enough! That portal never should have had time to open!"

She blinked and inched back, looking stunned. "You lost on purpose?"

"More or less." Great, now something else was locking up painfully. Loki cringed, shifting position to try to loosen it up, only to have the bruises across his back press too firmly against the couch. "Damn it!"

Darcy bit her lip, lovely blue eyes scanning him frantically. "You really got your ass kicked, didn't you?"

"Yes," he snapped, closing his eyes again. "Thank you for pointing that out. It's very helpful. If the beast – what do they call it? The Hulk – if he'd slammed you repeatedly into a concrete floor hard enough to make craters in it, you'd be paste. I think I'm allowed to nurse a few bruises without judgement."

Mercifully, she didn't comment on his little rant. All she did say was, "What's your name, anyway?"

That was the moment he remembered that they'd never actually met. She'd heard of him, and he'd seen her when watching his brother, but she didn't know who he was. With a soft chuckle that his aching ribs turned into a low groan, he grumbled, "Loki."

The throw pillow that hit his face a second later startled him more than he'd ever care to admit.

"So, what? Was my town just a practice run for New York?!"

"No, it just happened to be where my adoptive brother was when I was trying to kill him." The pillow hit him again, and he snatched it from her. "Stop that!"

"Does your world have some equivalent to Child Protective Services?" she snapped, glaring at him. "Because that little girl deserves better than to be raised around that much violence!"

"Eira had never seen violence until the mad Titan showed up to torture me," Loki growled, hastily covering his daughter's ears so as not to traumatize her any further. The thought occurred to him to send her off to play, but he couldn't bear letting her out of his sight for even a second. Besides, she was such a curious child, she'd likely just eavesdrop, anyway. "I am not proud of how things turned out, but I've never done anything without a purpose – usually the same purpose that's been driving me for decades – and since she was born, all my daughter has ever seen me do is love and protect her."

"What purpose?"

He almost didn't answer, but it occurred to him that as long as he held Darcy's attention, she wouldn't kick him out. At least, that was what he told himself was the reason he was suddenly being so candid with a relative stranger; the truth was, no one but Bucky had ever cared enough to ask why he did the things he did, much less listen to the answer. Grateful for the connection to another person, though he'd never admit it, he murmured, "Love."

While Darcy stared at him in awe, he hugged Eira tight and told the entire tale of his star-crossed love with a young human soldier. By the time he got to Eira's conception, he was fighting back tears, and both Eira and Darcy were hugging him tight. The pressure on his bruises hurt like hell, but he didn't care. The rarity of someone giving a damn about him was too beautiful to let anything else ruin this moment.

_____________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

#fanfiction #mcu #avengers #captain america #the first avenger #thor 2011 #loki #bucky barnes #m/m #loki/bucky #tom hiddleston #sebastian stan #kat dennings #winter's frost

[honeydots]

200. “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” ~~ This has some Vibes and I kinda like them so? I'd like 2 humbly request your take on this w/ shukita or akeshu if it's ok to ask for!! -- dorky-arsene (a sideblog)

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it”

Hello no I didn’t forget about these I am just slower than a little baby turtle!!!!! Anyway

Summary: Goro’s new job leads him to discover that dealing with both a crush and an idiot while flipping burgers is, unarguably, the worst turn his life could’ve taken.

cw: sexual themes (+p5r spoilers)

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(ao3 link)

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“Hello! Would you like to try our Big Bang Special Combo Shot-Straight-Through Promotional Meal for ‘Thy Father of Corruption 2: The Daughter of Rejection’ for ¥850?”

Goro wanted to quit. 

You need this job. You need this job. He’d repeat to himself each time a customer decided they were feeling peckish. You will have no money if you quit and then you will have no home and then you will drop out of college and then you will die. 

He’d left the police department after graduating. With his past plans of an 18-year life expectancy having slipped down the drain, he hardly had a reason to stay. High school had been an uphill battle with cases of murder and robbery breathing down his neck, and he’d hesitated to even make an attempt at trying to juggle his priorities in university. Dropping the detective gig meant dropping the media attention, too, which gave him breathing room he certainly knew he needed, but never really had. 

The problem was, after three years of fading out of fame and living off his savings, he realized this wouldn’t stretch as far as he’d predicted. He hadn’t accounted nearly enough for the expenses that came with the unwelcome enforcement of trying to live as a proper human being. His bank account was growing meager. If he wanted to keep living (which was arguable) in the way that he was (which he did) he’d need an income. Almost anything would do, as long as it would bend and break to his schedule. 

