#(doesn't really happen in the fic itself)
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lupins-hehim-pussy · 6 months ago
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I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears
I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!
The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.
More:
Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.
Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)
Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.
Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.
Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.
The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.
They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.
And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.
I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.
#and then. and im putting my most controversial opinion in the tags bc im scared lmao. but like... then... you have the fans..... doing......#the same fucking thing.#the amount of times I have seen Wriothesley used as just a side prop for Neuvillette to feel bad about shit. While Wriothesley is just.....#portrayed as having the inner peace and acceptance of a fucking monk. I was shocked when I read some fics I swear#they really said this man has no trauma at all! the stuff in his past? he's over it!#i hate that passivity when writing victims. like ok if One is written like that#sure. but MHY write all their victims like this#I mean look at fucking Lanoire#and Neuvillette sentenced him to prison after he killed his parents who were never confronted by the law. That's canon.#that's more canon than WRLT itself.#why weren't they confronted? did wriothesley try to talk to someone about it? why did he feel like killing them is his only option ?????#at least have there be some sort of conflict and friction there. How does Wriothesley feel about the court and Neuvillette when#this is the literal system that allowed all that shit to happen to him in the first place???#are you Sure he won't be at least a little wary? the fact that some people think he's Grateful to Neuvillette or even idolises him is crazy#because the man literally subjected him to prison. and if you want to portray his prison life as easy breezy and trauma free#you undermine his entire shitty little 'prison reform' narrative#and if you think he'd be completely 100% accepting of the justice system. Then why the fuck would he kill his parents himself#don't you see that the whole 'I'll accept whatever sentence in order to kill my parents' thing in itself is an act of defying the system#and I Hate#this idea. about being some of the most powerful men in the nation. and yet they can't fucking TRY to set up a better system or smth#i can't believe I read a fic where leaving starving street kids croissants is the most they (the characters and the writer) want to do#like. what the fuck. the whole point of that scene is just to make neuvillette feel bad and be like aw......... poor people exist.... OK???#this is literally how MHY would portray him though.... tbf..... This is what ppl would argue as 'in character'#I just think the character they're in is bad.#I will say I'm giving the fic a lot of grief. there's more to the scene than that. and. ultimately.....#fanfic is (saying this through gritted teeth) ........ recreational....................and free........... in the end.................#i dont think this is reflective of the writer. I do think it is reflective of the way the canon material (genshin impact)#presents in the audience who consumes it. most fans only want these guys to fuck anyway. not think about systemic injustices#canon doesn't make it about the systemic injustices either so why should we. the aesthetic of slums and prisons are just there for fun guys#IM JUST CRAZY OK. I SHOULDNT EVEN BE HERE THIS IS NOT FOR ME . I DONT CARE THAT MUCH FOR PEOPLE FUCKING AND I CARE TOO MUCH
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aperrywilliams · 6 months ago
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That Wasn't Fake (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)
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Author Masterlist
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.
Request: Can you write a Spencer fic where the reader is kind of quiet and shy when she begins working at the BAU, and Spencer has a crush on her, and then they have a case, and she has to like to seduce the unsub lowkey and everyone kind of like...how is she going to do this shes not very outgoing but when she does shes really good at it, and everyone is surprised and impressed.
Summary:  You're shy and reserved. Spencer has a crush on you, and unbeknown to him, you have a crush on him. Maybe the cat can get out of the bag when you have to step aside of your comfort zone to catch an elusive unsub.
Word Count: 4.2k (no self control here)
Warnings: Words like 'fuck' and 'bitch'. A rant about self-doubt. Typical CM stuff: unsubs, killings, etc.
A/N: Another request I loved! It should have been a little shorter, but I'm having a hard time getting to the point these days. Please keep sending requests!
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Spencer knows it is inappropriate, but he can't help it. You're coworkers, and that itself sets a boundary, so he shouldn't be thinking of trespassing.
But the crush he has on you seems to grow every day.
He doesn't know if it is your beautiful smile, the kindness you show in everything you do, or the enthusiasm you put into every task you are committed to. Since the moment he saw you pass the bullpen glass doors, Spencer knew he was damned.
From that moment, Spencer knew he wanted to know you and learn everything about you. About what you liked, what you hated, and what your fears and dreams were. Everything.
But not much after that revelation in his mind, he understood it wasn't going to be easy to get to you.
You were extremely shy and reserved.
In fact, your first interaction - when Emily introduced you both - consisted of a wave of your hand and a timid 'nice to meet you.'
He thought as time went by, you would loosen and become less bashful and quiet. And in part, he was right. As the months passed, you began to feel more comfortable within the team. You laughed at Luke's jokes, you commented on Rossi's stories, and you could even - when the stars aligned - crack a joke yourself to Tara or Matt.
But beyond that, no one knew much about your life outside of the BAU, unlike JJ, who always talks about her kids and her husband, or Matt, who talks about his kids, too. Or Tara, who recounts her failed dates. Or the same Luke who always shows photos of Roxy.
You, on the other hand, seemed to be an enigma. But Spencer Reid loved decoding enigmas.
At first, he turned his interest in you out of mere scientific curiosity. However, internally, he knew it wasn't just that.
It started with small random questions about the times you worked together: Is this coffee okay? What was the last book you read? Do you think we should buy some donuts for the team?
If you were honest, it picked your interest why, from all people, Dr. Spencer Reid was so adamant in making conversation with you.
From what you knew and from what the team said, Spencer was not a person very interested in things other than work or books. But suddenly, out of nowhere, he asked you what the last movie you saw was or something like that.
You always answered his questions; however, you would have liked to be much more talkative and engage in longer conversations, but your nature stopped you.
'What if I don't have anything more interesting for him to say?'
'Does he just talk to me because he feels sorry for me?'
And that was the big issue: you have never had problems with the way you live your life. You're pretty satisfied with what you do in your job and out of it, too. But you have always thought you are too 'simple' to entertain people's interest.
And to be honest, being surrounded by people with so much experience and big things happening in their lives still intimidates you a bit. So, you usually refrain from talking too much about yourself or anything for that matter.
But with Spencer, things are a bit different. He's always checking on you but respects your boundaries. He has learned that sometimes you just don't want to talk, and he doesn't push.
Despite his interest beyond the professional, Spencer would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Being able to share time with you will have to be enough for him.
In a way, he has become your protector. He is your backup during interrogations or in situations where you can feel awkward, like the times when some police officers tried to flirt with you and got too close. Sure, you know how to turn them down, but sometimes guys don't get the memo and keep pushing. You're too shy to yell or be aggressive about it.
The team also understands the way you are, and they know it does not make you any less professional. However, they have always been careful not to take you too much out of your comfort zone.
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A whole two weeks and five murders later, the team is stuck trying to catch an unsub who has preferences for killing women after club nights. The profile says he is not interested in just any woman but in those between 25-30 years old who like to flirt with several men in the clubs. But it is not just any type of flirting; it is the type that is initiated and dominated by them. In short, he likes to kill women who are the opposite of submissive. He sees them as predators on a hunting ground.
Another finding in victimology is that the women he kills, in addition to having a specific age range, have very similar physical characteristics. And similar to you.
All his victims have your build, eye color, hair color, and height. It gets to be creepy to a certain point. And it's something difficult to ignore.
Bouncing information and possible strategies, the team agrees they need to be proactive to get him to show up before another killing happens.
"Okay, what options do we have?" Emily asks.
"The witnesses haven't gotten us anywhere," Luke complains.
"Although we've narrowed down his hunting grounds," Rossi shrugs.
"Yeah, we know the clubs where he likes to hunt," JJ backs Rossi.
"But although the profile, we have yet to learn about what to look for there. I mean, we know what the unsub wants, but not how he looks like." This time, it's Tara who speaks.
You've rarely seen Emily bite her tongue when she wants to say something, but it's clear that she has something on her mind, and she doesn't know how to put it, or maybe the problem is something else. You look at her out of the corner of your eye, and she looks back at you; what do those eyes say? They look like they're even apologetic.
It's a fraction of the time before she comes back to behave like herself.
"We need to lurk him. It's the only way," she says. And everyone's eyes - yours included - are on her immediately.
"Lurk him?" Matt repeats.
"Yes. And all we know who should be the one going undercover to do that," Emily adds, looking at you this time.
That's it—the elephant in the room.
Of course, you're the ideal candidate. Well, you're perfect in the physical aspect because if we talk about the victim's personality and yours...
There's silence in the room, and you can feel like the team's eyes are all on you.
Do they expect you to say no? To refuse? From your perspective, it's not a question; it's more like the option you all have to catch the guy.
"It's true (Y/N) would be the closest to the unsub type, but there are a lot of things to take into account," Matt says. And you know perfectly well what's behind his words, even if he doesn't say it directly.
And that's okay; it's perfectly plausible they have their doubts. It is not enough to look like the victims for the operation to work.
But if there is one thing you are sure of, it's that you will always give your all to your job, even if that means becoming a completely different person.
"I can do it," you mumbled so quietly that if the AC weren't in the lower setting, people wouldn't have heard you.
"But (Y/N), you know about this guy. It's dangerous," Matt points, a frown on his face.
"Not to mention he likes rough interactions," Luke adds.
"You don't have to do it if you feel uncomfortable." This time, it is JJ who voices her opinion. And you know, that's the closest reason to the team's main concern.
And the fact you can blow up the entire plan.
Spencer stays in silence. Internally he's freaking out thinking of you having to lurk on the unsub, but he knows you are a professional. And he feels a kind of deja vu.
When he was younger, the team would have said the same about him doing something like that. Spencer knows what it's like when people baby you, making you feel insecure. Sure, he hasn't had to worry about that anymore. Spencer is almost forty, and no one would dare to tell him he can't do something. Not after all the things he has been through.
"JJ is right, Bella. You don't have to do it. We can think of another way," Rossi backs JJ.
That's when Spencer notices the slight frown on your face. It's invisible to everyone but him. He knows it's there.
You stay collected, even when everyone on the team has something to say about how bad the idea of you going undercover to lurk the unsub is.
Emily is who stops everyone's rant.
"Guys, hey. If (Y/N) is telling us she can do it, we're going to do it. Of course, we'll be there to back up her and catch this unsub."
And this is how the discussion is settled.
Emily sends everyone out with a task to prepare for the night. Today is Friday, and the unsub will surely be stalking some new victim. The chances are high.
When it's just you and Spencer in the room, he still looks at you in silence.
"Do you also think I'll not be able to pull off this mission and I'm going to ruin everything?"
You downcast your gaze, exhaling deeply.
"No. I don't think that," Spencer clarifies, and you raise your gaze to meet his eyes. "You are more than capable, (Y/N). The team is worried because you'll be out of your comfort zone in a dangerous situation."
"The team? Not you?" You narrow your eyes to him.
You try not to sound accusatory, but if you're as scared as everyone, you also are fed up with the other's doubts.
Spencer closes the distance between you both but doesn't invade your personal space.
"Of course, I'm worried too! I don't want anything bad to happen to you. But I trust you and your judgment."
Your heart does flip-flops, and you're not sure if it's because Spencer is worried or because, despite that, he trusts you—or both.
"You do?" You ask, not so convinced.
Spencer nods and smiles at you.
"And we'll be there when you catch the guy."
If that is the reassurance you need, you don't mention it. Instead, you grin at Spencer as a promise you'll do your job just how you are supposed to.
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You insist on getting ready in your hotel room. The only assistant you ask for is Emily. She was the one who trusted you first in this, so you'll take every piece of advice she can give you before this night starts.
Everyone has a role in the plan.
Rossi will be the chauffeur who will drive you to the club.
Luke and Spencer would be in the club, mingling with the patrons. JJ, Matt, and Emily would be in the van monitoring the whole situation with cameras and earpieces. Rossi would keep his facade as a driver so he could be at one of the entrances. Tara would be at the club, too, eyeing nothing suspicious going on in the bar because there is a chance the unsub is getting help from the bartender.
When you are in front of the mirror applying the last touch of makeup, Emily is looking at you with a stare you can't decipher.
"What?" you ask, and Emily chuckles.
"Please, don't take this in a bad way, but I never thought I would live the day of seeing you using clothing like this. And Jesus, you look so hot!"
Your cheeks redens.
"It's a little bit odd coming from my boss, don't you think?" you muse, smoothing the fabric of your dress.
"Point taken," Emily raises her hands in defense. "Although I know someone who is going to run out of breath after seeing you."
You let out a scoff. It's not a surprise for you. The BAU girls - boss included - have been trying to set you up with Spencer since forever. You don't entertain the idea only because you don't think it's possible and not because you don't like the concept.
"Come on, don't say that. You are not helping to my nerves."
"Sorry, I'll shut up. We should go, though," Emily says, checking her watch.
One of the SUVs drives you to the van parking point. You needed to review the operation details.
At the back of the van - or commander point - JJ, Luke, Tara, Rossi, Matt, and Spencer see you come up with Emily.
For the best US profilers, they're not doing a good job hiding that they are gawking at you. Surely, no one imagined seeing you in such a revealing outfit. Outfit that, without a doubt, suits you extremely well, highlighting all your body attributes.
Spencer feels like he died and was resurrected after seeing you.
"Okay, guys, we need to check the details again," Emily announces.
The plan is in motion, and everyone is in position.
As expected, you arrive with Rossi at the club, who opens the door for you and helps you descend from the car. Rossi gives you a reassuring smile before letting you go.
Like a switch, you are no longer the shy SSA (Y/L/N). Now you are the woman who is going to take what she wants and attract the unsub attention doing that.
Your walk is determined, and your eyes send out flames of confidence to those who look at you. The music is very loud, something that would usually bother you, but not now. This needs to feel like your environment. That's how you like it, you tell yourself.
Almost instantly, you start to attract the looks of men who are eager for a woman like you.
You exude determination, and you don't go unnoticed.
Walking into the club, you make brief eye contact with Luke, who is on the dance floor. You see Spencer perched in a booth, nursing a beer.
At the same time, Tara is stationed at the bar.
"Remember (Y/N); the unsub expects the woman to approach men. The flirt needs to come from you," Emily reminds you by the earpiece hidden in one of the earrings you're wearing.
"Show time," you mumble to yourself.
You walk seductively to the dance floor, where a young man is dancing with a blonde. You approach and whisper something in his ear. That makes the boy completely lose interest in the blonde and start dancing with you. You smile and cling to the man's body, who wastes no time and takes your hips as if they were his possessions.
That dance certainly has nothing innocent about it. You continue whispering things in the boy's ear, and he looks more and more excited. Once you consider it a reasonable amount of time to have attracted attention, you leave the boy alone and head to the bar. Just a few meters away from Tara, a suspicious man is staring at you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as you order a drink. When the bartender passes it to you, you make subtle eye contact with Tara, who nods, indicating that the drink is clean.
You look next to you and see another man not so subtly looking at you. You know the unsub's profile, and you can't be intimidated or dominated by another man. You are the one who calls the shots. Otherwise, this will not work.
Before the man makes his attempt to seduce you, you turn to him, and with a penetrating look and disdainful voice, you stop him.
"Sorry, honey. Don't waste your time. You're not my type," and with that, you leave to move to the opposite side of the club. The guy huffs, and you're almost sure hearing him call you 'bitch' under his breath.
JJ, who's following the cameras inside the club, sees someone who looks suspect.
"Hey, this guy has been peeking at (Y/N) the entire time, and look, he clenched his fists when (Y/N) turned down that guy at the bar."
Emily confirms JJ's observation before giving you the next instructions.
"(Y/N), you're doing great. We have a possible target. So we need to raise the bet."
You know exactly what Emily means. You both had talked about the strategy to follow, having more details about what you should do than the rest of the team.
Matt and JJ look confused at each other but say nothing.
Your next step is to find another dude to seduce before delivering the coup de grace.
Luke and Spencer keep an eye on you. And while Luke is pleasantly surprised by your audacity, Spencer can't help but feel his stomach tighten. He tells himself it's because he is afraid something bad could happen to you, but inside of him, it's that and the fact of seeing you flirt with other men.
Just like you did with the guy on the dance floor, you attract the attention of another man; this time, you take his hand and pull him to the dance floor.
JJ and Matt's jaws drop to the floor. If Tara, Luke, and Spencer could do the same without giving themselves away, they would have done it, too.
As if it were your second nature, you laugh and move to the music. The man seems to enjoy the moment so much that he takes a bold step by leaning in to kiss you. You let him get closer until his lips are almost on yours. But before touching each other, you pull back with a malicious smile.
"Naughty boy. I'm who says if you can kiss or no," you pout, faking disappointment. Dizzed, the guy cocks his head and sees you walk away.
Matt chirps now. "It's him. Look boss," he tells Prentiss, pointing to the same guy JJ saw before.
There is no longer any doubt that it is him. Now you just have to catch him red-handed.
"(Y/N), we got him. It's time for the last play," Emily tells you.
With Emily's instruction, you go to the bar for another drink before heading over to where Spencer is sitting.
He tries to play it off, but he has no idea why you're approaching him.
"Is this seat taken, handsome?" You ask, with your drink in hand.
"N- no. Please," Spencer gestures to the booth on his front, but you opt to perch to his side. Spencer thinks he never has been this close to you. He looks at your eyes, and it's like you are a totally different person. It's a little bit contradictory for him, to be honest. He already likes you just as you are, but this version of you? It's driving him insane.
Some resemblance of your true self looks with a kind of curiosity the nervousness on Spencer. You don't think much about it; you assume he's playing the nervous guy who is baffled by you.
The thing is, Spencer isn't playing. He's definitely baffled by you.
"Are you okay?" You ask him, masking your question with a seductive smile.
"Yeah. Are - are you?" Spencer stutters a bit—something that is perfect for the plan but embarrassing for him.
You get closer to him to speak in his ear.
"This was Emily's idea," you tell him before kissing his ear and gently biting his lobe.
Spencer's breath hitches in his throat, and he thinks he's going to pass out any second. You're not doing it better: your heart is also pumping hard from the adrenaline. Of course, you had imagined something like that with Spencer, but only in your erotic dreams. You wouldn't dare do this on any given day.
You keep teasing Spencer, who, despite the nervousness, tries to play along. If this is the closest he will ever have you, he wants to engrave this in his memory.
"Just a little push, (Y/N). We almost have him," Emily instructs by the earpiece.
You swallow as subtly as possible as you wrap your arm around Spencer's neck, pulling him closer to you.
It's only a second between that action and the fact that you're kissing Spencer like it's your last meal.
Spencer doesn't know how to respond, and you were counting on that; it was enough time for the unsub to notice that you were the one who chose her last prey.
When Spencer is about to reciprocate the kiss, you murmur a 'sorry' into his lips and quickly pull away, giving him a disdainful look—which you hope he understands is fake—before getting up and walking toward the back exit door.
As expected, the unsub follows you towards the back door, and while your back is turned, he believes he has the advantage to attack you. What he doesn't know is that Matt and Luke are ready to lunge at him the moment he tries to touch you.
Everything that happens after is too fast.
The unsub is detained and taken to a patrol car while the team gathers around you, congratulating you on the successful operation. They all apologize to you for their previous apprehensions. You tell them that you understand and that there is no need to apologize. And it's like the switch has been flipped again since you came out of the femme fatale role.
But something is wrong. Spencer is not in the group. You see him a little further away, near the exit door of the club. Emily notices the looks between you both, and she sends the team on different tasks to close the case, leaving you and Spencer there.
There's something in his eyes that you can't decipher. You think it's resentment for using him without warning him what you were going to do.
You shyly approach him.
"It's me again," you tell him, pulling a face. You don't know what to say to make the situation better. Spencer nods.
"Yeah. You did it great, by the way," he compliments you. But it doesn't feel good like Spencer's compliments usually do.
"Look, about the kiss back there-" you start. He needs an explanation as a bare minimum.
"I know. It was fake," Spencer cuts you off.