And, all things considered, he technically had connections here. And ever since… that, the pay had actually increased to a respectable amount. The management had rehired, retrained, and improved. It was fast food, but it was livable. Nothing shameful about being livable. 

And god fucking dammit he had already done three interviews with no hires and he needed food other than half-cooked ramen noodles and bread slices. 

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” 

That didn’t mean he didn’t loathe every minute.

It was bad enough that he had a job at Big Bang Burger. And, bad enough that he’d been desperate to get it. It was bad enough that he had to bring in his homework like some anguished used-to-be honors student now getting barely passing marks. And christ, it was bad enough each time a customer would walk in, a hamburger-shaped icepick would slam itself into his frontal lobe, forever ingraining the memory of his premeditated brain murder of the former CEO of this very restaurant. 

All of that, and he couldn’t stress this more, was bad enough. It was entirely shitty all around. Completely awful, and damming, and humbling, though he hated to admit it. He’d like to say it couldn’t get any worse. That this was the end of the line, get off the train before it turns around, don’t get stuck in the never ending cycle of beef patties and sesame seed buns. 

But, god, of all the coworkers. 

“Ya know,” said Sakamoto, leaning down on the front counter after their customer had left,  “I dunno if clenching your teeth like you’ve got peanut butter stuck in there counts as ‘service with a smile.’” 

Sakamoto Ryuji. The boy who had the opposite of a filter, and more like a megaphone spewing recordings of every profanity in the Japanese language. He, who had walked in on Goro’s second day and loudly declared, ‘I thought I smelled something, what’s this a-hole doing here?’ Really, who else could he tolerate spending eight-hour shifts with; greasy stoves, piss poor customers, and the ruthless scent of lysol on tile included?

Ah, right. Anyone else. 

Goro pressed his lips together. “Hm. Well you know, I was almost certain that elbows on the counter was a fireable offense.” 

Sakamoto snatched himself up in a second, elbows up high. He hung there and looked around the empty restaurant. 

He pouted. “Not cool, dude. That’s only when there’s customers.”

Goro raised his eyebrows. He was really just going to stand there? He looked like an idiot, or a chicken. A hybrid that, if anyone could pull off, would be him. He was making a great show of it, too. 

Sakamoto narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re a snitch.” 

Goro spoke in his most syrupy sweet voice. “Are you implying then, that your job is in my hands? An entertaining thought, Sakamoto.” If it were only that simple to really get him fired. Unfortunately, their manager seemed to love his enthusiasm. Every moment he spent enthusiastically mopping floors and singing into the handle was a moment Goro could’ve been writing soliloquies of his growing and newfound hatred for Carly Rae Jepsen. 

Sakamoto folded his arms in a huff. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, man! Look at that fake-ass smile.” He shook his head. “And I get customer service blows and stuff, but you use it for everything. Lighten up dude! Take a break.”

Sakamoto said things with such confidence, such surety. It made his teeth grind. 

“I’d prefer to keep my job,” Goro said, and gave him the sweet smile Sakamoto was arguing against. “Though, if you’d like to pay my rent for me, you’re more than welcome.” 

He acted like he hadn’t even heard him.“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re so gloomy all the time, your face just doesn’t know how to work it. Look it, check me out.” Sakamoto pointed his thumb at himself and flashed a toothy smile. “Just like that! All natural, bro. It’s easy. Come on, you really try it this time.” 

Goro very clearly did not. He stared with his most obsolete and ‘stop-trying-to-have-a-conversation-with-me’ look he could muster. He’d communicate it telepathically, if given the chance. 

“That doesn’t look like trying to me,” Sakamoto said expectantly. 

Couldn’t they just sit in silence and wait for their fabrication of getting-along time when the next inevitable customer came in? “Perhaps, and please let me know if this is too complicated, I simply have no intention of trying, because I don’t believe there’s anything to fix.” 

“Nah, that’s not it,” replied Sakamoto, as if he was being thoughtful.

Another reason why he was completely obnoxious was because the longer they knew each other, the less that Goro’s flawless stone faced looks worked. Sakamoto kept spewing hot air. He’d gained some kind of tolerance, and it was tedious to work around. 