Those words shouldn't hurt you as they do now. But isn't that the most reasonable thing to believe? The you in the club weren't you, so all you did inside was pretend.
Everything except that kiss.
If it's true you couldn't enjoy it the way you would have liked, you will never forget his lips on yours.
A tense silence takes over the moment. This is not okay.
You can't afford to lie to one of the most important people in your life, even if telling the truth takes you out of your comfort zone.
What the hell! Tonight has already been a total of 180 from a usual day for you.
"It wasn't," you mumble, and you see his eyes flicking to yours in a second.
"What?" Spencer asks, narrowing his eyes at you.
"Everything was fake, but not the kiss," you say with a stadied voice this time.
Spencer's heart races again. If you say you didn't fake it, then what he felt on your part at that moment was real?
"It wasn't fake?" He asks for clarification. You nod.
A smirk forms on Spencer's lips, seeing your cheeks redden.
There you are. The girl he had fallen for in the past two years.
"Well, you know that I am a man of science, right?" he tells you, and you frown because you have no idea where this is going.
"I know," you say with some hesitation.
"And as a man of science, I need evidence of things, you know?"
Now, you are the one who smirks at him.
"Evidence, huh?"
"Yep," he says, emphasizing the 'p' and swaying his body on his feet. You hum.
"I believe I can provide the necessary evidence if you need them," you concede, and Spencer's eyes sparkle with excitement.
Now, he is the one who reaches out and cups your cheeks. Your breathing quickens, but that doesn't stop you from standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips with his.
This time, there is no unsub, no curious eyes are looking at you, there is no rush, there is no femme fatale role, and above all, this is not fake; it's as real as the fact that your heart beats for him, and his for you.
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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers 
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taz-writes · 1 year ago
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more D&D fic nonsense. this one's been a WIP for a while... jube and marigold return to their hometown with jube's family to reclaim their old home, which has been abandoned since jube's fam was forcibly exiled around 14 years prior in the wake of the girls running away. this is from marigold's POV, she calls jube 'posy' bc it's a childhood nickname.
She stumbles on something underfoot, and realizes she’s nearly tripped on part of Sage’s old toy car collection. She pauses to pick up the little metal ambulance, weighs it in her hand. It’s cold. 
She hands it to him without a word. Presses it into his hand, and he goes rigid, and his eyes go wide. 
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. 
He doesn’t respond. He stops in his tracks and stares at the car like it’s from another planet. Rolls it back and forth in his hand. The wheels are jammed with dust and rust. 
“Oh,” is all he can say. His voice cracks. 
“...Can I…?” she reaches towards it. She’s walking a line that she can’t see, it’s been so long, but she has to try. Sage looks at her sharply, startled, and clutches the toy to his chest. “...I can clean it,” Marigold says softly. “I, um, I have a spell.” 
“...Oh.” He nods. Hands it to her gingerly, and she swirls the dust away, watches Prestidigitation spin it off into nothingness. And then he takes it back, and tucks it into his breast pocket, and neither of them can quite look at each other anymore. 
She barely knew him, before they left. He was… something like eight years old when she and Posy ran away. 
She’s starting to get why Posy runs away from things.
#taz talks#dnd fic#marigold's pov is so interesting for these#because jube's like... the default protagonist right? jube was the PC jube is the one all the drama orbits around#jube is the one who's responsible. she decided to run away and leave no notes or warnings and she's the one who tipped the first domino#that led to the highbluffs' retaliation in the form of her family's exile and her mother's coma#but marigold is the reason jube did it#because marigold was being abused and jube couldn't let it keep happening and so she made the only choice she knew how to make#jube wanted to leave. it was a little bit selfish. but it was mostly for marigold because jube would burn the world for her if she had to.#and marigold feels like the consequences are her own fault too#she's an outsider. she's not part of jube's family really.#they're engaged now and jube's parents always saw her as an extra daughter anyway but like... it's not the same#marigold doesn't share that trauma#for the brittlebushes coming home is painful because it's all they wanted for a decade and a half (and for jube it's proof she was foolish)#for marigold coming home is painful because she's traumatized and the smell of the air itself makes her feel fifteen and helpless again#and small towns remember everything but they only ever knew her when she used her parents' surname#i started writing this fic as a creative exercise in how many times marigold can be called 'miss highbluff' before she decks somebody#and now i'm 20 pages in and nobody's actually even called her that yet#because i can't stop telling the story of home first
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cherryredstars · 7 months ago
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Ok so i have this fic idea where reader and mig are from different universes and reader is a scientist and one time mig and her get drunk and start talking about the multiverse and suddenly they are on the topic of what would happen if people from different universes had a baby together. (You see where i am going with this...) they end up drunkenly fucking and saying it's for "research" because they can't admit to themselves that they are in love. If this request is too complicated feel free to ignore. Thank you in advance cherry!! I hope u have a marvelous new year!! 💕
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Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Mentions of Oral Sex, Mentions of Animal Testing (for science), Breeding Kink
A/N: Thank you, love! I hope you're well!!!
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You know there is a process.
And you know this isn't it.
There are supposed to be hypotheses and written out procedures. Dependent and independent variables, a control group. Fucking hell, you should be experimenting on fucking mice. You should be limiting the margins of error, should be going with the most direct, straightforward pursuit for results.
And yet...
You don't stop Miguel when he pushes you back onto the couch. You don't pause or even really think when he's pushing your pants down your legs, placing kisses along the skin as he goes. You lift your hips to aid him when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, shivering when his warm breath fans over your exposed sex. If this experiment was in any sense proper, you would get straight into it. Cut out all the unneeded steps. But you can't help but pull his head closer to your aching core, craving the way his warm tongue laps at you. If you weren't already drunk, you would be drunk on this feeling alone.
But god, nothing has even been more satisfying than doing the work. You know the data would be void in a real experiment. The trials bleeding into each other hardly make for adequate data, but the way you beg him for more is involuntary. It feels too good, to have him desperately thrusting into you. It makes your mind numb, and everything you know about your life's passion is erased. The only thing that fills your head is the words Miguel grunts into you ears, promises of fucking a baby into you. Vows to make you bloated with load after load of his cum. That all it'll take is one of his orgasms to make it happen.
You guess that is a hypothesis in itself: Miguel O'Hara can get you pregnant with just one orgasm.
Too bad he's too desperate to find out if that hypothesis is correct. Because he doesn't stop at one. No, he keeps going. One after the other with no breaks in-between. But you guess that's to be expected, he is a man of science himself. A passionate one at that.
He's almost crazed in the way he overstimulates himself. Sweat beading in his hairline as he grunts down at you, watching the way he creamy cock slides in and out of your abused pussy. You've lost count of how many times you've come alone, but you know based on the way your body shivers and jolts that it's far more than you've ever had before. It's almost painful now, the way your next orgasm rips through you and shatters your soul again. You let out strangled breaths as you fight through the aftershocks and the continued pleasure of Miguel's cock slamming against your cervix. You swear you black out before he finally stops, your eyes and mind groggy as he pulls your hips flush against his as he spills into you.
You can feel him trying to push deeper into you as he pants ruggedly, his cock twitching against your walls until he's milked dry. Even when he's done filling you, he stays connected. He collapses onto you, breathing in the linger smell of sweat and sex on your skin.
"Got to make sure it takes."
Well, does the process really matter if you get the desired result anyway?
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Part 2 Part 3
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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 3 months ago
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God ever since reading A Gilded Cage I cant get the thought out of my head of a part 2 where Reader doesn't see Jason for a few days after the revelation. Like maybe he thinks he's being kind and giving us some time to process, maybe he's on his angst again, or maybe some outside factor has taken his attention so the only time he's able to visit is while we're asleep.
And the whole night of the reveal feels like a fever dream when we wake up but there's a blanket draped over us and a fuzzy little kitten purring up a storm on our chest (in my heart his name is Bean (short for Toebean)), so we're at least kind of sure it happened. But as the time passes with no sign of Jason our certainty begins to wane and until we finally get fed up and write on the notepad the first thing we've asked for since that night: "You."
Or something like that idek okay I've been over here clawing at my walls frothing at the mouth I never really even liked ak!Jason before reading your stuff and now I'm feral for him and its all your fault and I'm not even mad about it
A Glimmering Collar
AKA Part Two of this series. Ahh, nonnie, you literally cooked with this. I love when my fics inspire people enough to keep thinking on them! Seriously, ty for dropping these ideas in my inbox cause I had nothing going on in my brain for a part two initially. Hope you enjoy!
~2.6k words
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You wake up to something tickling your nose. Your body feels heavy, your mind even more so. Nothing in you is ready to open your eyes, to face the fact that last night could all have been a dream. That he isn't– that was just a dream.
Something soft flicks your nose again, and you force your eyes open. You blink hard once. Then twice. It's a kitten. It's tiny, and it's sitting by your face. Every few seconds, its tail sways and brushes your nose.
Oh. You sit up slowly, trying not to frighten the small thing. It looks at you contently over its shoulder and meows. The kitten stretches as you stare at it, then plops itself directly on the blanket resting over your lap.
Huh. There's a blanket you definitely don't remember grabbing sprawled over your legs. You carefully reach down to pet the kitten's head. Your heart melts a little when it nuzzles your fingers and purrs.
You look around the room slowly. Nothing else looks different. The notepad is still in place, but the kitten and blanket all point to one thing. Last night was real. Jason is alive. Jason is the Arkham Knight.
You're trying to wrap your brain around that when the door flies open, nearly making you jump out of your skin.
"Good morning!!" A flurry of voice call from the doorway. Your eyes widen as three brightly dressed people strut their way into your apartment, "Are you ready for your shopping trip, hun?"
"My– excuse me?" You stumble out, tucking the kitten to your chest as you stand.
They giggle, and one of them steps forward, "Your shopping trip, sweetie! And spa day, of course. Oh, ha, we haven't even been introduced, have we? I'm Krystal with a K, she's Destini with an i and he's Robbi also with an i."
Robbi huffs and walks up to you to pet your kitten, "Why can't you ever introduce Destini second? She can be Destini also with an i, ya know."
The other girl walks up to you as well and picks affectionately at your clothes, "Because it's alphabetical that way, Robbi. Now you better go get dressed, we have brunch reservations and mimosa plans!"
"I– sorry? What?" You ask, eyes darting between the three of them. Whatever this is, you can't keep up. You've barely processed Jason kidnapped you, and now you're supposed to go get a massage and drinks?
"The boss wants you to go out," a flat voice cuts in. You're the only one that stiffens at the sight of two large men stepping through the door.
Krystal speaks up, "We're here to make sure you have a good time! And Mack and John are here to keep us safe!"
"Mack and John," You echo weakly.
"Your body guards, silly," Destini chirps, ushering you to your room. She plucks the kitten from your hands, "Now get dressed! Wear something nice!"
You stare at the door as she shuts it. What just happened? You hear them chattering happily in the kitchen, idly talking about pregaming your shopping trip.
Your whole mind is a mess, and you sluggishly get ready, thoughts whirling. You've barely talked to soul since you were kidnapped, and now you have five new names to remember, a kitten, and a day out.
You're not exactly sure if you should be unsettled or grateful at how quickly Jason worked to get you what you asked for. By the time you've opened your bedroom door, Krystal, Destini and Robbi are passing around a flask, and playfully trying to get your 'bodyguards' to drink it.
You wonder what they must think of all this. Who they think you are. You're struck with the realization that Jason must be paying them to entertain you today.
You don't get to linger on the thought before Robbi hooked his arm with yours, dragging you towards the door, "Let's gooo, the brunch place we're going to does the best pineapple mimosas. Or cherry, if that's your thing."
"Wait," Mack– or John, you're not exactly sure which one is which– stops you, "Boss wants you to wear this."
The girls and Robbi coo in awe when Mack opens a box, revealing a glittery, jaw-dropping choker. You waver at the sight of it. It's not that it doesn't match what you're wearing. You'd dressed up like Destini suggested, but it feels like some kind of trap.
You reluctantly pick up the necklace, eyeing how it catches the light, "Is it– are sure it's safe to wear this out?" Safety isn't really what you're concerned about at the moment.
You're more worried about the crushing weight that this means more than you understand.
John nods once, "There won't be any problems."
Krystal happily plucks the necklace from your fingers, and before you have time to argue, she drapes the necklace around your throat. "It's beautiful, hun. Just like you. Let's go get you something to eat," her voice is soft, measured, and full of so much understanding it makes you want to cry.
You don't know much they know, but when she hooks her arm with yours to guide you out the door, you have a feeling there's more awareness than their bubbly attitudes let on.
The day ends up being wonderful. Being around people, out under the sun (the sun Gotham does get), was rejuvenating. You had fun, joked, smiled, and for a day, it was almost like you didn't have a prison cell to go back to.
The food was delicious, the spa relaxing, and you didn't have to carry back a single bag. Krystal had flashed a black card at every payment, every place ever could want to shop at, reassuring you it's all been taken care of.
But the time you've collapsed on the couch, exhausted but content, the uneasy feelings from this morning are gone.
You settle on the cushions to wait for Jason. To thank him for listening or to yell at him for still keeping you here, you're not exactly sure yet.
But he doesn't come, you fall asleep in your expensive necklace and pretty clothes with one hand petting your kitten. He doesn't come the next day either, at least not while you're awake, but Krystal, Destini, and Robbi do.
Your friends, the people being paid to entertain you are nice, perfect even. They're exactly what you would have asked for.
Your kitten is perfect too, it cuddles with you at night and nuzzles under your chin after you're left alone, when the unease finds its way back to you.
It's been days since you've seen him. It's starting to feel like a lifetime. You know he comes back after you fall asleep, he moves things. You think it's his way of showing that he listened, that he came back because you asked.
The notepad, the one you haven't written on since that night, shifts closer to you on the glass table if you sleep on the couch.
The glimmering choker gets pulled out of the drawer every time you try to put it away. Your kitten has a growing collection of toys and things to climb on.
It's obvious he's visiting, so why won't he let you see him? Day five of dancing around each other breaks you. You want to see him, want to talk to him, and understand. You want Jason.
Your hand shakes a little, when you go to write on the notepad, and when you wake up the next morning, the paper is blank again.
You wait. You wait some more. All day you wait for him. No one else comes. It's strangely quiet, with just you and your kitten. You've just about given up, collapsed in your bed, when the glowing whites of his helmet catch your attention.
You sit up quickly and throw your legs off the bed as you stare into the doorway, "You came."
"Did you mean it," he asks, any emotion he's feeling hidden by the aggravating modulator.
"Mean what," You question, standing off the bed to walk closer to him, "Will you take the mask off?"
He doesn't move for a moment, just takes in the sight of you. The silence that drags almost makes you regret the question, but he carefully pulls off his helmet, "What you wrote. That you wanted me."
"I– yeah, Jason. I haven't– it's been days since I saw you," You only notice mid sentence that his hand is reaching for your face, it makes your voice waver. "You never answered any of my questions," You finish weakly.
His hand stills and he drops it, "Questions. That's what you wanted?"
You nod a little, searching his face for any hint of what he's feeling, but he gives nothing away.
He sighs softly, and looks away, adjusting his helmet under his arm. You think he might look disappointed, "I can't give you the answers you're looking for."
"Why not," You question softly, worried to push him away.
Jason turns his focus back to you, "I just need you to stay here. Please," he sighs out your name, and his hand twitches as if to touch you, "Don't fight me on this."
"That's not fair," You mumble, "Why am I here, Jason? You know I would have listened if you came to talk to me instead of– this."
Silence falls again, and he steps past you into your room. He sets his helmet on your dresser and picks up the choker resting on the wooden surface, "I wish you would wear this. I picked it out for you."
"Jason," You start, tracking his movements.
"I know," he cuts you off, "but I told you, you don't need to understand anything." You stiffen when he steps back towards you and guides you to turn around.
The air leaves your lungs as his gloves brush over your skin. He sets the necklace around your throat, and even after it rests heavy against your skin, his touch lingers.
"You just need to stay here. It's safe. I've given you everything you've asked for, and everything you haven't," Jason says softly, stepping out from behind you. His gaze lingers on your neck for a moment, and the stifling, unexplainable feeling sets back into your gut.
Your words stick in your throat. There's a sense of danger, one that doesn't make sense. Jason wouldn't hurt you. Not the Jason you know. But is this the Jason you know? The thought makes you want to tear the choker from your skin and throw it at him.
"It feels like a collar," You say quietly, and your breath hitches when his gaze snaps go yours, "I mean, it's pretty. Really. But, it feels– like it's more," You stumble out.
He nods slowly, and he doesn't stop himself from touching you this time. His fingers trace the choker, linger over your collarbones, brush along your pulse, "Maybe it is."
You blink at him, every thought flying from your brain, "What?"
He hums softly, hooking a finger under the shiny jewels to draw you closer, "Does that scare you? Knowing that you can't leave? Knowing that no matter how pretty these are, it's just another way to keep you?"
"You wouldn't hurt me," you say instead, it sounds like you believe it, but you're not sure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.
"I don't want to," He admits, fingers leaving your throat to trail up your jaw, "but I probably could."
"I don't believe that. I remember–" He tuts, tapping your cheek. Your heart drops when you realize he's mirroring where his own brand is.
"I'm not what you remember," he says firmly, before whispering your name, "I'm not that Jason. Not really."
"Then who are you," You ask, even though you don't want to know the answer. You want to pretend he's still something you know.
His eyes dart over your face, then back down to the necklace, "I'm still Jason. But I'm also the Arkham Knight."
"What does that mean," You push, reach up to grab his wrist, demanding his attention, demanding real answers.
"It means that you stay. It means that I give you what you want. Everything and anything except leaving," he says, voice lowering to something kinder, gentler, "it'll make sense eventually. You'll be happy here. Safe."
"Will that make you happy?" You ask, fingers tightening on his wrist. Half of you wants to pull him away, stop him from tracing patterns over your cheek, but the other part of you wants to press his hand closer.
Something flicks in his eyes at your words, "Yes."
"Will it keep you safe?" You murmur, eyes locked on his.
He doesn't answer, clenching and unclenching his jaw for a moment, "Safety is an option I don't have."
"It could be, if you wanted it," You say, dropping his wrist. It must be true. Even with all the secrets he's keeping, his evasive disappearing act, he could take off the armor. Leave behind the new symbol engraved over his chest.
He laughs a little and swipes his thumb under your eye, "I'm glad that you don't understand. It's good, that they didn't twist you into something unrecognizable."
"Understand?" You prompt, unsettled by his laughter.
"That they need to pay. All of them do," he smiles a little, it's a mockery of the one you remember. Jason traces the choker one last time before stepping back.
"You're leaving," You say, not a question, a statement of fact. He's leaving, without explaining anything again.
"I am," he affirms, moving to grab his helmet.
"I want you to stay," You breathe out and he freezes in place.
He exhales softly and faces you again, "You don't know what you're asking."
"I do. I want you to stay," You repeat, reaching out to push his helmet back towards the dresser.
"And then what?" He asks lowly, a warning, "What do you expect to happen?"
It makes you waver, "I– I don't know. But it's what I want."
It's another long moment of nothing before he answers, gesturing towards the bed, "Go to sleep."
"You'll stay?"
He nods at your question, unceremoniously dragging the chair from your desk to your bedside.
"Is that going to be comfortable–" You begin, settling yourself in the bed.
"You're overthinking it," he mumbles, waving at you to lay down. You do, watching as your kitten jumps into his lap, curling up like this is something that happens all the time. (You have the feeling it is) "Have you named him," he asks quietly.
"The kitten? Mm, no. Wanted you to," You say softly, carefully not to unsettle either of them.
"I wouldn't be good at it," Jason protests, eyes flicking between you and the kitten.
"I don't mind," You murmur, "anything's better than 'kitten'."
He pauses, so quiet and still you think he won't answer, "Bean," he mumbles, reluctant as the newly appointed Bean cuddles into his armor.
You smile, "Bean's a good name."
He doesn't answer, seemingly engrossed with watching the kitten.