Sakamoto leaned back down, previous elbow warnings forgotten. “I bet you’re the kinda guy who’s super ticklish, so you act all boring so no one suspects it.”

“I’m not,” Goro snapped. 

“Quick reply there, buddy.” 

Goro didn’t answer to that. He didn’t owe it to him. This was pointless; why did Sakamoto find such pleasure in talking about pointless things? 

He slouched further down. “So it’s silent treatment now. You’re checking all the boxes over here.” He waved his finger through the air. “Check, n’ check, n’, check.” 

Goro was getting a headache. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Betcha you’re super ticklish. And like, one of those cry-laughers.” 

“Sakamoto, did you hear what I just said.” 

He stretched up from his position on the counter. “Like if I poke you in the side, I bet it would make ya jump.” 

“Do not.” He could just try it. Goro would bend his finger back so far it’d break. He wondered if that would be a viable option to get him to stop talking sometime. 

“Didn’t say I was gonna.” He rested his arms behind his neck. “You’re just proving my point more, though.” 

Sakamoto was annoyingly stubborn at times. Once he found a niche with Goro, he’d hack his way in and grab on like a tick. Bother him like it was his last chance he’d ever get, as if they didn’t work shifts together four times a week. He was bound to get lyme disease at this rate.  

Goro felt like a very frustrated pair of tweezers.“Can we talk about anything else, please?”

Sakamoto went quiet. He was just looking at him now. Goro tensed up. Was he really going to try and poke him? He meant it, he’d break his hand. 

“Ya know, there is something I wanna talk to you about,” he said.

Goro did not like the sound of that. “Oh really.” He tried to sound like he was just told he was about to be given a lecture on the intricacies and details of lentil soup. Which, perhaps could be more interesting than whatever topic Sakamoto was about to pull out of his ass. 

Sakamoto sniffed. “Yup. It’s about Akira.” 

Oh, he really didn’t like where this was going. “Sakamoto, I—” 

“When’re ya gonna like, confess.” 

Goro visibly winced. Dammit. He knew he’d bring this up one day. He was absolutely infuriated Sakamoto knew about that, and he hadn’t even told him. He’d been making guesses and Goro had been just tired enough during his shift to let a hint of a sigh out, and Sakamoto had taken that to new heights. Another example of conversations being had that Goro would’ve just about died to get out of. 

Sakamoto was still staring at him. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Goro knew they didn’t at this good for nothing job, but what was so hard about just acting like you’re busy. You’re pretending then, at least, and that’s something. 

“Well, dude?” asked Sakamoto. 

Any conversation is better than that one.

Mother of fuck. 

“I…” Goro started, adjusting a piece of his hair, “I suppose I am a little ticklish.”

Sakamoto’s face lit up. “Dude, for real? Called it,” he said triumphantly. Had Goro not known him as well as he did, he’d think the divergence in conversation was a trick to get him to admit he was a bit… touchy. But he did know him, and he wasn’t one for games like that.

“Most people are, it shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s skin sensitivity, nothing more.” 

Sakamoto shrugged. “Still funny you admitted to it.” 

Sure. Very hilarious. Yet another fact Sakamoto now knows about him that he’d really have rather not shared under any circumstance. 

“Satisfied, now?” Goro asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He didn’t plan on expanding, this was embarrassing enough as it was. 

“Nope,” he replied, “cause that’s great and all, but I really gotta know the game plan.” He leaned in close to Goro, and he in turn leaned farther away.

“There’s no ‘game plan,’ Sakamoto. Please don’t get so close to me.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He moved back, obviously not finished. “Come on, though, you gotta have something.” And back down on the counter he slouched. 

‘Something,’ he’d said. Yes, and that something was to keep his mouth shut and go about his life keeping each and every one of those mortifying feelings to himself. It was humiliating enough that Sakamoto knew. Telling Akira? He didn’t even want to imagine it. He’d rather face Okumura-san herself and ask her to buy one of their Shot-Straight-Through combo meals. 

“There’s nothing. And I don’t plan there to be anything. And, it’s not really much of your business, is it?” Goro could feel himself growing irritated. 

Sakamoto melted further into the counter. “I just don’t get why you’re not gonna ask him out if you like him. You might as well, man, it’ll be fine.” 