You take him in for another moment, memorizing his face before closing your eyes. It's not an accident that you leave your palm open and face up by the side of the bed.
There's no more pleasantries exchanged, no sweet goodnights or the gentle touches against your face you've grown used to. But just as you finally start to drift off, as darkness finally draws you to rest, a warm, rough hand weaves itself into yours and squeezes.
Part Three
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daenysx · 3 months ago
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hi lovely ! i have a request ! i'm a sucker for comforting others so could you do another fic like glossy eyes of a pretty boy but sfw and slightly different? i was thinking maybe james loses a quidditch match and maybe has a panic attack or is just really worked up so rem and siri have to come get us to go calm him down :((( he's my baby i love him so bad !!! and ofc if you don't want to you don't have to !!! ty my lovely ! <3
i hope you enjoy, thank you for requesting, angel <33333
james potter x fem!reader, sfw (they are just kissing through the end but nothing else)
you're trying to focus on what you're writing when sirius appears. his hair is messed up from running, you look at him through curious eyes. "what's wrong?" you ask.
"hey, gorgeous." he says first. he takes a seat next to you and tries to catch his breath. "sorry- i'll tell you in a second."
"do you want some water?" you ask, giggling. he shakes his head. "i'm fine, i'm fine."
"something happened?"
"what's that?" he asks you before answering your question. his finger points the books in front of you.
"i'm trying to finish the potions essay." you say. "it's not going really well."
"um- do you mind taking a break?" sirius asks, his breathing turns into normal each second. "prongs might need your company."
"what happened to him?" you worry. "is he okay?"
sirius tries to fix his hair with useless fingers. "yeah, but- he's a bit upset. the meeting we had for the next match didn't go well, the new ones in team kinda messed with his head, i guess."
"where is he?" you ask him as you start collecting your things. sirius takes your book bag to his shoulder as he leads the way to their room.
you knew james was nervous for the next match, it's against slytherin and most of the time a fight or an argument is inevitable. what's weird is that the argument happening inside the gryffindor team. james hates when something goes wrong in the game because of personal conflicts, he doesn't like mixing things together.
the walk is not long, sirius walks with you until the common room. you can spot remus sitting on the couch as you step in. his arms are crossed, his long legs placed on the small table in front.
"hi, remus." you say when he sees you.
"hi." he says with a remuslike smile. "thanks for coming so fast."
"is he okay?" you ask him. sirius puts your bag on the couch before settling down next to remus.
"he's okay, besides going insane over the match." remus answers. "i've never seen prongs panicking too much, i mean it's just a game right?"
"it's never just a game, beloved moony." sirius shakes his head. "the team is literally being sabotaged by itself, it's worse than losing against slytherin."
"i'm gonna check up on him." you tell them, accepting their brief nods as answer.
you knock on the door before entering. james doesn't reply. when you open the door and take a gentle step inside, he lifts his head. he doesn't say anything until you walk towards him.
"hi, jamie." you say, softly. "can i come in?"
it's normally a stupid question, you already came in. you just don't want to bother james if he wants to be alone. he nods. he's sitting on his messed up bed, his glasses thrown aside just like his tie. his shirt lost a few top buttons, and you can see the red in his pretty eyes when you're this close.
you stand in front of james, almost between his parted legs. he extends a shaky hand to pull you closer. the room reflects his mood, you think, you've never seen it so messy.
james looks at you briefly before putting his head on your belly. his weak arms are wrapped around your hips to keep you, your hands quickly go to his head to let him know it's okay. he can cry if he wants to, or scream, even though he seems like he's lacking the energy for it. he stays there until he breathes right. you rub the tense muscles of his shoulder with your one hand as your other hand strokes his hair.
"thank you for coming." he says with a rough voice. "i know you had work to do."
you cup his cheek to lift his head. your thumb rubs the angry tears on his face until it's dry. "my work isn't more important than you."
"thanks."
you give him a smile. it doesn't reach your eyes but james will understand. "do you wanna talk about it? the boys said a few things about the match but i don't really know what happened."
james shakes his head. "i can tell you later." he says. "i really don't wanna hear anything about the bloody match."
you give him a quick nod. he reaches for your hand.
"can you-" he sniffs. "can we lay down for a minute?"
"of course, baby." you say. "for as long as you want."
you help james put his head on your chest as you find a nice position to cuddle him. your arms around him feel safe, you can't see his face properly but you know he tries to calm down by taking in your familiar scent.
he's so precious, your boy. you like how passionate he is for the things he loves, he pushes himself hard until he is where he wants to be. you know it's stressful, being a solid part of a team and trying to make new people get along. james is the sunshine, he's easygoing and charming, but when he gets upset, it's hard to turn back to his normal self. he needs some time.
you play with his hair until he goes lax in your arms. his pent up energy slowly disappears. he drags his hand to your waist to rub the skin he can reach through your shirt.
you can almost count his eyelashes with this angle. he's gorgeous, even when he's mad. you think this is the real magic. he truly is a magical being, and it has nothing to do with the things he can do with his wand. you like how he's deep in his emotions, all of them, he lives bravely, never backs down from feeling anything. he'll be okay, he can stay here as long as he wants.
the kisses you press on his hair are soothing, you need to lift your head to reach him but it's fine. there are no words, just you and just him.
james sits on bed with slow motions when it becomes bearable. you watch him. "i'm okay." he says. "i'm sorry for worrying you."
"we were worried about you, but it's okay if you feel better." you say to him. he gets as comfortable as he can to settle down on top of your body to give you a good kiss, the kind of kiss that messes with his breathing and quickens his heartbeat. you cup his cheeks, thumbs drawing half moons on his skin. he's so soft now, no hurt feelings left. he closes his eyes to you, his lips conveying every thought he doesn't need to talk about anymore.
"everything will work out with the team." you say when he breaks the kiss. "you only need to be patient, my love. you'll do so well. you'll win the match."
james nods before putting his head on the crook of your neck. "remus is saying the same thing." he tells you. "i know we can beat them and- i only want everyone in team to feel that way."
"i think they already do." you believe what you say. "it must be stressful for everyone."
"yes. probably." james accepts. "we need more time."
"that's right." you agree. "can i bring you something to eat? i think we missed dinner."
"oh." he lifts his head. he was so deep in his sulking, he didn't realize how much time you spent next to him. "i'm sorry, angel. i totally forgot. i'll go get us something to eat."
"i'm not really hungry." you smile. "but food always makes you feel better, so..."
you're teasing and suddenly everything feels normal. james kisses your cheek and leaves his bed. "you always make me feel better." he says, such a romantic, he's down bad. "i'm so lucky to have you."
you blush under his gaze. your fingers try to fix the buttons of his shirt. "come on, potter, i decided i'm starving now. you also need to see sirius and remus, they were worried."
james holds your hand. "let's go then."
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buggachat · 1 year ago
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Honestly I think my take on the "Chat Noir was not there in the final battle" comes down to the fact that I kind of just don't think a satisfying final battle between Chat Noir and Monarch was actually possible.
I read a lot of fic, for example, and I've read the scenario play out a lot of times in a ton of ways and I've never been fully convinced of it tbh (and not because they weren't great fic!!). It seems just completely traumatic for Adrien in a way that the scenario inherently cannot properly focus on, because it's all happening in the middle of an action scene and Adrien is too busy being Mid-Battle to properly have a cathartic breakdown about it all. I mean, Chat Blanc already showed us what would happen if he did have a breakdown mid-battle (and why wouldn't he?). And though it'd be fun to have a big triumphant moment of him defeating his abusive father, Adrien simply isn't a character who would find that scenario triumphant, or cathartic, or anything other than viscerally traumatic.
Also, I agree that it's unfair that Chat Noir was not present— like it was unfairly tilted in Ladybug's favor— but I don't think it'd be fair if he was present, either. Because Marinette is, in fact, the main character. The main character whose character arc is primarily focused on her finding her footing as a hero and discovering all the responsibilities that come with that power (as opposed to Adrien, whose character arc is moreso about freedom and identity). And let's face it, in a fight between Ladybug and Chat Noir and Monarch, nobody would be focused on Ladybug at all. It's not about her. It's not her fight. She'd just be there as moral support and an extra set of hands, which really doesn't work for her character arc at all and is completely unfair to her!
Basically, it would just be Chat Noir temporarily acting as the main character and having the worst time of his life in the most un-cathartic battle for him possible left completely traumatized with Ladybug in the background awkwardly trying to comfort him after the fact? And then the season ends? And then the next season presumably goes back to Ladybug being the main character? After a time-skip to the new school year? It's just an ending that I feel like is a lot better in theory than actually on paper. And you can probably make an argument for ways that it could be made to work, where it would enhance Ladybug's story in a meaningful way where she still feels like the main character, and would somehow be triumphant for Chat Noir despite it probably being the worst moment of his life, and somehow not make the rest of the series following feel like bonus content as opposed to a continuation of the story...... but, I dunno. I think it's a lot easier said than done.
The fact of the matter is, I've always been waaayyyy more interested in how the aftermath of Gabriel's defeat affects Adrien than the battle itself. Post-Hawkmoth defeat is one of my favorite types of fic for a reason, and it's because the aftermath can be so juicy, especially for Adrien as a character. I think whether or not Adrien is actually there in the battle itself has always been kind of irrelevant to me, because no matter how Gabriel is defeated, his defeat will have immense repercussions on Adrien's life going forward. And the way they did it, Marinette is now a part of it in a more active way, too. Which is good for her character!
( Also, if he was there to triumphantly defeat Gabriel, would that mean he would just.... watch his father die? of cataclysm? a-and.... nathalie would just.... die, too? so he'd have three dead parents after all that? who he watched all die (or, in emilie's case, saw her corpse)? or is this a scenario where MONARCH BEATS CHAT NOIR and still makes the wish? is that cathartic? for Adrien to lose to Gabriel? Frankly, I loved seeing Gimmi and The Wish, it's been teased for so long that I was expecting it, and I loved the fact that Nathalie got to live as her narrative reward for coming to her senses and trying to murder Gabriel with a crossbow. I like that we got to watch a full season of Gabriel painfully dying to a cataclysm— poetically inflicted on him by Adrien, but of Gabriel's own doing. I like that Nathalie has presumably adopted Adrien after having an arc of her trying to be a parent to him once she realized nobody else would, that's so much more interesting than any other alternative. I just don't see how all of these things, some of my favorite things that season 5 gave, can still all exist at once with Chat Noir present in the final battle in any way that's satisfying. )
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riaki · 1 year ago
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nice boys and sour hearts | satoru gojo x reader
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wc: 4.6k cw: minor swearing, he refers to u as 'momma' once (its normal i promise) n i think thats about it post suguru defection, shoko typical smoking ; no established relationship b ur def more than friends
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i didnt want this angst to be too intense so i made it super duper fluffy. hopes it tastes like strawberries to u cs it does in my head ; another one of those fics i whipped up to meet the weekend deadline b i’m actually proud of this one not proofread!
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satoru hates arguing with you.
it bites at him; twists his heart from the inside out in such a gut-wrenching way that he can hardly stand seeing your nose wrinkle in frustration and your eyes narrow with impatience, let alone hear the words coming out of your mouth, dripping with venom and irritation directed at him. he's never been used to being on the receiving end.
it tastes sour; bitter on his tongue in a way he's never been accustomed to. his tastebuds only recognize the sweet taste of fruit syrup, powdered sugar, or warm chocolate as home; he never indulges in the bitter, like the black coffee the kid he took in seems to like so much. but he'll take the silly sour lemon drops with sweet cream in the center, only because they remind him of you. you, so sweet when you love but sour when you're annoyed, which happens to be now, in this instant.
of course, he'll tell himself he doesn't mind. that sweet and sour have always gone nicely together. like strawberry lemonade on hot summer afternoons when the both of you have had enough of being stuffed into a clammy hot classroom with your musclebrain teacher. sometimes its the three of you, maybe even the four of you if you get lucky with the pixie stick trade offering (a healthier alternative to a cigarette, you both agreed on). but nowadays, it was only ever the two of you. the bitter had chosen his own path, and tangy was locked up in the infirmary sun up to sun down.
but right now, you're upset with him. and he absolutely despises it— to him, it's abhorrent. a strong word, but it's only fitting. but he can't help it when your conversation lingers in his mind, spinning itself a web of self-doubt and hurt and anger as he slips his gym shoes off and redresses himself by the school lockers, running a hand through his hair with a forced, annoyed exhale.
it was nothing big, really. or at least, that's what he thinks. you'd been in the gym after school, watching as he messed around with the basketball, seeing how long he could go dribbling by himself with a bump of his knee there, pushing it to the floor with his hand and watching it bounce back up with mild interest. he had no one to play with, but at least the ball would come back up no matter how much he pushed it down.
it was small. barely worth fussing over.
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he had already been irritated. it was hot out, because summer was coming around. sweat beaded on his neck and rolled down his chest, seeping into his shirt as he wiped his forehead and made another shoot at the hoop, landing back on his feet with a soft thud as the basketball rattled around the rusted metal ring and fell through the net for the nth time that afternoon.
a hum of approval comes from your throat, followed by a loud whistle of contentment from him as he watches the ball bounce on the floor. he hikes his sunglasses up his forehead, bringing an arm up and wiping away the sweat on his cheek with his sleeve as he turns to look at you.
"that was pretty good, yeah? i think i deserve a celebratory smooch. lay some sugar on me, momma'." he laughs, loud and arrogant. you just give him a pointed look at that, but he ignores it as a sign for something wrong and only acknowledges it as your dramatic endearment. like speeding up at the sight of a yellow light in hopes that you'll make it instead of slowing down at the warning.
his shoes made squeaking sounds on the gym floor as he made his way over to you, swiping his shades off his face and sliding them onto your forehead, nestling in your hair as he grabbed a rag from the bench and wiped the sweat from his jaw. you have his uniform jacket on your lap, the yellow button glinting in the dying sunlight filtering in through the windows, reflecting off indiscernible flecks of dust in the air.
you had watched him with quiet contentment, observing the languid way he moved, graceful like a dancer moving in water. but then, you seemed to remember something; his lips pressed into a thin line, tilted to one side in anticipation. it made you hesitate— he always knew when you were about to speak before you even opened your mouth. he had come to notice, and appreciate, little things about you like that.
"were you smoking with shoko?" you had asked him. he tilted his head, eyebrow cocked up as he made a face. "no, i wasn't. why d'ya ask?" he huffed, watching from the corner of his eye with mild disinterest as the basketball, still rolling from his previous goal, bumped into the wall. cocky as ever.
(he wouldn't even look you in the eye when you were being dead serious.)
you reach a hand into his jacket, fishing around for something in his pocket; that gets his attention. who knows what trinkets and candy wrappers he has in there? and he'd hate for you to send him to his yearly checkup early again; the nurses always try to coddle him, and he has half a mind to charge for battery. nevertheless, he almost mistakes what you pull out for a lollipop stick. but it's not— it's a cigarette; a white papery hit of cancer with a dead cherry. certainly not a wise idea to keep that in his pocket among the other very flammable wax wrappers and the occasional flower petal, but who were you to judge? you, who's lips pucker like they've just tasted lemon juice when he eyes the unlit cigarette, utterly unamused.
he knows that you know it's his; the subtle glistening of pink around the end points to the gloss on his lips; he can practically taste it on his tongue. he wonders if you'd put the cigarette to your mouth too if you could have a sample of his lipgloss; then again, you could always just ask for a lip-to-lip taste, and he'd indulge you without a second thought.
you twist the cigarette butt between your fingers so that he can see the remnants of faint strawberry pink on the edges. he just rolls his eyes with a loud huff, leaning his weight back on his heels and shoving his hands in his pant pockets.
"yeesh. you're such a goody two shoes, y'know? how come shoko's allowed to smoke 'n i'm not?" he drawls, an arrogant lilt to his voice as he sticks his lower lip out. you can see a matte spot where the gloss had been transferred to the cigarette paper. you just sigh exasperatedly (he feels like a kid when you do that) and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. his jacket bunches up in your lap.
you tap the cigarette to his chest a few times; it makes a soft thumping sound against the fabric, and for a moment he's grateful of the noise; it sounds just like the way his heartbeat picks up with each touch, but you don't hear it. he wonders if you ever will. maybe one day, when there isn't so much distance between you and he has the opportunity to tuck your head to his chest, right over his heart.
"it's not that i care about the lung damage, idiot. why were you smoking?" you asked, voice softening. and he absolutely hates when you do that, because it always pulls on his heartstrings and brings a flush to his face, the way you treat him. he thought that if you did it enough, he'd be sent to the doctor for heart palpitations instead of a sweet tooth.
he doesn't answer you at that. how could he tell you, when he knew all that'd result from it was a thorn in his side? you, being the rose. so beautiful but awfully prickly and unfairly sour like a lemondrop with a sweet inside. then again, he'd much rather have your interrogating care than lose you, like what had happened with the reason he was trying out smoking in the first place.
then, it happened— your voice went unbearably soft, like puffy white covers and featherlight pillows with silk covers on a saturday morning, looking out the window to see pink tulips against a cloudy blue sky as the sun streamed in. it almost made him want to clutch your hand over his chest and see if you could feel the way he was reacting. no doubt, it was filled with such patient tenderness; all-encompassing sweetness it made him want to cry. so he coughed to cover it up, averting his gaze and bringing one hand to his face to absentmindedly smooth down the strands of damp white hair hanging over his eyes.
"thinkin' about suguru again, are you?" you asked gently, tucking the cigarette back into your pocket—yours, not his—and reaching out to take his hand.
his lips parted ever so slightly, gaping like a goldfish. he knew he looked silly, and he should've been okay with that— because being vulnerable with you, out of everyone he ever knew (with maybe the exception of one) was easier than breathing; came more naturally to him than his gravitation to a challenge. the same could be said for sweets.
(maybe he'd have to re-evaluate his proclaimed taste, then. since you were more sour than sweet.)
but this time, he wasn't okay with it. it had been hard to talk about what had happened with suguru one year ago since— it formed a nasty lump in his throat, bitter like black coffee and the wrong mix of herbs. it made him feel weak. reminding him of his shortcomings, which, in his mind, shouldn't even exist in the first place. but you never had a problem ripping his problems from the shielded cavity in his gut, bringing them under the operator's light to dissect and solve like a surgeon. forget about forcing him to the doctor's— at this point, you should be the one in the white coat, not shoko. he thinks about what you'd look like with blue gloves on your delicate fingers for a moment too long.
"what's it to you?" he snaps back after what feels like three years of his life. his fingers tighten around yours for a moment before he pulls his hand away abruptly.
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the frown that lingered on your face from then on had been burned into his memory.
and, well, that was his mistake. it spiraled from there— because he knew what it was to you, and he hated that. hated that you could see straight through him like a cloud blue stained glass window; without rose colored lenses like the ones he always wore (the ones he rocked, he thinks).
a crack of thunder overhead jolts him from his thoughts; he couldn't even get in there to dust the spiderwebs away before being jerked back into reality. he clicks his tongue in disappointment, watching as the skies pry themselves open and rain begin to fall in the way it only did over heavy summer showers. he wishes the sky would stop its weeping, but even the strongest has his limitations.
but it doesn't matter. he has one of those cheap plastic umbrellas he'd bought from a convenience store one day in a late march many moons ago, during the brightest blue spring of his life. and so, he didn't understand why he was lingering at the door, swinging the umbrella around his fingers by the hook on the handle, watching as the rain fell with increased fervor. there was no plastic button to keep the folds tied up, so it floundered around with each swing like a tulip bent by monsoon winds. maybe on the coast of some faraway land with windmills and fields of flowers. he wonders if he'll ever get to see the world with you someday— a fleeting thought that crumbles instantly when he conjures your pretty face in his vision, clear yet distorted like a reflection on a glazed pond, rippling water from the dragonflies that skipped over the surface.
you were definitely still angry with him, because you hadn't showed— normally, you'd walk home together. sometimes with shoko, if she didn't leave early. angry words echo in his mind, the image of your downturned lips swimming in his bright vision as he watches the rain streak down the window panes by the lockers. there's a fog settling over the grass outside that's sure to leave dew after the storm. he wonders when that'll be.