What simple ways of thinking. Do this, get that in return. Black and white, and right and wrong. Spill your fleeting moment of vulnerability and try not to think about the extensive hole of commitment you’re burying yourself in. One turn of phrase, one word, one misplaced breath to Akira would forever rupture the sorry excuse of acquaintanceship they’d been flip flopping through for the past three years. Akira was a blank slate and simultaneously the person he knew best. He knew him, but didn’t really, and he could never tell what he was thinking. Suddenly he was gambling again, and this time it came entirely unwelcome. Risks you face before death and risks that you’ll keep living through no matter the outcome tasted different. One was tangy and sweet and thrilling, the other was bitter  shit. Not to mention that Akira was too kind to him for his own good. He couldn’t even tell what was a lie. 

But, Sakamoto didn’t need to know all that. “You say that like there’s nothing to consider. As if I’ve never even given this thought. You do not belong in my head, Sakamoto. And I do not need to give you, an obvious outsider on the entire dilemma, any sort of justification for why I’m going to continue to abstain on something as trivial as a confession.” 

Sakamoto huffed at him. “What if I said that I gua-ran-tee he’s not gonna say no to you.”

Goro was already sick of this. What, had Sakamoto expected his heart to skip? His pulse to rise? That just the very thought of mutual feelings would send him into some flustered mess? Please. He told the tingling feeling going up through his legs and down his arms and up the back of his neck to shut the fuck up. 

He couldn’t stay quiet for long. Sakamoto could and would get ideas. “Then why doesn’t he just tell me that himself? Why are you playing wingman for him?” 

“Cause he’s not gonna say anything cause he’s got to be worried that he’s gonna freak you and your crazy attachment issues out!” 

Of course, there it was. The blind bet. Sakamoto’s one-way thinking at it again, and Goro would not have it. “I’m not going to start playing some game with him about the complexities of whatever idea of consent he has in his head. I don’t need his sympathy, and I am certainly not looking for it. I don’t have time for something messy and half-assed. I don’t want that, and surely he doesn’t, either. If he feels any way about me, he’d ought to tell me, because then maybe we’d find some kind of leeway. But I will not let him sit there and wait for me to make the first move, like a key element in his plan. This is not some teenage romance, and I am not a caricature of his love life. He can wait patiently all he’d like, but I’m perfectly content as I am now.” 

Sakamoto seemed a little stunned. 

“Man, he’s just…” He trailed off. They sat in silence. 

So ways still existed to get Sakamoto to stop rambling on. He was sure he’d regret saying this later, for a multitude of reasons. He didn’t hate Sakamoto, even saying dislike felt strong, but he always talked about things that Goro had no interest nor inclination to discuss. Maybe silence was for the best between them, for now. 

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it. That’s all it is, dude,” said Sakamoto. 

Goro inhaled. So he wasn’t done, then. “Love… is an entirely different conversation.” 

“Okay, fine, you want me to say he ‘like-likes’ you like some fifth grader? Cause he does.” 

Goro didn’t reply. He’d made his point. 

“He isn’t playing one of your weirdo mind games,” Sakamoto continued. “I think you’re thinking too hard about this. He’s just a guy. He just wants to make sure you’re all comfortable and shit. Cause it’s not like we don’t all know the bullshit that was goin’ on for you.”

“I am not looking for his pity.” A fine thing to say while working at a Big Bang Burger in a bright yellow shirt and starred apron. It didn’t matter. He didn’t wear this with pride, per say, but he wouldn’t ask someone to feel sorry for him.

He didn’t exactly want to be seen, either. Especially not Akira, but of course he’d make habits of visiting. That was just like him, and it was just like his pity, too. 

Sakamoto looked frustrated. “He ain’t pitying you, man! He’s tryin’ to respect you! He knows you got things to go through on your own and he’s trying to give you space and everything.” 

Goro clicked his tongue. “If you know that’s his tactic, why are you trying to pressure me into this?” 

“Cause I don’t care, dude!” Sakamoto said, and then stopped himself, and promptly looked very guilty. “Well, okay. I do care. Like, I do. But sometimes…” He looked like he was trying to pick his words out carefully. He had an idea, just no way to form it.

He settled. “Sometimes, you just gotta get laid, man.” 

At this point, Goro found himself shocked that he wasn’t banging his own head against the counter. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re twenty one years old! Dude, I know you haven’t gotten any,” Sakamoto argued. “Your gay ass with emotional problems? Get outta here.” 