"why can't you ever take me seriously? can't you see i'm worried about you?"
"of course i can. but i don't need your damn concern!”
...
he'd been sorely mistaken, that was for sure. loosing his cool and snapping at you wasn't exactly something he took pleasure in, either way. he leans back on his heels, tapping his foot impatiently as he holds the umbrella like a cane against the floor. infinity could probably do away with the rain. another reason as to why he's not even sure why he's waiting here, or why he's holding an umbrella. perhaps to keep in case he has to offer it to some poor, shivering and cowering young maiden lost beneath the shading of a bus stop behind a curtain of rain droplets, with a charming grin and a wink.
maybe.
a shuffle behind him catches his ear; he turns his head, an unamused expression on his face as his eyes drift over the empty room to land on you. the shadows beneath your eyes are prominent, and your hair is unkempt. there are sleep lines on your face; you probably fell asleep in a classroom somewhere, which is why you delayed.
it was evident you weren't expecting to see him, though— with the way your eyes widened a little before they dropped again, nose bridge wrinkling slightly as if you'd caught the scent of something unpleasant. your eyes left his, and he felt a little disappointed as he watched them wander toward the window, where the current downpour was prominent. he didn't like the way it made his chest pang when your attention was anywhere but him, so he raised his hand lazily, tilting his head to catch your attention that he so clearly craved.
"yo. got an umbrella?" he calls, tapping the tip of his budget cane on the floor. the thud is the only sound for a while as your gaze wanders back over to him; reluctant.
"no, i don't. i didn't expect it to rain so hard today." you responded quietly, stepping over to him with a small sigh. almost a little resigned, he thinks. he can't be sure, though. he never is with you. doesn't know whether to expect his candy to be sour in the center or the other way around; but maybe he likes a bit of uncertainty every once in a while. (not with you, though. if it means arguing? never with you.)
his sunglasses are hooked around the collar of your shirt. he doesn't know why it takes him so long to realize, but when he does, he has to clear his throat in an effort to hide the heat on his face and do away with the blush. "here. take mine. i don't need it," he says curtly, offering his umbrella to you. he wants to snatch the shades from your shirt, but he doesn't want anything to go wrong, so he just eyes them warily, careful not to let his gaze slip past into anything you'd be pissed at him for.
you eye him, eyes narrowed as you raise an eyebrow, but you don't protest. your fingers brush against his for a brief moment when you take it, shaking it a little before opening the door and stepping outside, opening it up. it looks like a little clear plastic mushroom cap over your head; you're short enough to constitute as the stalk in his eyes. it's a little funny, but he has to stifle the laugh bubbling on his tongue lest you think he's making a mock of you.
he follows after you, slipping past to stand at your side with his hands in his pockets. you can't help but feel a little curious despite your prolonged anger (you like holding grudges, he knows), so you sneak a glance upward to satiate your wonder. you don't expect him to look as breathtaking as he does.
the clouds are light overhead; they're not a heavy blanket of gray anymore, and a small strip of light manages to push through, shining on satoru's pale white hair. you can make out the edge of his undercut against his neck when the wind picks up a little, the color of fluffy white clouds on a lavender sunset with the sway of yellow flowers beneath an expanse of a bright sky. there's a little cat hair on the collar of his jacket; you realize with a faint flush that it must've been from when you were holding his jacket for him in the gym. somehow, the cat you have at home found its way to satoru. you hope your pet has become a matchmaking fortune teller, for the sake of your happiness.
what catches your eye the most, though, isn't the cat hair on his dark jacket or the faraway look in his misty blue eyes; it's the outline of rain water around him, a product of his infinity, you realize. he's dry underneath the downpour, and it never ceases to amaze you. it's like there's a soft glowing halo against the backdrop of tangled wires, gray walls and pale green bushes— he looks like an angel boy, school bag hooked and hanging over one shoulder.
eventually, you manage to peel your gaze away, and he notices— looks down at you, pressing his lips together and running his tongue over them. he can taste strawberry gloss.
wordlessly, you start walking. and he follows suit, rain bouncing off of him; you catch yourself sneaking glances from under the roof of your clear umbrella between raindrops that slide down the clear plastic. sometime during the walk home, he had gone off and gotten himself a drink from a nearby vending machine— the red can catches your eye, and your fingers curl around the rubber handle of the lent umbrella as you watch him drink; the bob of his adam's apple before he crushes the can up and tosses it into a nearby bush, causing a brief scattering of leaves and a downpour of collecting droplets onto the pavement.
despite the rain, the weeds between the cracks in the sidewalk still stay strong; they have deep roots. much like the way you never fail to scowl at him for littering. he catches it— of course he does. he's been praying for a sign you're not still so hopelessly angry with him that you can't even bring yourself to have a civil walk in the summer rain together. after the scowl, though, comes the smile— the one that always makes him melt in his shoes, much like the sunshine after the rain.
and there it is at last, he thinks. the hard sour coating melts away on his tongue, draining the taste of lemon to reveal a sweet, genuine center. all it takes is time. your lips curve up, and you duck your head, hiding the small bemused laugh that leaves you breathless.
"what are you laughin' at?" he huffs, glaring down at you. but there's no malice behind it— if only you could feel the wave of relief that's washed over him, a crest of white foam that leaves behind still waters reflected in the pools of sapphire in his eyes. nothing like the hit of numbing nicotine he'd shared in the shade of an alleyway with shoko earlier that day— away from the sun; away from you. hidden from both. or maybe they were the same— to him, he couldn't differentiate.
"i'm not laughing!" you protested weakly, immediately wiping the grin from your lips, and he regrets speaking up. "just.. i dunno."
you walk in silence for a little longer, content to listen to the rain lighten up overhead. satoru kicks a plastic onigiri wrapper out of the way, splashing up a puddle as a frown dampens his face when the wrapping only clings to his shoes. he's fine with getting a little grumpy if it means seeing you smile again. and even better, you laugh again— so sweet, like the chiming of bells in the wind's melody.
"please don't do that again." your voice sounds so very small when he hears it again, and he looks down at you from beneath long white lashes, the corner of his lips quirked up. the shape of them is almost cat-like, you think. he doesn't even know what you're talking about— a vague idea, at best— but he won't do it. not if it means hearing you sound so pathetically... sad. he doesn't like it. it's far too bitter for his taste. let the black betta you both used to know indulge in dark coffee and bitter cologne— satoru likes things sweet, like the cream surrounded by tea leaf matcha in the center of his mochi and fluttering feeling he gets when you run your hands through his hair, fluffing it up to your heart's content.
(as long as your heart is happy, his is, too.)
"i won't. happy now?" he sticks his tongue out, making a face. but you both know he means it— he hates breaking his promises to you. you smile when you look up at him again with a small nod, and he feels his knees wobble a little. he just hopes you don't notice. "sorry for lying. i just.. don't like it when you're mad at me. and you look at me like that," he mumbles under his breath, bunching up the fabric of his pants between his fingers. then, after a moment, "geez, you're so dramatic. quit carin' so much." he really hopes you don't stop, and it makes him feel like the world's biggest hypocrite. the strongest, but so weak for you.
"sorry, can't. the day you stop crushing your soda cans and littering is the day i'll stop caring, 'cus that won't be my satoru anymore." you tease. and he laughs, throwing his head back so you don't see the red that spreads across his cheeks, dusting his skin like powdered sugar on top of a strawberry crepe. he always wants to be your satoru, so he figures he'll keep littering. a few money fines here and there mean nothing to his undentable wallet, or the erratic beating of his heart, trapped against his ribcage in a feathery blooming of flowers he only gets from you and your pretty smile underneath the layer of lemony sourness.
you walk along the road for a little while longer. the rain has lightened, but it's still going— incessant, dripping from the leaves of trees and the knotted black wires overhead. he still has his infinity up, which means he can't pet the cat the two of you spot on your way back, but he's perfectly content to watch you do it. you scratch its chin, smiling at the way it purrs and nuzzles into your hand, and he wonders if he'd do the same if he was in its position.
he's lost in thought when you speak to him again, shoes splashing against murky puddles in the backdrop of a never-sleeping city; tokyo's bright skyline always makes your eyes go round with wonder. you say something, and he chuckles, warm and velvety. and then you realize what's been off with him this whole time— he doesn't have his shades on.
you slip them off the collar of your shirt, smoothing down the fabric before you reach over and attempt to nudge his arm. you don't think it'll work, because he still has his infinity up— and your sleeves are already getting spattered by rain that leaves darkened wet spots on the cotton. but to your amazement, your fingers make contact with his sleeve, and you watch in wonder as the rain actually falls— soaks into that little patch of wet fabric that you're able to feel on his arm. that he's turned his infinity off in that one spot so you could touch him. you spare a glance up at him, only to find his head angled away from you. you might be hallucinating, but the tips of his ears seem red.
you don't linger on it before you're tugging on his shirt with a frown, getting him to look down at you as you unfold his glasses and offer them over to him. he takes them quickly, and you don't miss the way the rain stops falling onto his arm again, back to bouncing off the invisible shield that protects him from everything (but you, it seems). he slips his dark shades back over his eyes, obscuring oceans of pure blue that seem like they've trickled in from the purest snowcaps on the distant mountains dotted with old red tori gates and shrines with scrapped paint. but you can't stifle the smile that spreads across your lips this time— giddy and fresh and filled with youth, blossoming like sakura petals in a spring that seems so far away yet so close with his presence by your side.
you don't say anything for a while. you're content to watch the rain wash down the pavement and into the gutters, past cute little coffee shops and parks with ponds as the droplets from the sky scatter the water in part of a never-ending cycle; watering the surface of the earth and bringing life that would soon spring up as shroomcaps and fresh dew on the clean cut green grass. you wonder what satoru sees through his lenses— though, you already know. you've worn them plenty of times before, when he insists on having your perfume cling to the frame for long missions he's sent on alone, when he can't have you hold his jacket, or his hand, or scold him for sneaking a smoke when you're not watching. that, and the extra lemondrops he keeps in his pocket; gifts from you that he's fought hard for.
you're more prepared to not feel any interference of his infinity this time when you reach over, and this time you don't go for his sleeve—yanking him close to you by his hand and forcing him beneath your umbrella. you feel the way he freezes up for a moment, but his fingers fill in the gaps between your own like its the most natural thing in the world, palms pressed together in a little breathless hug that leaves no room for the humid air.
"don't waste your infinity on the rain, dumbass. you'll fry what little is left of your brain." you scold him, and he just grumbles and scoffs angrily under his breath, cursing you as he hunches over and ducks his head to fit under the umbrella to negate his height. his hair brushes against the plastic roof of the umbrella, and his lanky limbs are still awkwardly sticking out, but his fingers tighten around yours and his thumb rubs over your knuckles, still a little damp from your earlier encounter with the rain, and you can't help but smile a smile bright enough to wash away every last bit of cloud in the sky. his personal sunshine.
even though he still prefers sweet things, satoru's come to like the taste of lemondrops. sweet and sour go well together, after all. just like you and him.
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its okay if it doesnt taste like anything to u as long as u enjoyed it :) thanks for reading !! the black betta in question is suguru btw my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !
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echobx · 1 month ago
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Double the Fun - Rafe Cameron × polyam!fem!reader & JJ Maybank × polyam!fem!reader
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summary: y/n shows the two men a position she always wanted to try out [fic belongs to this au but can be read by itself]
word count: 902
warnings: smut, mention of porn being watched, dvp, p in v (unprotected), (double) creampie, riding & backshots, very light making out
author's note: always wanted to write this, it's probably not good bc I never wrote something like this before, but I hope you like it anyway
kinktober masterlist ✘ It's... complicated? fic
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“That's definitely not what I expected,” JJ nods, halfway to an impressed smile as he looks at the screen. “Logistics will have to be considered, and I'm still not gonna look at you, dude,” Rafe grumbles from your left. “But you see that it's doable?” you grin, proud over the idea you got a night earlier and that turns out to not be too difficult to do. “Yeah, but everything is possible in porn,” Rafe scoffs lightly. “After all this time, you're still scared I'm gonna see your cum-face?” JJ laughs and you lightly slap his arm. “Fuck off, Maybank,” Rafe spits before turning his focus back to you and the laptop, that was still playing the porno, in your lap. “You really wanna do that?” “Positive,” you nod, and he takes a deep breath. “All right.” 
“It's gonna be fun,” you smile at them, kissing each man’s cheek before the “crazy” part began. “What about foreplay?” JJ asks just as Rafe was ready to sit down on the edge of the bed. “Why would you need foreplay right now?” Rafe asks, slightly annoyed by JJ, as it happens more than you want it to. “Can you just be nice,” you sigh, turning to JJ and pulling him into a longing kiss. His hands find your waist as he pulls your naked body into his. It doesn't take long for one hand to slip down and plunge a finger in your wet cunt. “For the first time ever, I'm scared it won't fit,” he whispers to you, but you have to chuckle. “Guess I have faith for all of us. I'll make it fit, pretty boy,” you promise him before turning around and straddling Rafe as he sat still. “Do I get a kiss too?” he pouts at you. “You're so cute,” you sigh, pushing him to lie down and leaning over him to kiss his naked chest, while your hand grasped for his dick, pumping him a few times before guiding him inside you with a groan. “Fuck, you're so tight, baby,” Rafe throws his head back as you start rolling your hips over him to get rid of the first bit of tension that always overcomes you when he's inside you. “Any last words?” JJ smirks as you look back at him, your back arched as you lie half on top of Rafe, waiting for JJ to join your pussy too. “Fuck me,” you hush, and you wish you could see more, wish you had set up a mirror to keep watch on how he slowly pushes into you, both you and Rafe groaning at the increasing tightness inside of you. Maybe having both of them in one hole wasn't the ultimate best idea you ever had. “How much?” Rafe presses out, his face contorts, and you soothe him with a few kisses. “Halfway. Why? You're done already?” JJ quips, Rafe glares at him over your shoulder. And as if to prove a point, JJ forces himself into you with a single harsh thrust, bottoming out and making the three of you groan in unison. “Oh God, this is heaven and hell,” you laugh, trying to hold it together as your body adjusts to the two men nestled deep inside your guts. “Jesus, fuck- Can I fuck you now?” JJ laughs maniacally, but Rafe is quicker, bucking his hips up inside you and causing both you and JJ to scream of pleasure. “Maybe we should do one after the other,” JJ says after clearing his throat, but Rafe doesn't seem to care, he starts fucking you like he usually would, with the bonus of making JJ’s eyes roll back at the shaving of their dicks against each other. But your mind is barely present, any time you feel like you might form a thought or bring out a couple of words, one of them decides to take over the other and fuck you harder than seconds before. In some crazy way, they figured out a rhythm where they can both enjoy you at the same time without having to give up too much of their own power and pleasure. “Such a whore,” Rafe chuckles, brushing your sweaty strands from your face as you try to keep it together, but he knows you're close. “Two dicks really are not enough, baby, are they,” JJ kisses your shoulder, still pounding into you from behind while Rafe does the same from below. “Can't-” you cry, tears streaming down your face at the overwhelming pleasure they are causing you. JJ’s hand snakes around you, playing with your clit while Rafe kneads your breasts, and you fall apart in a matter of seconds, squirting all over Rafe’s stomach. “Finish up,” Rafe tells JJ, who starts to fuck you faster, letting his dick slide in and out of you with ease until he halts and fills you up with his cum. “Incredible,” he pants, stumbling back as Rafe grabs hold of your hips and plows into you from below, pumping JJ's seed deeper into you until he can't hold on any longer and fills you up too. He falls completely limp under you, his arms coming up to hold you close while his dick grows softer inside your pulsating cunt. “Next time we do this, you're off birth control,” he promises, and you can only conjure a tired nod before you fall asleep in his arms. 
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please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho
taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @ijustwantttoread @julczimozart @m2m2m2 @mochimms @itsme-again @maybankslover @th3eternalersi @rafeeekam @carolinaxvz
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lisafication · 1 year ago
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For those who might happen across this, I'm an administrator for the forum 'Sufficient Velocity', a large old-school forum oriented around Creative Writing. I originally posted this on there (and any reference to 'here' will mean the forum), but I felt I might as well throw it up here, as well, even if I don't actually have any followers.
This week, I've been reading fanfiction on Archive of Our Own (AO3), a site run by the Organisation for Transformative Works (OTW), a non-profit. This isn't particularly exceptional, in and of itself — like many others on the site, I read a lot of fanfiction, both on Sufficient Velocity (SV) and elsewhere — however what was bizarre to me was encountering a new prefix on certain works, that of 'End OTW Racism'. While I'm sure a number of people were already familiar with this, I was not, so I looked into it.
What I found... wasn't great. And I don't think anyone involved realises that.
To summarise the details, the #EndOTWRacism campaign, of which you may find their manifesto here, is a campaign oriented towards seeing hateful or discriminatory works removed from AO3 — and believe me, there is a lot of it. To whit, they want the OTW to moderate them. A laudable goal, on the face of it — certainly, we do something similar on Sufficient Velocity with Rule 2 and, to be clear, nothing I say here is a critique of Rule 2 (or, indeed, Rule 6) on SV.
But it's not that simple, not when you're the size of Archive of Our Own. So, let's talk about the vagaries and little-known pitfalls of content moderation, particularly as it applies to digital fiction and at scale. Let's dig into some of the details — as far as credentials go, I have, unfortunately, been in moderation and/or administration on SV for about six years and this is something we have to grapple with regularly, so I would like to say I can speak with some degree of expertise on the subject.
So, what are the problems with moderating bad works from a site? Let's start with discovery— that is to say, how you find rule-breaching works in the first place. There are more-or-less two different ways to approach manual content moderation of open submissions on a digital platform: review-based and report-based (you could also call them curation-based and flag-based), with various combinations of the two. Automated content moderation isn't something I'm going to cover here — I feel I can safely assume I'm preaching to the choir when I say it's a bad idea, and if I'm not, I'll just note that the least absurd outcome we had when simulating AI moderation (mostly for the sake of an academic exercise) on SV was banning all the staff.
In a review-based system, you check someone's work and approve it to the site upon verifying that it doesn't breach your content rules. Generally pretty simple, we used to do something like it on request. Unfortunately, if you do that, it can void your safe harbour protections in the US per Myeress vs. Buzzfeed Inc. This case, if you weren't aware, is why we stopped offering content review on SV. Suffice to say, it's not really a realistic option for anyone large enough for the courts to notice, and extremely clunky and unpleasant for the users, to boot.
Report-based systems, on the other hand, are something we use today — users find works they think are in breach and alert the moderation team to their presence with a report. On SV, this works pretty well — a user or users flag a work as potentially troublesome, moderation investigate it and either action it or reject the report. Unfortunately, AO3 is not SV. I'll get into the details of that dreadful beast known as scaling later, but thankfully we do have a much better comparison point — fanfiction.net (FFN).
FFN has had two great purges over the years, with a... mixed amount of content moderation applied in between: one in 2002 when the NC-17 rating was removed, and one in 2012. Both, ostensibly, were targeted at adult content. In practice, many fics that wouldn't raise an eye on Spacebattles today or Sufficient Velocity prior to 2018 were also removed; a number of reports suggest that something as simple as having a swearword in your title or summary was enough to get you hit, even if you were a 'T' rated work. Most disturbingly of all, there are a number of — impossible to substantiate — accounts of groups such as the infamous Critics United 'mass reporting' works to trigger a strike to get them removed. I would suggest reading further on places like Fanlore if you are unfamiliar and want to know more.
Despite its flaws however, report-based moderation is more-or-less the only option, and this segues neatly into the next piece of the puzzle that is content moderation, that is to say, the rubric. How do you decide what is, and what isn't against the rules of your site?
Anyone who's complained to the staff about how vague the rules are on SV may have had this explained to them, but as that is likely not many of you, I'll summarise: the more precise and clear-cut your chosen rubric is, the more it will inevitably need to resemble a legal document — and the less readable it is to the layman. We'll return to SV for an example here: many newer users will not be aware of this, but SV used to have a much more 'line by line, clearly delineated' set of rules and... people kind of hated it! An infraction would reference 'Community Compact III.15.5' rather than Rule 3, because it was more or less written in the same manner as the Terms of Service (sans the legal terms of art). While it was a more legible rubric from a certain perspective, from the perspective of communicating expectations to the users it was inferior to our current set of rules  — even less of them read it,  and we don't have great uptake right now.
And it still wasn't really an improvement over our current set-up when it comes to 'moderation consistency'. Even without getting into the nuts and bolts of "how do you define a racist work in a way that does not, at any point, say words to the effect of 'I know it when I see it'" — which is itself very, very difficult don't get me wrong I'm not dismissing this — you are stuck with finding an appropriate footing between a spectrum of 'the US penal code' and 'don't be a dick' as your rubric. Going for the penal code side doesn't help nearly as much as you might expect with moderation consistency, either — no matter what, you will never have a 100% correct call rate. You have the impossible task of writing a rubric that is easy for users to comprehend, extremely clear for moderation and capable of cleanly defining what is and what isn't racist without relying on moderator judgement, something which you cannot trust when operating at scale.
Speaking of scale, it's time to move on to the third prong — and the last covered in this ramble, which is more of a brief overview than anything truly in-depth — which is resources. Moderation is not a magic wand, you can't conjure it out of nowhere: you need to spend an enormous amount of time, effort and money on building, training and equipping a moderation staff, even a volunteer one, and it is far, far from an instant process. Our most recent tranche of moderators spent several months in training and it will likely be some months more before they're fully comfortable in the role — and that's with a relatively robust bureaucracy and a number of highly experienced mentors supporting them, something that is not going to be available to a new moderation branch with little to no experience. Beyond that, there's the matter of sheer numbers.
Combining both moderation and arbitration — because for volunteer staff, pure moderation is in actuality less efficient in my eyes, for a variety of reasons beyond the scope of this post, but we'll treat it as if they're both just 'moderators' — SV presently has 34 dedicated moderation volunteers. SV hosts ~785 million words of creative writing.
AO3 hosts ~32 billion.
These are some very rough and simplified figures, but if you completely ignore all the usual problems of scaling manpower in a business (or pseudo-business), such as (but not limited to) geometrically increasing bureaucratic complexity and administrative burden, along with all the particular issues of volunteer moderation... AO3 would still need well over one thousand volunteer moderators to be able to match SV's moderator-to-creative-wordcount ratio.
Paid moderation, of course, you can get away with less — my estimate is that you could fully moderate SV with, at best, ~8 full-time moderators, still ignoring administrative burden above the level of team leader. This leaves AO3 only needing a much more modest ~350 moderators. At the US minimum wage of ~$15k p.a. — which is, in my eyes, deeply unethical to pay moderators as full-time moderation is an intensely gruelling role with extremely high rates of PTSD and other stress-related conditions — that is approximately ~$5.25m p.a. costs on moderator wages. Their average annual budget is a bit over $500k.
So, that's obviously not on the table, and we return to volunteer staffing. Which... let's examine that scenario and the questions it leaves us with, as our conclusion.
Let's say, through some miracle, AO3 succeeds in finding those hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of volunteer moderators. We'll even say none of them are malicious actors or sufficiently incompetent as to be indistinguishable, and that they manage to replicate something on the level of or superior to our moderation tooling near-instantly at no cost. We still have several questions to be answered:
How are you maintaining consistency? Have you managed to define racism to the point that moderator judgment no longer enters the equation? And to be clear, you cannot allow moderator judgment to be a significant decision maker at this scale, or you will end with absurd results.
How are you handling staff mental health? Some reading on the matter, to save me a lengthy and unrelated explanation of some of the steps involved in ensuring mental health for commercial-scale content moderators.
How are you handling your failures? No moderation in the world has ever succeeded in a 100% accuracy rate, what are you doing about that?
Using report-based discovery, how are you preventing 'report brigading', such as the theories surrounding Critics United mentioned above? It is a natural human response to take into account the amount and severity of feedback. While SV moderators are well trained on the matter, the rare times something is receiving enough reports to potentially be classified as a 'brigade' on that scale will nearly always be escalated to administration, something completely infeasible at (you're learning to hate this word, I'm sure) scale.
How are you communicating expectations to your user base? If you're relying on a flag-based system, your users' understanding of the rules is a critical facet of your moderation system — how have you managed to make them legible to a layman while still managing to somehow 'truly' define racism?
How are you managing over one thousand moderators? Like even beyond all the concerns with consistency, how are you keeping track of that many moving parts as a volunteer organisation without dozens or even hundreds of professional managers? I've ignored the scaling administrative burden up until now, but it has to be addressed in reality.
What are you doing to sweep through your archives? SV is more-or-less on-top of 'old' works as far as rule-breaking goes, with the occasional forgotten tidbit popping up every 18 months or so — and that's what we're extrapolating from. These thousand-plus moderators are mostly going to be addressing current or near-current content, are you going to spin up that many again to comb through the 32 billion words already posted?
I could go on for a fair bit here, but this has already stretched out to over two thousand words.
I think the people behind this movement have their hearts in the right place and the sentiment is laudable, but in practice it is simply 'won't someone think of the children' in a funny hat. It cannot be done.
Even if you could somehow meet the bare minimum thresholds, you are simply not going to manage a ruleset of sufficient clarity so as to prevent a much-worse repeat of the 2012 FF.net massacre, you are not going to be able to manage a moderation staff of that size and you are not going to be able to ensure a coherent understanding among all your users (we haven't managed that after nearly ten years and a much smaller and more engaged userbase). There's a serious number of other issues I haven't covered here as well, as this really is just an attempt at giving some insight into the sheer number of moving parts behind content moderation:  the movement wants off-site content to be policed which isn't so much its own barrel of fish as it is its own barrel of Cthulhu; AO3 is far from English-only and would in actuality need moderators for almost every language it supports — and most damning of all,  if Section 230 is wiped out by the Supreme Court  it is not unlikely that engaging in content moderation at all could simply see AO3 shut down.
As sucky as it seems, the current status quo really is the best situation possible. Sorry about that.
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thewritingrowlet · 6 months ago
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The Outing Trip pt. 1, ft. tripleS Xinyu
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tags: daddy kink, anal teasing, creampie, praise kink (just a bit), rough
tw: violence (OC takes a punch in the face, nothing crazy I promise)
word count: 12k+
author's note: this is the first part of a small series (4 parts max.) inspired by an anon's idea of a university outing trip (minus the "stranded in an island due to a storm with a bunch of girls" part) featuring a handful of tripleS members. This part also mentions Yooyeon, Nakyoung, Dahyun, and Chaeyeon as I consider them to be candidates to be featured in future parts.
p.s. after I finish writing part 2 of this series, I'm gonna stop writing about tripleS members for one or two fics. Let me know if you think there's anyone (who is over the age of 18 in May 2024) that needs attention (be it bcs they're from a less-popular group, or bcs they only debuted recently and you're a fan, etc).
-
It is now September. The hot summer days are starting to go and be replaced by the chiller and refreshing days of shorter daylight that autumn usually has in its bag. September is also the month where every single student organization in the university goes on outings to welcome their new members. That includes the student council that you’re the president of. You’re having a meeting with a bunch of council staffs and governors—the term your university uses to refer to council leaders on the faculty level because the university wants to replicate real-world governmental structure—in about 10 minutes to talk about details about the outing itself. Everyone will be wearing their uniform, which is a sight you find to be cute.
“President-oppa!”, you hear a girl’s voice behind you as you’re walking to the meeting place, so you turn around to see who it is. You see Xinyu, the council’s vice president who also happens to be your lovely girlfriend, walking like a supermodel towards you. “Hey, princess”, you greet her before taking her hand and pecking it. Xinyu loves it when you do those two things (call her “princess” and kiss her hand), blushing every time she sees you do it. You, on the other hand, don’t really care if her fondness of praises is a sign of narcissism because no one can tell you she doesn't deserve such treatment. You also don’t really care about displaying affection in public—why wouldn’t you want to show affection to your perfect-in-every-aspect girlfriend all the time? It also serves as an announcement that both you and Xinyu are off-limits since the relationship is not a secret.
“O-oppa”, she looks down at her shoes to hide the red hue on her cheeks, “you always do these sweet things to me”. You wrap an arm around her waist, “because you deserve it, sweetie”. She twiddles her index fingers in shyness, “but my heart can only take so much of it in a day, oppa”. “Skill issue, baby”, you chuckle—how adorable is it that you’ve been dating her for over a year and living together in an apartment for almost as long and she still gets overwhelmed with your sweet gestures and words?
“Xinyu-yah”, you throw a lifebuoy to save her from drowning in her own thoughts, “we need to get to get there fast, baby; there’s only a few minutes left and we’re the last people who get to be late”. You take her hand and start running, making Xinyu yell in surprise and possibly turn some people’s heads. You stop running when you’re in front of the elevator and press the button to go up. It’s nice that the elevator doesn’t have a CCTV in it, because you can share a bit of intimacy with Xinyu by pecking her on the lips and forcing a blush once again—her poor heart is guaranteed to give out by the end of the day. “Oppa, I really can’t take much of this anymore”, Xinyu complains. “Of course you can, what are you talking about?”, you laugh. You and Xinyu need to put on a serious face soon, though, as the elevator doors are opening, and you’ll be met with people outside.
“I thought you two were going to be late, not gonna lie”, Nakyoung, Xinyu’s best friend and fellow council member, greets you at the doors of the auditorium. “Do you really think that low of us, Nakyoung-ah?”, Xinyu protests. Nakyoung laughs, “not really, no—just thought maybe you ran off on a date or something”. Xinyu pinches Nakyoung’s cheeks in annoyance, making a small scene in front of a bunch of council members. You shake your head in amusement, “alright, that’s enough, kids. Is everyone here, Nakyoung-ah?”. “Almost; the Faculty of Medicine’s governor will be late. She’s still assisting in a lab and said you can start without her”, Nakyoung explains before taking you and Xinyu’s hands and pulling the both of you into the auditorium. You look at the clock hanging on the wall and see that you’re perfectly on time—perfectly calculated, if you say so yourself.
“Good afternoon, governors. Thank you for taking the time for today’s little meeting”, you take the center spot on the stage. You sometimes wonder why you talk and act like this in front of fellow students but since the university wants this to be as authentic of an experience as possible, you can’t help but play along. “This is September, and you guys know what it means: we need to welcome the new members of our councils on both the university and faculty level. Would someone kindly kick us off and report their preparation progress?”, you see the Faculty of Science’s governor, Kim Yooyeon, raise her hand so you step to the side and let her take your spot on the stage.
She starts presenting the things she and her members have done to prepare, such as consulting with the dean, surveying the area she wants to go to, and calculating the cost of the entire thing. You admire her thoroughness and ability to think ahead—the girl students call the goddess isn’t just known for her looks, but also sharpness of mind. Just one thing, though: she doesn’t like attention, as shown by the way she jogs back to her seat while partially covering her face after she’s done talking. “Thank you, Yooyeon-ah—oh, hello, Jiwoo-yah!”, you greet Son Jiwoo, the aforementioned governor from the Faculty of Medicine who just entered the room. “Hi, hello”, she rushes to her seat, “sorry for being late, I was needed in the lab”. “No, you’re fine, sweetie. Let’s continue, though”, your over-friendliness spills out and Xinyu glares at you from her seat, but you miss it since you don’t have eyes on the back of your head.
One governor after the other takes turns to present their plans; some have come up with elaborate plans, while others have simpler ideas as to how to welcome their new members. Once everyone is done presenting their plans, you wrap up the meeting (not without expressing appreciation to everyone) and let them go so that they can go about the rest of their day. Yooyeon stays behind, probably because she has some things to discuss with the three of you. “Hey, guys”, she approaches slowly, “I want to talk about something, but can we get out of here first? This auditorium keeps reminding me of some of my hardest days”. “Yeah, sure. Lead the way, unnie”, Nakyoung says before suggesting another idea, “are you guys free, by the way? We can talk over some food if you are—oppa will pay since he’s the richest among us”.
Nakyoung and Yooyeon walk side-by-side while holding hands, while you and Xinyu walk behind them with your hands intertwined. Xinyu then slows down her steps, creating a decent gap between Nakyoung and Yooyeon. “Oppa”, she tugs your hand, a hint of sadness in her voice, “you.. you’re not interested in Jiwoo-unnie, are you?”. Her question catches you off guard, “Jiwoo-unnie? Son Jiwoo? No, of course not. Why?”. “You, um, were a little too friendly with her earlier—I mean, she is pretty, so I understand”, she sulks. You try to recount what happened during the meeting, and you realize that you called her “sweetie”—that pet name is supposed to be reserved for Xinyu only. You instantly feel a huge wave of guilt at the realization, “I’m so sorry, baby. I promise you it was nothing but a slip up”. She lets go of your hand and hugs the clipboard she’s holding with both arms, “please don’t do that again. I-I didn’t like it”, she says.
She refuses to hold your hand for the rest of the walk, and that’s a hint the size of a mountain that you’ve fucked up and you’ll need to make it up to your princess. You finally arrive at the student-favorite noodle spot after a few minutes of walking. It’s not too packed since most students are in class, considering what time it is. Nakyoung joins your group after ordering for everyone. Yooyeon sits across Nakyoung, so that leaves Xinyu no option but to sit across you. Only when she sits down can you see her teary eyes, “you fucked up and now you’re in trouble, son”, your heart says. “Okay, unnie, we’re here. So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”, Nakyoung says. Yooyeon scratches the back of her head, “oh, um, I actually just wanted to hang out with you guys. You seem to be a fun trio to be around”. You chuckle, “yeah, that’s fine, we were getting food regardless. Welcome to the fold, I guess”. You arrange your words more carefully this time because you don’t want to fuck things up even further.
-
You’re now standing at the bus stop after the meal, still surrounded by your friends. “So, what now?”, you ask. Nakyoung, oblivious to your situation with Xinyu, throws her idea into the ring, “let’s go to your place, oppa. I really wanna lay down on that gloriously soft and fluffy sofa of yours”. You glance at Xinyu, who doesn’t seem to hate the idea, and nod in agreement to the idea, “yeah, we can do that. What about you, Yooyeon-ah? You have other classes after this?”. “N-no, ca-can I join you again? I-I don’t have many friends, you see”, Yooyeon hides her face behind her hands after saying that—you never knew a goddess could be so shy around people and have so few friends, but here you are. “Alright, let’s get on that bus so that we don’t have to walk to the parking lot”, you point to the approaching yellow campus bus—the off-site parking lot is not too far but you just can’t be assed to walk at the moment.
Doesn’t take long for the bus to arrive and take the four of you to the parking lot. You lead them to your car and Yooyeon makes a comment when she sees it, “nice car, Jisung-ah”. “I’m telling you, Jisung-oppa is rich, unnie. Daddy and mommy’s money, right, oppa?”, Nakyoung chimes in to tease you—this mischievous cat never runs out of ideas to tease her friends. “Well, when you put it like that”, you say. You’re never one to brag about your wealth, so you simply thank Yooyeon for the compliment and unlock the car so that your friends can get in. Xinyu gets in the front passenger seat like usual while the other two sit in the middle row.
You’re now out of the parking lot and on the way back to your apartment. “I need to stop at a convenience store, sorry. I need to buy something”, you say to your friends. “I bet he’s buying condoms”, Nakyoung chirps. Xinyu is probably not too entertained with what Nakyoung is suggesting, but they tease each other like that all the time. “I promise you I’m not”, you say as you pull into the driveway of the convenience store. “You guys do it raw, Xinyu-yah?”, Nakyoung lets out a fake surprise gasp at the end. “Kim Nakyoung, I promise I will throw you out the window of our apartment if you keep teasing me”, Xinyu says. “Look at them, unnie; they live together and have unprotected sex all the time”, Nakyoung turns to Yooyeon, who hides her face behind her palms again. You roll your eyes and get out of the car—you just want to get Xinyu’s favorite chocolate and snacks, it is not supposed to be this difficult, ever.
-
You finally arrive at your building after a short drive from the university. You hop off the car and walk in front, and would you look at that: Xinyu is wrapping a hand around your arm and leaning her head against your shoulder; “glad you’re feeling better, baby. I’m so sorry for being an ass”, you whisper to her. “I can’t stay mad at you for long, oppa, you know this”, Xinyu whispers back. Nakyoung is used to seeing your public display of affection, but Yooyeon, who is hanging out with your bunch for the first time, is not; she’s probably looking away so that she doesn't have to see this. You walk to the elevator and continue to your unit followed by the three girls, until you finally arrive at the door. Xinyu does the honors and unlocks the door before running into the bedroom. “Welcome to our little apartment, girls. Please make yourself at home”, you stand to the side and let them in. Nakyoung, as she has promised earlier, runs straight to your sofa and lies down on it, “Little apartment, my ass—oh my God, it’s so comfortable; this thing must be mad expensive. Unnie, come here, what are you doing?”, she invites Yooyeon who’s standing awkwardly in the doorway. “You can go with her, Yooyeon-ah. Please, make yourself comfortable”, you encourage her.
You then make your way to the bedroom to follow Xinyu and close the door behind you, you see that she has ditched her shirt for a white sleeveless tee that fits her perfect body like a bespoke glove. “I know you bought me snacks. Show me where they are or I will, I will—what’s a good one—not kiss you for the rest of the day”, she knows she can’t threaten you to save her life, so she must improvise to make herself sound scary. You chuckle and fish a bar of chocolate and a bunch of chips out of the bag, “for you, princess”. “Oh my God, chocolate too?! Thank you, oppa, you’re the best!”, she happily accepts your tribute and rips open a bag of chips. You peck the girl who’s munching so enthusiastically on the forehead, “anything for you, love. My world is dark without you”. Xinyu blushes at your words, “I can say the same about you, oppa. You know that right?”. You open your mouth to answer her, but that’s when you hear a knock on the door. “Oppa, Xinyu­-yah, are you guys done having sex? Yooyeon-unnie wants to talk”, Nakyoung says from the other side of the door.
Xinyu rushes out of the bedroom and flicks Nakyoung’s forehead, “we were not having sex, God damn it!”. You follow Xinyu out of the bedroom and head to the dining table, “play nice, girls. Come, we can talk here”, you call out to your friends. Yooyeon joins you on the table, followed by Xinyu and Nakyoung who have broken their little scuffle. “Before we start”, you poke Xinyu on the shoulder, “order some pizza for us, sweetie. We can get your favorite”. Xinyu runs back to the bedroom to get her phone and order her favorite pizza—food is truly the bullet train to her heart (and pants but we’ll save that for later). She high-steps her way to the table to join you, seemingly excited at the prospect of having her favorite pizza. She stops next to you and pecks you on the cheek, “I love you”, she says. “I love you more, sweetie. Sit, please”, you pull a chair for her. Nakyoung sighs, “I know you just joined us, unnie, but I guarantee that you’ll get tired of seeing these two act like this very soon”. “Oh, uh, I personally find it cute, actually. I’m happy for them; I hope I can experience that myself one day”, Yooyeon confesses before looking away.