“This is not—”  

Sakamoto put his hands up nonshalontly. “And like, yeah, no judgey stuff, take your time if you gotta. But have you considered it? Tell me. I betcha you haven’t.”

Goro opened his mouth, expecting to reply with an incredibly well thought out ‘fuck off,’ but the automatic doors slid open, and suddenly Goro was all smiles and greetings, so what came out instead was, “Hello! Welcome to Big Bang Burger! Would you—ah.” 

Sakamoto snorted loudly, and Goro wanted to kick him so bad. 

And actually, what was stopping him? Sakamoto had earned this, and it’s not like this customer would care. 

Because, who else could’ve been just about summoned by the trouble than Kurusu Akira himself; strolling in so casually through the doors, like he hadn’t just become the most unpleasant topic of conversation Goro had ever had with Sakamoto. Speak of the devil was an understatement, or perhaps he was the devil himself. 

“What the eff, man!” 

“Hey you two,” said Akira, hands in his pockets and clearly bagless. He didn’t even register Goro’s kick, like that was just some normal occurrence. Somehow, that made him angrier. 

“Yo,” said Sakamoto, recovering annoyingly quickly. Goro wondered if he should’ve considered breaking his finger. 

Sakamoto reached out to Akira for a fist bump. “You don’t have the cat with ya?” 

Akira bumped him back. “Nope. Just me today.” 

“Sweet,”  Sakamoto replied, a smile growing wide. Goro hated the look. It was the hungriest and most dastardly shit-eating grin he’d ever seen him dare to make. So, knowing Sakamoto and his terrible poker face, he had thought up some idiotic ploy. 

“What’s up with you?” Akira asked, and thank god it wasn’t directed at Goro. Sakamoto’s obviousness did not go unnoticed. 

“Oh nothin’, nothin’,” said Sakamoto, entirely conspicuously, “I gotta go, though, grind never stops. Super secret stuff in the back.” 

Goro glared at him. So now he would pretend to be busy? 

“Burger secrets,” Akira said, and Ryuji gave him a finger gun in reply. He walked off without a word, but apparently felt the inclination to jerk his head back at Goro, as if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

He sighed. No amount of alone time would ever compel Goro to confess at a Big Bang Burger, of all places. At least Akira tended to be a little more bearable in conversation. He hoped he’d be an in and out customer. “Can I get you anything?” 

Akira looked at him for a moment. “You look flustered.” 

Goro felt himself twitch. He wasn’t flustered, like some preteen who can’t hear the word genital without bursting into laughter. If anything, Sakamoto had caught him off guard with his stupidity. He obviously was not one to be so affected by such a topic. He was an adult, and a professional. He would again not think about the fact he was wearing an orange visor right now. 

“I’m positive that isn’t a menu item,” he replied, keeping his pleasant smile plastered on, keeping any stray annoyance from showing. 

Akira examined him closer. “Do you have a fever or something? You look red.”

Goro drummed his fingers against the counter impatiently. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, Akira, Sakamoto just decided to kindly push the image of you railing me as a form of twisted therapy into the forefront of my consciousness. Would you like any drinks?

“I’m fine. I’m not the type to go to work sick,” he decided on instead. 

“Really?” He didn’t seem convinced. 

Goro folded his arms. “While living in a society where health is determined by the trust of the majority, I have no plans to spread my germs to an unsuspecting businessman, in that I expect the same from him.”

Akira considered that for a moment. “So you’re embarrassed, then.” 

Goro’s expression turned sour. He was not in the mood for a debate. “Everyone seems to be presuming things today, have I missed a memo?” 

Akira didn’t miss a beat. “Ryuji said something?” 

Goro dragged his fingernails into his palm. He was hardly being that obvious, he wasn’t a bumbling idiot who couldn’t keep a straight face. Akira was just acutely good at reading people, (namely, reading him) and it drove Goro up the wall. It was unfair, for one thing, since Akira continued to maintain blank expressions in the face of clowns and hookers, keeping his inner thoughts kept behind lock and key. And, as of more recently, he was the one person Goro really desperately wanted to hide every wandering emotion from possible. Just his luck, fall for the bastard who analyzes people as a side job for his savior-complex living. 

This was making him more frustrated. “Would you just order?” 

Akira looked at the menu, but Goro knew it was bullshit. He ordered the same thing every time— a shake and a burger, no tomatoes. He certainly already knew what he wanted, but was just causing trouble in the meantime. What an annoyance. Goro punched it in, and made no moves to go and cook. If Sakamoto was going to have his “business” in the back, then he could stay there and do his job. 

“Sit over there, we’ll bring it to you when it’s done,” he said, and Akira silently obliged. He gave a small smile before he turned, leaving Goro completely alone with his thoughts as he sat at his table and scrolled through his phone. 

He couldn’t believe the timing of Sakamoto’s distasteful comment to Akira’s unseasonable entrance. Things always seemed to fall into place with Goro, just not the right places. The right place, but a little down, and to the left, the left, he said. He wished Sakamoto would mind his own business, let him quietly pine until his untimely death; which kept getting put off, might he add. 

Sakamoto emerged from the back end of the restaurant. He was holding the bag of presumably Akira’s food, and his shake. He waved them enthusiastically. 

“Go on, dude,” he smirked. 

Goro was blunt. “No.” He’d pissed him off enough today. He wasn’t going to walk over there and serve the food. Sakamoto’s little idea of love, romance and marriage in a burger joint would have to wait. Ideally, it would get itself stuck in wet concrete, and drown way down under where no one could see it and where the light of day would never reach. 

Sakamoto seemed to catch his drift. “Jeez, fine. Huffy, huffy.” 

He walked over to Akira with a spring in his step, and they started chatting idly. Goro couldn’t hear. In all honesty, he was trying to tune them out. His headache was growing worse. Pounding in his head, every light too bright and repetitive music blurring together his thoughts. And of course there was the elephant in the room, who was whispering to him Sakamoto’s crude suggestions, and the irritating notion that maybe he was right, just a little bit.

He needed to get himself together. He was acting like some horny teenager. Get fucked, you raunchy elephant. 

Sakamoto left to let him eat, and made a show of going back to the other end of the restaurant, all while wiggling his eyebrows at Goro. In turn, Goro made a show of rolling his eyes and planting himself facing away from Akira. It made Sakamoto laugh, for whatever reason, and Goro just ignored him. 

He watched the door idly and tried to relax. He’d been clenching his teeth, and his jaw ached. He tried to focus to get his headache to fade into obscurity. He couldn’t find much to concentrate on, was his issue. Other than the obvious, which he would ignore without remorse. He wanted to go home. No lights too bright there, no sloppily cleaned windows, and especially no crush (the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Boy who has left him emotionally compromised after giving him no reason to deny he had worth in the world and keeps him up at night thinking about the way he really tried to will him back into existence when he could, god, have anything else in the world, and he wanted him. Was that a better option?) sitting out of view, chewing quietly and doing absolutely nothing to draw so much attention to himself.  At home he could drown it all out in a cold bath, and let himself think of nothing but his numbing toes and pruning fingers. 

“Hey, catch,” Akira said, suddenly there and startling Goro out of his bathlike daydream. He tossed something onto the counter. Goro did not catch it. 

It was a napkin, all folded up in a careful way. It didn’t hold the shape well, but the intention was pretty clear. “Um. A crane?” 

“Yup. Present for you.” he started, rubbing his neck, and he had the nerve to look bashful. “I got bored.”

Goro hadn’t noticed him making it. Which, alright, did make sense, he was purposefully keeping his neck away from that entire half of the restaurant. “Sorry we aren’t quite the height of entertainment here.” Goro lightly touched its head. He didn’t know Akira knew how to make these. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

Akira pushed his glasses further up his nose. “You’re welcome to name him.”

“I think that I won’t.”

“That can be pretty trendy, too,” he replied. “I’ve gotta go. Class. Tell Ryuji I say bye.” 

“Bye, dude!” Sakamoto shouted from the back. There was that tiresome enthusiasm again. 

It made Akira smile.“Nevermind, then. See you.” 

Goro just barely lifted his hand by the wrist to wave. “Bye.” 

Akira turned, gave him a small trill of his fingers, and left. Sakamoto did not return to his exit, and Goro savored the moment. It was just him and the crane, now. 

It was pretty shoddy. Unfolding, and barely standing up on its own. Cheap paper napkins were not the ideal material for origami, it seemed. He watched it slowly fall apart, wings losing shape and the head relaxing into its neck. Akira had hardly stayed long, so that meant he was probably pretty good at this sort of thing. He wouldn’t have guessed. 