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“It’s nothing crazy, really”, Yooyeon starts, “I was just curious about your council’s plans to welcome the new members of your own. I-I was thinking maybe I discuss it if that’s okay with you guys”. Xinyu gets excited hearing those words, “of course, unnie. We would love that”. “Can you tell me a summary first?”, Yooyeon says. You tell her how you and Xinyu plan to do a 3-day trip to the nearby island that also happens to be a famous tourism destination. Nakyoung helps explain the schedule and agendas that she and another council member have come up with. Lastly, Xinyu explains other details such as logistics, methods of transportation, and accommodation; “we are prohibiting alcohol for this trip, by the way. The last thing we need is some drunk freshmen fucking things up”, she adds. “How do you plan to do that, exactly?”, Yooyeon inquires. “Well, I called the manager of the accomodation and specifically and precisely asked them to not sell anyone from our group alcohol and to notify ask should someone try”, Xinyu explains.
Yooyeon gets up from her seat and asks for your permission to get water, so you tell her to get some from the dispenser in the kitchen. She then gets back in her seat and starts talking again. “So, president, vice president, and—what are you again?”, Yooyeon turns to Nakyoung, who lets out a frustrated grunt, “Oh, God damn it—I’m the secretary and the third wheel to the president and vice president. Remember that, please”. “Right, sorry”, Yooyeon clears her throat, “The reason I wanted to talk to you guys is because I have some potential candidates that might be able to join you guys in the council at the university level”. “Okay, go on”, you encourage her to keep talking. “They initially wanted to join us at the faculty, but we couldn’t accept them simply because we were full. I was thinking that maybe these two can thrive under your flag instead”. “Names, unnie?”, Nakyoung asks as she pulls out her phone to write their names. “Seo Dahyun, born in ‘03, and Kim Chaeyeon, born in ‘04”, Yooyeon says, “Dahyun had to retake the SAT for the second time; that’s why it took her a bit longer to get here, but that fact doesn’t take anything away from her, I assure you”.
Yooyeon obviously knows these people better than anyone in the room, since she knows them and has interviewed them personally, so the three of you decide to trust her perception of them. Xinyu arranges an interview for each of them tomorrow at noon—no precise time yet since you’ll need to confirm their schedules with each of them. Yooyeon gives Nakyoung their numbers and she starts hitting them up on CocoaSpeak. “One more thing, Jisung-ah”, she looks at you, “I want to be in the room where it happens”. “Sure, you can be there with us for the interview”, you say to her. “Won’t that be too intimidating?”, Xinyu utters her concern. Yooyeon shakes her head in disagreement, “these two don’t get intimidated easily, they’ll be fine”.
You hear a buzz from the door, so you ask Xinyu to get the pizza from the delivery guy. You make sure to pay attention to the exchange because Xinyu has had a bad experience with a degenerate delivery guy who thought that she was attractive and decided to take his 1-in-a-billion chance. You understand that you can take the pizza yourself but letting her do it helps Xinyu overcome her trauma as she knows that you have her back. Xinyu slams the door a bit too roughly and runs back towards the dining table. “I present to you, the Zhou Xinyu Special!”, she opens the box and puts it down on the table. Yooyeon keeps staring at the large pizza on the table in confusion, until Nakyoung notices and pokes her in the arm to get her attention, “it’s a pizza with ground beef, pepperoni, mushroom, and extra cheese, unnie—they use a lot of cheese, hence the pie-like visual”. “Ah, I see”, Yooyeon nods after hearing the explanation.
You take a slice from the box and start eating, followed by the three girls. “I’ve eaten this pizza so often, but it still amazes me every time. You really know your way around food, don’t you, Xinyu-yah?”, Nakyoung remarks. “Of course, food is the second thing I love the most in this world after oppa”, Xinyu says before exclaiming at the taste of her favorite pizza. “I love you too”, you wipe your mouth with a napkin before pecking Xinyu on the cheek. Xinyu blushes after hearing your words and receiving a peck, as she tries to hide her face behind the slice of pizza in her hand. “You two are so cute”, Yooyeon comments, not helping Xinyu overcome the heat on her cheeks.
The four of you start talking about a bunch of topics, from how Yooyeon initially wanted to join the university’s council but got rejected, how Nakyoung met Yooyeon for the first time and thought that she was a cold and scary person, and, at Yooyeon’s request, how you and Xinyu started dating. You explain that you had known Xinyu for a while as a fellow member of the council during freshman year but only admired her from afar. The two of you were then placed in the same group for a community service project the president at the time had come up with. “Xinyu was crying alone after the first day because of how exhausting and hard it was, so I mustered up the courage to approach her and offered to take her to dinner because I always hate seeing a girl cry, no matter what reason she might have. I actually was so scared that she would push me away instead of taking my offer”, you explain to the small crowd in front of you. It’s now Xinyu’s time to tell her side of the story; “I saw how kind oppa really is behind his rich guy façade; he was super helpful and attentive to everyone that day and there was no way I would’ve pushed him away—I wanted him for myself”. Xinyu leans against your shoulder before continuing her speech, “After our first time having sex, he revealed that I was his first and all I could think about was how I hoped he had been my first as well—I’m so sorry, oppa”. You squeeze her hand, “there’s nothing to be sorry for, love. You’re here with me now”.
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Everyone has dispersed from the dining table and is now in their own worlds. Yooyeon is looking at notes on her tablet, Nakyoung is lying on the sofa with her eyes closed, Xinyu is chilling in the bedroom, and you’re sitting on the toilet with your phone in hand. You’re mindlessly scrolling through social media until you see a notification from Xinyu. It’s a picture of her lying in bed in her pajamas with one of the dolls you bought for her. “How cute”, you think to yourself. She sees that you’re not replying to her, so she expresses her unhappiness, “>: say something already”. “I’m busy, bby”, you reply to her before flushing the toilet and cleaning your ass. You’re on your way to the bathroom door as it swings open seemingly on its own. Xinyu barges into the bathroom and locks the door behind her. She puts her hands on your chest and pushes you to the wall, “if you won’t give me the attention I want, I’ll get it myself”. She pulls your shorts and boxers down together as she kneels in front of you, making your cock spring out of its restraints instantly.
“We could’ve done so much more had you given me the attention I wanted”, she’s doing her best to instill regret and guilt in your heart. Her hand is wrapped around your cock tightly and you don’t want to make her mad even more because you don’t want her to break your cock. “P-princess, they’re still here. We can do this later”, you persuade her. “I don’t care, they can go suck cock if they want”, she says before taking you in her mouth. The wetness and warmth of Xinyu’s mouth sends shivers down your spine. You dare hold her hair in your hand as she bobs her head up and down your shaft while gagging every now and then. “P-princess”, you mutter before moaning, “you’re so good, baby”. She instantly removes you from her mouth and squeezes your cock, “stay quiet if you want to make it out of this alive”. “Oh, fuck—I’m-I’m sorry, please don’t break my penis”, you say to the angry-but-horny girl kneeling in front of you.
She accepts your apology for now and gets back to stuffing her face with your cock. You don’t want to upset her considering how vulnerable you are at the moment, so you do nothing but moan. She removes your cock from her mouth once again when she feels it twitch in her mouth, “I’ll let you cum if you ask nicely”. You take a deep breath before ‘asking nicely’, “please let me cum, princess”. “Not good enough, but I’ll take it for now”, she says before letting you in her mouth once again. It doesn’t take long until your cum is accumulated on the tip of your cock. Xinyu knows this, so she goes deeper until she reaches the base of your cock. “I’m cum-ming”, you say with heavy breaths, “princess, please”. Your cock blows a load as soon as you say that, and Xinyu tries her best to not let a drop leak out of her mouth.
You lean back against the wall to catch your breath, feeling drained—quite literally—by Xinyu’s little stunt. You look down at Xinyu who is still on her knees, and you see her gulp down your load into her stomach. “Xinyu, baby”, you say with heavy pants, “thank you, that was really good”. “Of course, oppa. I love you—I’ll drain your soul the next time you ignore me, though”, she rises to her feet and wipes her mouth before pecking your cheek. “Now how do we get out of this place?”, you ask her for ideas. “Just walk out, we’re adults”, she shrugs. You do as she suggested and walk out of the bathroom as casually as possible. Yooyeon sees the two of you walking out together and covers her face with some papers. You see Xinyu give her a wink and gesture to her to stay quiet.
Xinyu then walks to the sofa and poke Nakyoung in the arm, “Naky-yah, are you staying the night or what?”. Nakyoung wakes up slowly from her peaceful nap on your sofa, “hngh, what time is it?”. You look at the clock above the TV, “about 7.30 pm”, you tell the sleepy cat. Nakyoung rises and walks to the fridge like a zombie, “I’m tempted to stay but I imagine you two want some private time”, she says. You can tell that her playfulness hasn’t returned to her entirely, as shown by how she hasn’t bantered or teased anyone yet. She takes a few gulps of fridge-cold water out of her bottle—she visits your apartment a lot so a few months ago she decided to leave a bottle in your fridge so that she wouldn’t drink from one of yours—and turns to you, “did you guys have fun when I was asleep?”. Xinyu answers her right away with confidence, “I did—I don’t know about oppa, though”, she says, hinting at sex. Nakyoung smirks as she walks back to the sofa, “if you had fun, then so did oppa, most likely”.
Nakyoung spends another 30 minutes lying on your sofa while on her phone, while Yooyeon is still busy with studying. “Unnie, I think we should leave soon”, she says to the studying goddess as she gets up. “Hm? Oh, yeah, sure”, Yooyeon says as she starts tidying up her papers and tablet. Nakyoung takes Yooyeon’s hand and walks to the door with her. “Thank you for the hospitality, you two”, Yooyeon bows slightly and waves at you and Xinyu. “You should hang out with us more, Yooyeon-ah. See you at the interview— byeee”, you say as they exit the door and close it behind them.
Seeing that the coast is now clear, Xinyu runs to you and jumps at you, so you catch her with both arms. “I’m tired, oppa. Take me to bed, please”, she says with a cute whiny voice. You peck her temple and carry her to the bed as requested. You set Xinyu on the bed with you on top of her body, and she immediately wraps her long limbs around your body. “Stay, please”, she says, acting cute to convince you to do what she wants, “I can feel you poking me down there, by the way”. It’s not that you’re horny, it’s just that you’re long—almost too long, “I’m sorry, sweetie”. “I’m horny and tired at the same time, which one do I choose, oppa?”, she pinches your cheek playfully. “I suggest sleeping, love. I don’t know if I have another load for you and I would hate to disappoint”, you kiss her forehead apologetically. “Hmph you’re no fun, oppa, but I love you so I’ll listen to you”, Xinyu pouts and lets you go from her strangling limbs.
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It is now Friday. You and the usual suspects will be interviewing the candidates that Yooyeon told you about a few days ago. Nakyoung gave each candidate freedom to choose the place of the interview, and they both chose the multipurpose meeting room in the library building, so now you and Xinyu make your way to the appointed place—one problem, though: there’s quite a commotion in front of the meeting room. “You’re holding an interview, aren’t you? I know you are. Why aren’t you letting me in?”, the guy is shouting at Nakyoung who’s holding the line at the door. You see that Nakyoung is in deep distress, but you want to observe the situation a little bit more before jumping in. That is when you see the guy lay his hands on Nakyoung, which you’re not a fan of—Xinyu’s friends are your friends, and you’re not letting harm come their way. “Listen to her and just leave, man. We’ll pretend this never happened”, you say with a serious voice and grab him by the shoulder.
Surprisingly, the guy thinks that it’s a good idea to get violent and punches you in the face as he turns around, “SHUT THE FUCK UP”, he yells out. Nothing could’ve prepared you for a punch in the face, so you took a few steps back in surprise. Xinyu rushes to your aid in panic while screaming, “oh my God, oppa! Oppa, are you okay? Somebody, get security!”. “Holy shit, you’re so fucked”, Nakyoung says to the guy, who only now figured out who he just punched, “out of all the people present, you chose to punch the president—absolutely incredible. You still expect us to accept you after seeing you act like this? We will make your life miserable for this, by the way; we don’t forget”. The guy approaches you slowly in fear, “I-I’m so sorry, sunbaenim, I don’t know what got into me. Are you okay?”. You sigh in disappointment, not because you just took a punch in the face, but because someone thought it was okay to be violent, especially on campus grounds. “I suggest finding a lawyer”, you say, angriness obvious in your voice. He kneels and bows in front of you to beg for forgiveness, “no, no, please. I’m so sorry. I’ve learned my lesson, sunbaenim, please”. You hear the boots of the security guards approaching, so you say your last piece to the brat, “you have not, but you will soon”.
Once you see that the security guards have control of the situation, you leave the scene and forcefully drag Xinyu and Nakyoung by their wrists into the room. “Op-oppa, you’re hurting me; please let go”, Nakyoung tries to pry your fingers off her wrist. You didn’t realize that you were holding their hands so tightly, so you let them go and apologize. “Thank you for saving me, guys”, Nakyoung sobs as she hugs Xinyu for comfort, “he-he was so adamant, and I got so scared”. “I’m glad he decided to punch me and not one of you”, you sigh, “where is Yooyeon, by the way?”. “I’m here”, Yooyeon says as she closes the door behind her, “what just happened? Why are there security guards?”. “Someone thought it was a good idea to punch Jisung-oppa”, Xinyu explains to the confused girl. Yooyeon shakes her head and sighs, “are you okay, Jisung-ah?”. You rub the spot where the punch landed and reply to her, “I’ll be fine—it hurts, though”.
You take a few minutes to catch your breath and process everything that just happened while Xinyu, Yooyeon, and Nakyoung brief each other about the upcoming interview. You soon hear some knocks on the door and a girl peeks into the room, “excuse me, we’re here for the interview”. “Oh, hello, you guys must be Dahyun and Chaeyeon”, Nakyoung greets them and lets them in. Dahyun gasps in surprise when she sees your face, “oh God, what happened to you, sunbaenim? Why is there a bruise on your face?”. “We can talk about that as we go. Please, have a seat and stop calling me and everyone else in this room ‘sunbaenim’. We’ll interview you guys at the same time, I hope that’s okay”, you gesture to the empty chairs on the round table, and they take a seat in them. “So, there’s something I need to explain before we start”, you start the conversation, “you guys are here because Governor Kim over here recommended that you be considered to be recruited into the university council because her faculty council is full”. They turn to Yooyeon and express their appreciation to her, which makes Yooyeon smile in shyness.
You take the first turn to ask them a bunch of questions, from what makes them interested in joining the council, what they think the council should be for students and the surrounding community, and if they’ll interested in becoming the president in the future. They answer each question with some of the best answers you’ve ever heard in your term as president, and you can tell that everyone in the room is impressed and is starting to like them. Xinyu and Nakyoung then take turns asking them questions of their own while Yooyeon opts to observe and listen in silence.
Once they’re done asking questions and getting answers, it’s the recruits’ turn to ask questions. Dahyun kicks off the session by asking you about your wound, “can I ask what happened to your face, oppa?”. “You can, Dahyun-ah”, you sigh, “someone punched me in the face after screaming at Nakyoung-ie because she didn’t let him join the interview—disappointing behavior, if you ask me”. Xinyu moves to you in her chair and grabs your hand, “are you actually pressing charges, oppa? I would love it if you did—no one gets to punch my boyfriend like that”. “He’s your boyfriend, unnie?”, Chaeyeon asks the vice president. Xinyu brings a palm to her forehead, “oh, right, I forgot that you’re not in our circle yet—yes, he is, and I love him and I hate seeing him get hurt. We’ll go get some ointment after this, oppa, okay?”. “The president and vice president are dating, unnie. Are we in a drama right now?”, Chaeyeon turns to Dahyun, who lets out a giggle.
The six of you spend more time getting to know each other better as individuals, and you can tell again that everyone is really interested in having them join the council and this small circle of yours. Nakyoung explicitly tells them about it; “I know we only met today but I know that everyone here likes the two of you, so I sincerely ask you to consider joining our little friend group once you’re formally accepted as members of the council. Your cute little governor here is also with us, by the way”, she says—the way she’s saying it makes it sound like it’s a circle of nepotism with leading figures of the council and a bunch of new recruits. Dahyun shyly accepts the invitation, “we would love that, unnie. Thank you for being so kind to juniors like us”.
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The interview is now done, and you find yourself surrounded by 5 girls outside the library. “Oppa, I’m hungry. Can we get lunch?”, Xinyu tugs your hand. “We can, sweetie. Wanna invite the others as well?”, you reply to her. Xinyu turns to the others, “guys, we’re gonna go get lunch, wanna join us?”. Nakyoung and Yooyeon obviously nod in agreement, but Dahyun and Chaeyeon are hesitant. “You two can join us as well, no need to be shy. We’re your friends, just a bit older in age”, you say to them. Chaeyeon answers for herself and Dahyun, “we would love that, oppa, if that’s okay with you”. Nakyoung pinches Chaeyeon’s cheeks playfully, “we’re friends, God damn it. Start acting accordingly, will you?”. You lead them to your car that’s parked in the campus’ parking lot—the parking lot is not as packed on Fridays since the professors are usually doing other stuff off campus, and you managed to find one because you arrived early. Chaeyeon makes a comment when she sees your car, “OF COURSE HE’S RICH—oh my God, I’m so sorry, oppa”. You chuckle at her comment, “it’s okay, I’ve heard that a lot before. Come on, let’s get in”.
You find yourself sailing the slow sea of Friday afternoon traffic, thankfully it’s not as bad as usual. “Does anyone have any idea where we should go?”, you ask the crowd in your car. Dahyun raises her hands after mustering up as much confidence as she can, “can we go get burgers, oppa? There’s a good burger shop nearby—if-if everyone else agrees, that is”. Xinyu is the most excited one at the prospect, “we sure can, I looove burgers. Drive faster, oppa!”. You laugh at her words, “just admit that you love everything, sweetie”.
Dahyun wasn’t lying when she said it was near, as you are now parked in front of an alleyway where the burger shop is. “We’ve been students for so long, but we’ve never heard about this shop once”, you remark. Dahyun shyly confesses to the group, “Th-this place is my parents’, oppa. I-I wanted to promote my parents’ business since they only opened recently, I’m sorry”. Xinyu rushes to hug Dahyun from the side, “awww, how cute. You’re such a good daughter, Dahyun-ah”. Dahyun hides her face behind her palms before replying to Xinyu, “you’re so kind, unnie”. “Now you know why people fall for her, Dahyun-ah”, you say, bragging about your lovely girlfriend to your new friend.
Dahyun leads you into the shop and runs towards the cashier to hug the lady attending it. “Everyone, this is my mom, you can call her Mrs. Seo—duh. Mom, this the council’s president, vice president, secretary, and governor—obviously you know Chaeyeon already. We just became friends today”, she introduces everyone to her mom by pointing at you one by one. “Aigoo, you brought your friends, Dahyun-ah? Welcome, kids—oh my God, what happened to your face? Also, you don’t need to pay today since you’re Dahyun’s friends”, Dahyun’s mom says to your group. You don’t want to not pay, considering how much your friends eat and the fact that your friend’s parents own the place; “It’s a bit of a long story, madam. We would hate to not pay; we eat a lot, you see”, you try to convince her mom. “Okay but promise us you’ll come back. Now what can I get for you?”, Mrs. Seo asks you. You turn to Dahyun, who most likely knows what’s best here, “you have any recommendations, Dahyun-ah?”. “I mean, I think everything is good but I’m very biased”, she giggles.
Since this is your first time here, you decide to choose whatever catches your fancy, which happens to be a double cheeseburger with portobella mushroom and beef bacon. Everyone else then takes turns to order before leaving to find a place to sit together. Mrs. Seo tells you to join two tables together since they only have 4 chairs each, so you do as she says. While you wait, you decide to talk with your friends—you know, like friends do.
It takes about 20 minutes for the food to come out, not bad at all considering how big of an order it was. Mrs. Seo calls out to Dahyun to help carry the food to your table, so she stands up and heads to the kitchen to help. You see the visuals of each thing on the trays, and you can’t help but drool at the sight. “Holy sh—excuse my language���that looks so good!”, Nakyoung shows her enthusiasm to the food. You see that Yooyeon, who usually shows little emotions, has an excited face as well, and it brings joy to Mrs. Seo. “You are such sweet kids. I’m glad Dahyun can be friends with you”, she says. “The pleasure is ours, madam. Dahyun is such a sweet girl as well”, Xinyu says.