…He thought about how it might look on proper paper. The creases sharp and crisp, the ends pointed and still. What would Akira’s hands look like while they worked? He could hear the sounds of the folding, and the wedging, clean paper being bent and rippled. Delicate fingers, working through, meticulously checking every last inch. Sometimes a pinch, just where it’s needed. And then finished, folded tight, wrapped together in itself. Very quick work, with the touch of a hand. 

“The heck is that?” Sakamoto said, getting an actual jump out of Goro. 

“What?” he gasped, and took a second to collect his thoughts. At work. Sakamoto came back. In a Big Bang Burger. Headache present. Good fucking god. “It’s just…” He pressed his fingers into the side of his temple “It’s a paper crane. Akira made it.” 

Sakamoto let that sink in.“You tellin me you were just sitting here staring at the thing Akira made you?” 

“I wasn’t,” Goro replied, trying desperately to catch his breath as casually as possible. 

“Uh, you literally were.” Sakamoto got uncomfortably close to him again. Goro physically moved away, because now was not the time. 

It didn’t deter Sakamoto whatsoever. He put his hands on his hips and gave an annoying grin. “Bro, you gotta tell him… You’ve obviously got it preeetty bad.” 

Goro was fed up with this. This conversation needed to end, or he thought he might explode. “I don’t ‘have it bad,’ Sakamoto, stop bringing this up.” 

Sakamoto smirked at him. “You so do though, is the thing.” 

“I don’t. Leave me alone.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and kept his mouth shut. He was acting so haughty, like he’d won the argument. Which, he hadn’t, for the record. 

That stupid crane. All it’d done was make things worse. And what was it even doing? Sitting here crumbling away into uselessly folded paper. A cheap napkin made of other recycled cheap napkins. Clean and crisp paper was a long sought after dream, a fantasy and nothing more. 

You know, this was just it, really. This is what he meant. Akira would try and fold him up and he’d inevitably fall back down. He didn’t know just what fantastic method he’d try, but it wouldn’t matter— he was made of what he was made of, and nothing would hold him up. Trying was pointless, risking for naught, it would be better for everyone if he stayed just how he was and didn’t overstay his use. 

He would not fit into Akira’s plans or his pities. He couldn’t. 

“…Bruh. What does that even mean.” 

Ah? “What?“ No. He had not said that out loud. Sakamoto did not just hear all that nonsense. 

Sakamoto was giving him a funny look. “You’re not a napkin, man.” 

God, shit. Shit shit shit. “I— I know that, this is just—“ The unpleasant feeling of blood rushing to his face was just as intolerable as it was unpreventable. 

“For real? Cause you sure sounded like you were calling yourself a napkin.” 

Absolutely unbelievable. How unruly was he that he’d just spouted all that like it was nothing? He couldn’t believe he had to explain himself now, but letting him get ideas was undeniably worse. “It’s supposed to be… symbolic, Sakamoto.” 

He could practically see the gears turning in his head. That wasn’t something difficult to understand, you dunce. Every second of this humiliating scene felt like a knife turning in his back. 

“Why does your brain work in such effed up ways. You gotta work on that,” Sakamoto said, not letting up his judgemental look.

He crossed his arms, trying to make his mortification appear like annoyance. “Don’t you start with me. As if you ever have something useful to say. At least I’m— I’m thinking, here.” 

That riled him up a bit. “I’m thinkin’! I almost flunked literature so maybe I’m not so good at this analysis stuff, but you know what? Hear me out.” Goro did not want to hear him out. He continued despite that. “I get it, you got your problems. But I really don’t think you callin’ yourself some shitty crane is fair, you know? Like, you’re a whole guy.”

He did not appreciate how genuine Sakamoto was acting. It was odd, and it felt awkward coming from him. He didn’t want to feel guilty for being rude to him earlier, either. Just another topic to bother him to sleep. 

Sakamoto went on. “Gahhh, it feels weird sayin’ this but like, you’re not a napkin, okay! And Akira doesn’t think so either. You’re more… complicated. Napkins don’t pay taxes or anything.” 

Ah, alright. So it was mostly bullshit. He could ease the guilt away in one fell swoop. 