Dahyun and her mom set the trays on the table, and everyone jumps to get their stuff right away. Nakyoung is the first to take a bite, and she exclaims in excitement immediately, “oh my God, this is incredible—Mrs. Seo, this is amazing!”. “Omo, I’m so glad you like it”, she says before putting a big squeeze bottle on the table, “try this with the fries, will you? We’ve been developing a sauce recipe and would love to hear some feedback—Chaeyeon-ie has tried this before so she knows already”. Xinyu squeezes the sauce on a piece of fry and shoves it in her mouth, “oh my, that is glorious. What sauce is this, Mrs. Seo? Oppa, try this, quick!”. You take the bottle from Xinyu’s hands and do the same thing she did, and you instantly let out a satisfied groan thanks to the taste. “it’s minced garlic, chives, and white pepper mixed with mayonnaise and a little bit of my husband’s hot sauce—you know, you two look so cute together; have you considered dating?”, she explains. “They are indeed dating, madam”, Nakyoung answers for you with a laugh like the spokesperson that she often is. Mrs. Seo gasps, “oh, that’s so cute. Alright, I’m gonna stop bothering you guys—enjoy!”.
No one says anything for the rest of the meal as they savor every glorious bite of their food, letting out excited yelps and satisfied groans at the incredible taste. “Dahyun-ah”, you say after swallowing a bite, “would your parents be interested in getting some investment?”. “Look at him, flexing his wealth in front of his junior”, Nakyoung says. Dahyun’s eyes widen at your unexpected question, “I-I’ll need to ask my parents”, she says. “Can you please ask now? I’m curious what they’d say”, you push further. Dahyun sips her drink before running to the cashier and dragging his mom back to the table. “Mom, mom, president-oppa wants to invest in us!”, Dahyun excitedly says to her mom. Mrs. Seo’s turns her head to you in surprise, “do you actually?”. “I do, madam”, you say, as humble sounding as possible, “I think you can do great things with this business, hence my interest”. “I, I”, you see tears gathering in Mrs. Seo’s eyes, “thank you for the kind words, son. Yes, we would love to get an investment—what are the terms, though?”. “My family’s treasurer will reach out to your family in less than 7 business days, madam. You can discuss the terms with her—I’ll make sure it’s more favorable to you than me”, you say to her. “Please stand up, son”, Mrs. Seo says to you, so you do as she says. She hugs you warmly as she’s shedding (you hope) happy tears, “thank you so much, son; it means a lot to our family. How rich are you that your family has a treasurer, though?”. You answer her question with the answer your parents have taught you since you were a kid, “we are comfortable, madam”. She lets go of the hug and wipes her eyes, “I gotta call my husband; this is crazy! Dahyun-ah, isn’t this crazy?”. Dahyun bows to you, “thank you so much, oppa. We won’t forget your kindness”. You’re surprised to see her bow to you, so you grab her shoulders and make her straighten her back, “oh, c’mon, there’s no need to act like that”.
You excuse yourself and head to the back alley behind the shop to call your family’s treasurer, Mrs. Kwon Yuri. She picks up immediately after one ring, “Good afternoon, Mr. Jung. Can I help you?”. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Kwon”, you greet her, “I’m planning to make an investment in a burger shop owned by my friend’s family. Can you please handle it for me? I’ll send you their number after this”. Mrs. Kwon stays silent for a few seconds, but you hear her keyboard clacking over the phone, “I can, Mr. Jung; I will reach out to them in two days”. You feel a wave of relief in your heart, “sounds great, Mrs. Kwon. Be sure to make it favorable for them, please—5 or 10 percent is fine. Thanks for the help”. You send her their number after hanging up and with it, your investment will soon be confirmed, and they’ll get a small boost to grow their business.
Unbeknownst to you, Xinyu has been hiding around the corner waiting for you to end the call. She runs to you when she hears you hang up the phone and hugs you tightly. “My God, that is so sexy, oppa”, she says. “What is, baby?”, you say, unsure about what she’s referring to. “The fact that you’re willing to use your money to help someone else. I know it’s probably spare change for you but it’s still meaningful”, she looks at you straight in the eyes as her hands are on each side of your head. ”I was just trying to help, it’s not like they don’t deserve it—I mean, you know how good their stuff is”, you tell her. “Oh, I know, but you know what else is good?”, she smiles at you. “No?”, you say, oblivious. “My boyfriend’s lips on mine”, she says before pressing her lips against yours. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like kissing Xinyu but kissing her in broad daylight in a back alley feels scandalous. You let your lips stay pressed against Xinyu’s for what feels like a few seconds before you push her away. “Baby, we can’t afford to get caught”, you bargain. “You’re right”, she sighs, “we’ll continue this later”.
You take her hand and enter the shop again. You see Dahyun and her mom crying while a man, who you assume is Mr. Seo, tries to calm them down. Dahyun then points a finger to you and the man walks up to you and reaches his hand out to shake yours. “You must be Jung Jisung”, the man says, “I’m Dahyun’s dad. Thank you so much for your help, son. It means a lot to us”. You’re surprised by how Dahyun’s family is reacting to your little feat, “I-I just wanted to help, sir. My friends and I really like the products your family is selling here”. Mr. Seo pulls you into a hug and you see that Nakyoung and Chaeyeon are leaning against Yooyeon’s shoulders on each side while sobbing. “What is happening, man?”, you think to yourself. Mr. Seo lets you go after a few seconds and shakes your hand one more time; “I need to go; I have two ladies to attend to”, he says, referring to his wife and daughter who are still weeping.
You sit down at the table again and ask your friends about what happened when you were away for that short a time. “They-they told us how hard it was to start this business, oppa”, Nakyoung holds back a sob before continuing, “they-they had to take a bunch of loans and barely had customers at the start—our tab today is one of the biggest ones they’ve had so far. Dahyun even had to do several part-time jobs to help her family’s economy”. Chaeyeon is making it obvious that she’s the most sensitive person in the friend group, as she cries even more after hearing Nakyoung’s summary of what has just happened. “They were over the moon when you said you were going to invest, and now the emotions have finally caught up to them”, Yooyeon says before wiping her eyes with a napkin. You realize that this is what your parents have been preaching for your whole life: to be able to help someone with what you have—especially money—no matter how big or small it is. You silently praise your parents and pray to whatever celestial being is up there for their health and safety.
You wait until everyone has calmed down before walking to the cashier to pick up the tab. “Ji-Jisung-ah”, Mrs. Seo’s emotions are still high as she keeps sobbing after all this time, “are you 100% sure you’re going to invest in us?”. “I am sure, madam. I’ve called the treasurer; she’ll reach out in two days. It’s the least I can do to help, madam”. Mrs. Seo opens her arms and hugs you, “thank you, son; thank you so much”. You close your eyes and savor the genuine emotions she’s showing you, “the pleasure is mine, madam; believe me”. She lets go and fiddles with the computer in front of her, “since you insisted on paying, everything will be ₩50.000 and I’m giving you a 10% discount—so what is that, then?”. Your eyes widen in surprise when you hear her words, “wait, no, no, no. Please, there’s no need for that”. You argue back and forth with Mrs. Seo until she agrees not to give you a discount. You hand her two ₩50.000 banknotes and tell her to keep the rest, which makes her bawl her eyes out again. You’re starting to feel terrible for making these people cry so much today, so you awkwardly walk back to the table so that you can get your friends to leave with you.
Everyone stands up when they’re finally ready to leave and file out of the door one by one except for Dahyun. Before it’s your turn to leave, Mr. Seo pulls you to the side and hugs you one more time. “Thank you for everything, Jisung-ah”, Mr. Seo says to your ear, “I would offer you my Dahyun but I was told that you have a girlfriend already”. Your eyes widen in shock, “That won’t be necessary ever, Mr. Seo. I don’t even know if Dahyun likes me like that—also she’s not anyone’s property, respectfully”, you whisper in his ear. He lets go of you and shakes your hand softly, so you reciprocate his gesture and do the same. “Oppa”, Dahyun calls out to you, “thank you so much for everything, seriously. I promise I’ll do my best in the council; I’ll do whatever you guys ask me to”. You smile at her, “I know you will, Dahyun-ah. I can tell that you’re a hardworking person as well”. Dahyun looks at the door and makes sure that the coast is clear before hugging you. “I know you have Xinyu-unnie but please let me have this for now”, she then gets on her tippy toes and pecks your cheek, which makes the two of you blush at the same time. “Thank you, Dahyun-ah. I wish you and everyone health and safety. See you soon, okay?”, you make to leave the restaurant and catch up with your friends.
You get back in the car and start driving again; everyone except Xinyu (obviously) asks you to take them back to campus, so you do as they ask and take them back there. They get off at the campus gate and wave at you as you leave, and now you’re left alone with Xinyu. “Let’s go home, oppa”, she says before reaching over and palming your cock, “I’m so fucking horny, oppa—if you hadn’t stopped me back in the alley, I would’ve got on my knees and sucked your cock”. You can feel your cock getting hard and your patience running thin, so you take a deep breath before replying to Xinyu, “patience, princess; we’ll get home before you know it”. You hope that your words were good enough to convince her to be patient, but they apparently weren’t, as she keeps palming your cock the rest of the way home.
-
You make it back to the parking lot of your building again. You stand next to the car and wait for Xinyu to get off. Instead of taking her hand and walk side by side, you lift her by her thighs and carry her to your destination. “You’re not getting away with being such a brat—you wanna palm my cock because you’re horny? Fine, I’ll show you horny”, you whisper aggressively in her ear. “You’re gonna make me pay, daddy?”, she whispers back, her voice laced with lust. You rush to your apartment and enter the bedroom straight away. Your lust-controlled brain doesn’t want to play nice, as it makes you drop Xinyu on the bed not-too-softly. Xinyu bites her bottom lip; “I like it when you’re rough”, she says, trying to rile you up more. You want to talk dirty with her, but you’re given another idea instead; “let’s make a deal: if you can make it through this session without cumming, I’ll buy you whatever you want—including Dahyun’s restaurant. Now pick a fucking safe word”. You take off everything you have on your body in front of her, and she bites her lip again, “Oh please, just who exactly do you think I am? Just come and punish me, daddy; use me, stretch me, choke me, cum in me—do whatever pleases you and I’ll take it like a good girl, because I am one”.
You pull her off the bed and onto her feet; “strip”, you command. “Yes, daddy” is her reply; short, but laden with obedience. She takes her sweet time to take off each thing and tries putting on a show for you, but since you’re now thinking with your cock and not your brain, you’re getting impatient; “I told you to strip, princess, not to take off your clothes”, you say as you palm her neck and squeeze it slightly while glaring right into her eyes—she’s taller than most people but you still tower over her (shoutout to dad for his genes). You see that she’s starting to get intimidated but still has her strong girl façade on, “hngh—patience, daddy, plea-please”. You let her neck go and she takes the rest of her clothes seemingly nervously, as seen by how her hands shake as she’s doing it. Xinyu gets back in bed when nothing is on her body, now ready to start the session. As much as you’re horny and rough, you’re never one to act without consent, so you ask the seemingly scared girl in your bed, “are you okay? Was I too mean? Do you want to keep going?”. “N-no, you’re okay—I’m okay”, she takes a deep breath and welcomes you to bed.
You get on top of her and start sucking and nibbling her neck, marking it with your lips as she moans and sighs at the contact. “You love marking me, right, daddy?”, she eggs you on, “you like showing people who I belong to, don’t you?”. You leave her neck when you see that it has a red spot on the side, knowing that it will turn into a decently sized hickey tomorrow, “Uh-huh; they’ll know if they haven’t already”, you say to her, “if you cover it with makeup, I will make you sleep on the sofa for a month”. She pleas her case, “but what if my professors see it?”. You shrug, “we’re adults—your words, not mine. Now stay still, I have things to do”.
You move to her breasts, putting one in your mouth while fondling the other. Xinyu has always been sensitive there, so you know it’ll be plenty of stimulation for her. “Daddy”, she sighs, “why do you like my breasts so much?”. You lift your mouth off so you can reply to her; “because they fit in my hands so well”, you palm a breast; a perfect handful in your hand, “can you feel how perfect it is in my hand?”. Xinyu nods to your question, “ye-yes, daddy; they’re perfect for you, just like the rest of my body”. “Good answer, princess—you should be able to feel this as well”, you pinch a nipple and tug, making Xinyu scream instantly, “oh, fuck, fuck—the-they’re sensitive, daddy”. You chuckle, “I know they are, but you’re mine to play with”.
You play with her tits a bit more before moving on. You opt to skip her tummy (no matter how firm and soft it looks) and go straight to her pussy. “Open your legs, princess”, you command her, and she instantly spread her long legs enough for you to fit your head between them. “I-I hope you like what you see”, she says with a blush on her cheeks. Honestly, how can you not like the sight despite having seen it a lot—her perfectly pink and glistening pussy is making you drool, literally. You dive into her pussy right away; your tongue is pressed against her entrance, threatening to invade it while your index finger is on her nub. Xinyu starts moaning and squirming around as you start licking her pussy, so you hold down her thighs so that you don’t miss your target. “Remember to hold your cum”, you remind the moaning girl. Her heavy breathing makes it hard for her to verbally answer you, so she just nods to your say.
“Op-oppa”, she calls out with heavy pants, “you-you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that”. You lift your face off her crotch and look at her in disbelief, “is that supposed to be a threat? You dare threat me, you slut? That’s the wrong name too, by the way”. Xinyu panics, “no-no, daddy; I would never—oh, fuck—I would never threaten you, I swear”. You plunge two fingers into her pussy, “that’s what I thought”. “Oh, fuck—daddy, please”, she lets out whiny moans. You know that she’s doing her best to hold off her orgasm, and you praise her for her efforts; even good girls have their limits, and hers is very close. You keep fucking her with your fingers until you feel her pussy squeeze them, indicating that she’s having her orgasm soon. True enough, she screams from the top of her lungs after a few seconds, “I’M-I’M CUMMING, FUCK!”. You pull your fingers out as she squirts her juices out and stroke her thighs to help her calm down. It takes a few minutes of moaning and whining until her mind is cleared and her high is dissipated. “You came”, you say with a fake disappointed voice. Realization of what just happened slaps her in the face, “I’m so sorry, daddy; please don’t punish me, I beg you. I-I’ll give you my mouth, I’ll give you my asshole—anything you want. Just don’t punish me, please”. “There’s no way she’s offering you her ass”, your brain says, “she’s never trained for it, has she? She’ll never be able to take your cock there—don’t take it, son”.
You decide to keep her in the dark and not tell her that you’re not getting in her ass because you’re naughty like that. “On your stomach, princess”, you command her, and you see that she’s nervous because she’s clueless as to what you have in mind. “I’m so dead; we’ve never trained my ass before and he’s getting in there—this is why you don’t run your mouth, Zhou Xinyu”, Xinyu thinks to herself. She gets even more scared when you lift her ass but not the rest of her body. You make her think that you’re going in her ass by asking her to spread her cheeks. Xinyu’s fear peaks when you put your thumb on her asshole and slather spit on it—she even sheds a tear because she’s that scared. “Look at it”, you say, “that must be so tight and snug”. “I guess this is how I die”, she thinks as more tears are released from her eyes, “he’s going in there dry, too—fuck, this will hurt like a bitch”. You remove your thumb and announce to her that you’re going in, so she closes her eyes and braces for the pain. To her surprise, you decide to plunge into her pussy instead, so Xinyu lets out a loud moan immediately; “oh, God, daddy, yes, yes—I’m your good girl, daddy”. A wave of relief washes over Xinyu; “he’s not getting in my ass!”, she thinks to herself.
You lean forward and whisper in Xinyu’s ear, “you thought I was gonna take your ass, didn’t you, princess?”. She moans before answering you, “ye-yes, daddy. I-I was so scared”. You laugh at her; you’d think she would know by now that you’d never do anything without her explicit and clear consent, but here she is, scared shitless at the prospect of losing her anal virginity to you. “I might not be taking your ass today, but I’m taking your pussy”, you say before pulling her gloriously thick jet-black hair. “It’s yours, daddy—I’m yours; take me anytime you want—oh, fuck, that’s so fucking deep”, she replies. You press Xinyu’s head into the pillow, “I’m cumming in your pussy and I want you to keep it in”. You feel her nod against your hand, and you pick up the pace of your thrusts.
You keep pumping her pussy deep and fast, just like how you like it. Xinyu is holding the pillow under her head with all her might, her knuckles turning white thanks to how hard she’s gripping it. You feel your lust peaking, so you give her rougher thrusts as your crotch makes clapping sounds when it hits Xinyu’s cheeks. Xinyu is moaning and screaming your name away, as she feels the rough thrusts you’re giving her; “I’m gonna feel this tomorrow”, she says in her head. You can feel your orgasm approaching, so you get in a squatting position without pulling out and keep thrusting into her pussy with all your strength. Xinyu knows this as well, so she eggs you on, “keep stretching me like that, daddy—oh, fuck, you’re in my belly”.
You start feeling tired from fucking her in such position. Thankfully for you, you’re so close to cumming as well. “Princess”, you say with heavy breathing, “I’m so close”. She turns her head to see you over her shoulder, “yes, daddy; I’m so close as well—oh, fuck—please let me cum with you”. You’re reminded of her words a few days ago when you said you were close, and you decide to use it against her, “I’ll let you cum if you ask nicely”. She takes a deep breath so that she can ‘ask nicely’, “daddy, please, let me cum with you—I’m-I’m begging you, daddy”. Satisfied with her answer, you pet her head; “good job, princess”. To make sure that she indeed cums with you, you reach around her waist and rub her clit as you’re fucking her.
Your orgasm finally hits after some more thrusts. You plug your cock deep into her and start shooting your cum deep into Xinyu’s pussy; at the same time, Xinyu’s legs quiver thanks to her second orgasm—no squirting this time, unfortunately. You stand up on the bed after all your cum is released into her; “if you let it leak out, I’m taking your ass”, you threaten her falsely. You know that Xinyu lacks training, so unless she trains her ass, you’re not getting in there—unless she decides to act like a brat again. Xinyu doesn’t know that it was a fake threat, so she keeps her ass up to prevent your cum from leaking out while she tries her best to catch her breath.
You jump off the bed and leave to get water and towel, “be right back, princess”. When you return, she still has her ass up because at heart, she is very obedient and just wants to please her boyfriend as much as she can. “Daddy”, she calls out with teary eyes, “can-can I put my ass down now? I’m s-starting to get tired”. You feel a rush of guilt in your heart because she actually fell for the false threat; “you can, princess. Just relax, okay?”, you say as you guide her waist down by pressing down on the small of her back until she’s flat on the bed. “I’m gonna wipe your body with this towel, okay, princess?”. You see her nod, so you start wiping her body from her nape down to her legs, making sure not to miss a spot as you go. You roll her over onto her back to clean the other side of her body and that’s when you see the messy makeup on her face—solid proof that tears were running down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, princess”, you stroke her cheeks softly with your thumb, “I was so rough on you, wasn’t I?”. She sniffles before answering you, “you-you were, but it’s okay; nothing I’m not used to”. “Can I clean that makeup for you, or do you want to do it yourself?”, you ask her. She reaches out to grab the towel from your hands and wipe her face with it, “this should be enough”. She then returns the towel to you so you can clean the rest of her body.
“Honey”, you call out to her, “wanna shower or no?”. She sighs in exhaustion, “no, too tired—you can shower if you want”. You jump back in bed and lie next to her; “no, too tired”, you return her words. She gathers all her might and scoots over so that she can cuddle you; “I hope that was satisfactory”, she says. You peck her head, “of course it was. Thank you very much, love”. “I was so scared that you were going to fuck me in the ass, daddy”, she hasn’t dropped the name yet, “you know I’ve never trained my ass so I thought you were gonna take my anal virginity raw and dry—I mean sure, it’s only right that I give you that but I was super scared”. You stroke the back of her head softly, “we can talk about that later, sweetie—just know this: I would never do anything to you without your clear and explicit consent, so until I hear that you’re ready to take me in your ass, I’m not fucking you in the ass. I promise you that”.