Goro’s disinterest seemed to show itself well to Sakamoto. “Just, okay. Lemme get my thoughts here. You gotta like… be your own first step. I didn’t get my own shit sorted out until I actually tried to. And I’m not sayin it’s easy to do. But Imma tell you right now your first step is gonna be to stop thinking you’re a napkin or a bucket or a plate of green beans or whatever else you come up with. And I mean it, man.”

Goro knew he had things to say to that. He had thought out replies and phrases that Sakamoto would need more headspace to begin to understand. But none of them came to him. So he decided to stay threateningly quiet. 

It was well received. “Okay okay, you’re gettin’ mad, I can tell. I’m gonna take my break,” Sakamoto relented, and turned on his heel. “I ain’t really trying to tell ya what to do but give it a thinking about, alright? ‘Least for Akira’s sake,” he said over his shoulder, and left Goro almost more alone than before. 

It wasn’t even Akira’s sake Goro was worried about. Not in the way Sakamoto seemed to think. And he didn’t need to be told he wasn’t some inanimate object, he wasn’t that out of mind. 

Any sort of sensible argument would have to come to him after the fact, apparently. To tell him this wouldn’t be a “first step,” more like a hundredth. How many paces did crawling out of the hole he’d buried himself in count for? How many miles had he gone by now, barefoot and bleeding all the way. 

Such a stupid conversation. Needless, too, since for whatever reason his filter decided to leave him to fend for himself. Just another addition to this embarrassing excuse of a shift today. 

The paper crane sat still on the counter, though it hardly resembled one anymore. He almost felt bad. He had his typical pit in his stomach, but nothing exactly to pinpoint it on. Was he wallowing in that much self-loathing? 

Perhaps. 

Goro adamantly refused to have any more dramatic revelations at his part time job, so any introspections would have to come later. 

He put the crumpled crane in his pocket. It was certainly not going to be a crane once he took it out again, but he didn’t really know what else to do with it. Throwing it away felt wrong, to him. Though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with it when he got home. 

Akira hadn’t given this to him in hopes of causing some mental anguish. Or at least, he assumed so. Sakamoto had said he didn’t play mind games, but if not those, what was he doing? It felt better to know it was a game, in that way there was something about Akira’s mystery of a consciousness he could pry through. 

Was he reading into things? For sure. Reading too deeply into anything had been a talent of his for as long as he could remember. It had saved his life before, many times and in the most difficult of times. 

This crane wasn’t life threatening, but it felt like it was. Not in the thrilling way, but in the shitty way. 

His shift was over soon. Which reminded him, Sakamoto had surely already taken his break. He was a dip, but Goro preferred his own thoughts to any conversation they’d had today. And that was saying something, since getting out of his own head was a much needed relief that he’d take almost any chance he got. 

He was overthinking, and there was nothing he could do about it. He would continue to overthink until someone stole his brain and dunked it in acid. Where was the enjoyment otherwise? It was all he knew how to do. 

And even he didn’t overthink this— if Akira had given this to him in earnest and in playfulness, and if Sakamoto hadn’t been overtly pulling his leg through their shifts today. There wasn’t even anything remarkable about it. If there was a chance that maybe things were just okay, and getting better, and he wasn’t a living metaphor for a tissue. Oh just, say he invited him out for coffee, and Akira surprised him with a new little creation, less spur of the moment and made something almost sweet. He’d never drop his pride so low as to ask for a lesson, but if he did, maybe he could learn to make something, too. And maybe he wouldn’t hate every moment of it, and maybe he’d like getting so close, and maybe he’d appreciate the mistakes as much as the praises. 

…Hm.

That was just a fantasy, of course. And surely, nothing was all that great about it. Anything could go wrong in any number of ways, his own interventions just one category. 

Maybe it was the headache, or the dragging on shift, or the terrible lights, or the distant humming of his coworker, but Goro must’ve been caught off guard today. Because otherwise, why else would he have thought, not long and not convincingly, but still a thought as present as can be, that maybe, despite everything. 

It could be nice. Just for a little bit. Maybe that didn’t sound quite so bad. 

Not so bad at all. 

#it is shuake btw! #thank u for requesting this sorry i took ages #i hope you’ll enjoy it...... and sorry if youve been avoiding spoilers!!! #i know the games out but i also know not everyone has seen all the Content #but i will leave it at that #also its 6k cause i just dont know how to stop talking #my fics #my p5 fics #ask #dorky-arsene