She hums in understanding—you can tell that she’s grateful too—but is then reminded about the deal from earlier, “so I guess you’re not buying me whatever I want since I came?”. You let out a chuckle, “what do you want to get, sweetie?”. She blushes when she realizes that she didn’t lose the deal because of how sweet and kind you really are behind all those façades, “oh-oh, um, I-I wa-want burgers and fries from Dahyun’s place again, oppa”. You nod to her, “sure, love. We can go after this if you want”.
-
You and Xinyu get back in the car after regaining energy and showering, as you two are now on your way to Dahyun’s restaurant for the second time today. When you arrive, you see that Dahyun’s attending the cashier this time. She sees you two in front of the door and rushes to open it for you, “oppa, unnie, welcome back!”. “Hey, baby. Nice to see you again”, Xinyu hugs the girl in front of her. “We promised we would return so here we are”, you say to her. “Where are the others, though?”, Dahyun asks. “No idea; we just had sex at home and came here after cuddling and showering”, Xinyu utters oh-so-brazenly. “OH MY GOD! UNNIE!”, Dahyun covers her ears and runs away from the two of you. You palm your face, “I’m so sorry, Dahyun-ah; you didn’t need to hear all that”. Dahyun fans her cheeks with her hands to fight her blush, “oh my, how could you say that so casually—wh-what can I get for you guys this time?”. You pinch Xinyu’s cheek for her little shenanigan before turning to Dahyun and repeat your order from this afternoon; “oh, can we get 2 more fries and that sauce again? So 4 fries in total and the sauce”, you ask her. “Of course you can, oppa. Please wait at the table for your food”.
Dahyun brings a tray of food to you after about 15 minutes. She thinks that she can waltz away after that, so you call out to her, “where on God’s green earth do you think you’re going, Dahyun-ah?”. Surprised to hear you call her that way, she walks back to you your table awkwardly, “I-I’m sorry?”. “Why do you think we ordered 4 burgers?”, you point at the empty seat next to Xinyu, “have a seat with us. We can have a little chit-chat—you can get back to work if there’s another customer coming”. “Uwuwu, my baby”, Xinyu peppers Dahyun’s face with pecks. “I’m sorry, oppa, but is unnie always like this?”, Dahyun asks you. “No, only to people she likes”, you say with a smile, indicating to her that she’s one of those people.
No other customer ends up coming, so you have the entire restaurant to yourselves. “Dahyun-ah, would you be able to cater for the entire council? I would love to introduce your products to our staffs”, you say before shoving another piece of fry coated in sauce, “holy shit, that is glorious—you know what, we’ll pay for this bottle of sauce since we’re probably finishing this”. “Oppa”, she says with a soft voice, “you.. are you serious?”. You’re not sure what she’s talking about, “pardon?”. “Are you serious about asking us to cater for the council? That’d be, like, our biggest sales so far”, she says, tears threatening to burst out of her eyes for the second time today. “Let’s ask Xinyu what she thinks”, you point to the girl sitting next to Dahyun. “I agwee wif offa”, she says with a full mouth before swallowing her food, “ehm, excuse me—yes, I agree with oppa’s idea; we should introduce this to everyone. We’ll need the sauce as well, by the way”.
Dahyun sits in silence before covering her face to hide her tears; “oppa, unnie, why are you guys so kind to us? First it was the investment and now this?”, she says with trembling voice. Xinyu hugs the crying girl, “because we love you and we love your food, baby”. If Xinyu was calling another guy “baby”, you would flip out, but you don’t mind since it’s Dahyun. “I know that we sound like a broken record, but we genuinely love the food here. Can you give me an estimation as to when you think you’ll be able to do it?”, the way you say it makes you sound like your dad right now. Dahyun sniffles and gathers her mind to think of an answer, “um, probably in a few weeks; I need to talk with my parents, though”. “Very cool”, you clap your hands once, “we’ll be having a meeting with everyone in the council at the end of September. We’ll tell them to come with an empty stomach”.
-
You’re now ready to leave the restaurant after finishing your burgers, fries, and a whole bottle of sauce. “We’re gonna need to hit the gym this weekend”, you think to yourself. You’re standing in front of the cashier with Dahyun and Xinyu, and that’s when Xinyu excuses herself and runs to the toilet. Dahyun keeps her eyes on Xinyu until she disappears behind the toilet door and walks up to you slowly. You’re not too sure what she’s trying to do, so you opt to let things run their course for now. She wraps her arms around your nape and pulls you down for a kiss. As she’s kissing you, you can’t help but notice how soft her lips are. Dahyun then pulls away from the kiss after a few seconds; “I swear I’ll find a way to repay you, just wait—also, don’t think that I didn’t see your mark on unnie’s neck; sex with you must be amazing, oppa”, she says before taking a few steps back to avoid Xinyu’s suspicion. “You’re saying a lot of nonsense right now, darling”, you say in a quiet voice—that’s another pet name spilling out of your lips and Dahyun catches it right away. “Darling, hm? I like the sound of that, darling”, she winks at you and walks away. Perfect timing, really, because you see that Xinyu is opening the toilet door and about to walk out.
You close your eyes and put a palm on your forehead; “what is happening right now, man?”. Life is throwing another girl at you, and you’re not sure why because you already have a girlfriend—a lovely one at that. You take a deep breath before holding your girlfriend’s hand and leading her out of the door. You take a glance at Dahyun over your shoulder, and you see her wink at you once again. “I’m so fucking cooked”, you think to yourself.
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speaking-riddlish · 18 days ago
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Thinking about how Riddlish is handled in cannon and in fics. I've seen people just put random things that happen to ryhm anytime they want someone to be speaking Riddlish and it's like, a minor pet peeve of mine? But every time we see Riddlish spoken in cannon, it kind of makes sense in a way? Like, if you think about what is said, and try to piece together any symbolism based on context, you can kind of understand what they're saying. Like Maddie said, "Riddlish is not an exact language". Putting together the metaphor and symbolism gives you the general idea of what they're getting across. And whenever a fic does this well, it's like an instant favorite.
Let's look at and dicect some cannon examples (I've always kind of found these facinating):
"Feathers and Friends, together alone!"
"Feathers" could refer to Raven, since she's named after a bird. She also has feathers fairly prominent in her character design, so it'd make sense for Giles to say this even though he doesn't know her name yet.
"and Friends" probably refers to Maddie, since she's known him for a while and is presumably his friend. It could also refer to their friendship, and maybe even be a way of including Raven in.
"together, alone" They're here with him, joining him in his solitude.
Putting it all together we get "Raven and Maddie, you're here! You came to visit me!" Which lines up pretty well with Maddie's translation of "he says it's nice to have us here!"
"Can a musical chair change its tone, when the tablet of granite is inscribed with a bone?"
"Can a musical chair change it's tone" The music in musical chairs is integral to the game, yet the song played does not come from the chair, but from the people playing. The tone of a musical chair is something fundamental about itself, and also something imposed by something outside itself. Can it change? Can something change something about itself that someone else has decided is fundamental?
"When the tablet of granite is inscribed with a bone?" A tablet of granite inscribed with something is literally that thing being written in stone, another reference to destiny and inevitability. And what's written on that stone is a bone, is death. Death is what is written in stone. Death is supposedly inevitable here.
From Raven's tone and terrified body language when asking Maddie to translate for her, it's fairly clear that the thing that wants to change is referring to Raven.
Putting it all together we get "Can Raven change from what others have said she's supposed to be, or is death the inevitable consequence of that like we've been told it is?" Which lines up pretty well with what Maddie was asked to translate: "What'll happen to me if I don't sign the book, am I really gonna disapear?"
"The king that sings with pages of sky fears too much the dawn that rises with lies"
"pages of sky" is in reference to the book, and maybe the fairytales themselves. The sky is often used to symbolically reference heaven and the divine. The book, determining people's destinies, fits fairly well into that category. It's almost like he's referring to the book as being from above.
"The king that sings with pages of sky" would then be Headmaster Grim. He's in a position of authority over the students like a king is to his subjects. He "sings with" the book/the stories with his constant insistence that people must sign the book and follow their stories, speaking in unison with them.
"fears too much" this part is fairly clear, Milton's paranoid. The consequences he thinks are inevitable aren't as inevitable as he claims.
"the dawn that rises with" would mean something like "the consequences of" or "the fallout from". Then there's one of two ways the rest could be. "lies" could refer to that which is contrary to what the stories say will happen. If you take the stories as "truth" then changing the stories would be "lies". Or, "rises with lies" could mean the consequences coming from Milton's lies being brought to light. The dawn rises as Milton's lies rise.
Yet the whole thing sounds rather foreboding, giving the impression that something is seriously wrong.
Bringing it all together, we either get "Headmaster Grim told you to follow your destiny because he's paranoid about what'll happen if you don't. But those fears are unfounded. Also something is very wrong." or "Headmaster Grim told you to follow your destiny because he's afraid of what will happen when people find out why you don't need to (and its emplied that that reason is something very bad)" This lines up fairly well with Maddie's translation of "There's something wrong with the book, and if you don't sign, your story will continue... I think". I like the touch that Maddie wasn't as confident in this translation, since the last phrase is more ambiguous. It's not really clear how the foreboding tone integrates into the message without more context than Maddie has, so Maddie doesn't really know what it means.
"The baby bird flies. The snake, it slithers. But the cage holds both, to die and to wither."
"The baby bird flies. The snake, it slithers." The baby bird and the snake are two very different creatures, they move and interact with the world in two totally different ways. Most people also would look more favorably on the baby bird than on the snake.
"but the cage holds both, to die and to wither." the cage doesn't care what is inside of it, it will indiscriminately hold them both captive. The things that make the baby bird different from the snake, and the adorable charms of the baby bird will not free the baby bird from the cage, nor will they protect the baby bird from the grisly fate that awaits it in the cage.
The context is also relevant, since she's talking to Alastair and Bunny, two of her subjects who have just been arrested, but also two of her daughter's friends.
Putting this all together we get "Yes, you enjoy privileges that others do not have, but my affection for you will not compromise my judgement. You are not above the law. I am not above punishing you like I would anynother citizen." While we don't have a cannon translation to compare this to, it seems to make sense. Its immediately followed up with her letting them off with a warning, and despite this interaction, Bunny later tells Lizzie that her mom really is a good queen, but that the curse has stressed her out. I think the Queen of Hearts probably made exploring illegal to protect people from the curse. If she really is a good queen, then this type of objectivity ("I don't care if you're my daughter's friends, crime is crime") would make total sense.
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kpopfanfictrash · 1 year ago
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Elemental (M) Pt. 1
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Author: kpopfanfictrash
Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy
Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)
Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.
Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.
A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.
Rating: 18+
Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse
NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play
Word Count: 17,287 (32,487 total)
Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. Part I is here, and Part II will be uploaded shortly. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts. (also, if you haven't already realized based on the premise, Y/N does break up with Jungkook in the first part of this fic lol so, if that's something you don't want to read; fair warning!)
[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]
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Magic, to you, has never been a boon.
Despite its romanticization in movies and stories, the reality of magic is messy and unpredictable. As dangerous as it can be fickle, your mom likes to say. Usually followed by a glance in your direction, swift enough for you not to notice, although you always do.
Either that, or an unconscious tilt her chin towards the photograph on the mantle. You aren’t sure she even realizes she does it, acting on instinct alone. The photo is of your dad, holding you on his shoulders with an ear-to-ear grin. He was the other Elemental in your family.
Even with only one magical parent, the Elemental gene tends to be passed on to children. Your dad’s magic was water, skilled in manipulating and calling forth the element. He was lauded for it, which was in itself unusual. More often, Elementals are run out of town by other humans. Although time has gone by since societal integration, there are still many who view your kind with suspicion.
You can’t say that you blame them – not really. Because again, the reality of magic is it can be dangerous. Based on experience, bad things tend to happen when you lose control.
Head tilted, you squint through the fog at your boyfriend’s apartment. For centuries, fog has been heralded as an ill omen and maybe there’s some degree of truth to it. Maybe the first speaker lived near a temperamental water Elemental, unable to keep their emotions from manipulating the weather.
Thoughts souring at how close to reality this feels, you shake your head once and some of the fog clears.
A pep talk, you think. That’s what you need to convince yourself to enter. Unseasonably chilly this late in the summer, your fingers curl into the ends of your sweater. Going inside would be preferrable to standing out in the cold, and yet you can’t manage a single step.
Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.
Again, you remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and again, this doesn’t help. If anything, it makes you clutch your sweater tighter. For once, you wish doing the right thing meant what’s right for you. Exhaling deeply, your eyes shut as a train passes and shakes the ground.
You began dating Jungkook three months ago and within a week, you knew it was different. You have a tendency to hide pieces of yourself, knowing most people won’t like what they find. Jungkook never allowed that to happen. The first time you ghosted, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop the next morning and asked what had gone wrong. Taken aback, you responded honestly and to your surprise, Jungkook listened.
He stayed. Stayed when others had run, cementing himself on a short list of people you can trust. Three months into dating, things have moved at once fast and slow. Fast because typically, you exit relationships long before feelings like these ones develop. Slow, because you haven’t given Jungkook every part of yourself.
Physical intimacy comes to mind. On several occasions, this has proved… difficult.
Eyes opening, you stare at the door. Memories of last night rise to the surface. For a long time, you’ve known this relationship has an end date. Knowing this doesn’t prepare you for the difficult conversation ahead.
The last time you saw Jungkook was after midnight. Fat raindrops chased your footsteps while you ran from his place, descending the subway at a record pace. The look on his face remains stuck in your mind and even now, you find the thought hard to revisit.
Imagining hurting Jungkook again is unfathomable. Stifling a gasp, you spin on your heel and march away. Halfway to the gate, you get a grip on yourself. Coming to a stop, you remind yourself this isn’t about you. Jungkook will hate you – there’s nothing to do about that now. Now, this is about Jungkook and ensuring he’s safe.
Slowly, you turn around and make your way forward. In the name of procrastination, you stop at a trash can to clean out your purse. Old receipts, gum wrappers and a crumpled-up napkin shake into the bin. You pause at the napkin, staring at the embossed name of the restaurant you work at. Or – more accurately – worked at.
Slamming the trash lid, you turn. You began work at Pierre’s Bistro two months ago as a temporary measure. Ideally, you paint but lately, inspiration has run dry. Waiting tables pays the bills, leaving time at the end of the day to stare at a blank canvas.
Pierre’s is an upscale French restaurant a few blocks down with semi-decent food and waiting tables would be fine if the owner – Pierre – weren’t a massive asshole. Now that you don’t work there, you can be honest about that. Pierre was the most sexist, elitist, capitalistic piece of shit you’ve ever had the displeasure of working for. While on his payroll, you tried to make the best of it but now, you have nothing to lose. Pierre was a dick.
A point he proved yet again last night, much to your mortification. You prefer working the lunch shift to dinner, and weekdays to weekends. Saturday nights are worst of all, and last night Pierre didn’t arrive until well after six. You were forced to cover the entire front section, picking up for a co-worker who called in sick.
Rushing from the bar, you nearly crashed into your boss removing his coat. Grabbing you by the elbow, Pierre steadied you, his hand lingering.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.
You forced a smile. Experience has taught you the best thing to do in those types of situations is to smile and laugh.
“No fire. Lots of customers! Excuse me,” you said and tried to move past.
Pierre didn’t release you. If anything, his grip on you tightened until you turned your head.
“Yes?” you said, impatient.
Pierre didn’t respond, looking you slowly up and down. Eventually, he released you to take a step backwards. “Nothing,” he said carefully. “Be careful out there tonight.”
Trying not to gag on his words, you moved on. Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Pierre’s notice once caught. From that point on, each of your flaws were held under a microscope. First, it was that you didn’t fold the napkins correctly. Next, you took a wandering path from kitchen to table. Each time you entered the dining room, scornful words were covered by simpering smiles.
By the time your shift end approached, you could barely keep going. A large group had entered and, seeing the host occupied, you took it upon yourself to seat them at your last table. Fixing your apron, you hurried through the restaurant and into the kitchen.
Grabbing another table’s dishes, you thanked the cook and pushed open the door. Immediately, arms shoved you back in. Startled, you barely had time to recognize the host, Vanessa, before the doors swung shut.
“Vanessa?” you said, adjusting your grip. “What’s going on?”
Harried, she glanced over one shoulder. “Sorry,” she sighed, curly hair slipping from her messy bun. “I wanted to warn you before you went back out. Pierre is pissed.”
Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”
She nodded, another dark curl escaping. “Something about saving the table up front for his friends? Bullshit, yes,” she said at your expression. “But you know how he is.”
“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. Deciding there was nothing to be done but keep moving, you hefted your plates higher. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I need to get these to table ten.”
“No problem,” she said and stepped out of your way.
You walked inside with slightly less spring in your step. Pierre lounged near the bar, surrounded by a group of people you could only assume to be friends. Although you felt his gaze on your face, you avoided him the best you could while you made your rounds. Taking the long way to the kitchen, you passed in front of the window.
Which was the moment you noticed Jungkook waiting for you on the curb. He stood beneath a streetlight, light pooling around the ends of his dark hair. When he saw you approach, his face lit up and he smiled.
Cursing beneath your breath, you smiled back. You were supposed to be done a half-hour ago, but there hadn’t been a good time yet to stop. Waving back, you mouthed, just a minute, and frantically pushed through the crowd to the back.
Merely seeing his face lifted a weight from your chest. It was easy to be around Jungkook because he liked every part of you. You never felt the urge to pretend, to curve yourself into something someone else would find pleasurable.
Well, he liked every part except one – and you were working on telling him that.
Hurrying into the staff room, you forgot your plan to avoid Pierre. You nearly jumped a mile when a hand grabbed your elbow, spinning you to face your fuming manager.
Pierre stared down his nose. “Follow me,” he snapped, releasing your arm to spin around.
He passed tables full of patrons, leading you to the bar before turning. “Y/N,” Pierre said, his voice dropping. “Are things okay tonight?”
“Yes,” you responded, deciding one-word answers were safest.
“Then why, exactly, are you fucking this up?”
Your jaw tensed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing so,” you said carefully.
“The napkins?” Pierre made a tsk-ing sound. “How many times should I say that presentation is important? Not to mention your laziness. One of your tables had to flag me down to ask for a refill. And now, you gave away the front table.” His expression darkened. “What makes you think you, a fucking waitress, can step in for a host? You sat someone at the table I personally reserved for my friends!”
You shouldn’t have responded. You should have stayed quiet and yet –
“There was no name in the book,” you muttered.
“What’s that?” Pierre waited and, when you stayed silent, shook his head. “I hadn’t had time to write their name down, but I told Vanessa, who assured me it’d happen. Of course, she wasn’t taking into consideration Y/N, the wonder waitress! Taking everyone’s jobs and making them harder.”
At your sides, your hands balled into fists. It took a greater amount of concentration than normal to keep your emotions from spilling over.
Of course, there were explanations for Pierre’s accusations. The napkins were correct before he jostled the table. You had been circulating your tables and if you were unavailable, it was because of his poor staffing. Oh, and – he didn’t make a reservation for his friends.
Slowly, you exhaled and stuffed down the responses. Deep down, with other emotions and magic. Beyond Pierre, a glass trembled but once you relaxed, the water went still.
“I apologize,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll do better next time.”
Pierre sniffed. “See that you do,” he said, brushing past. Grabbing a beer from the bar, you heard his friends burst into raucous laughter. Apparently, your humiliation was entertaining.
Heaving a small sigh, you turned – and froze where you stood.
Outside, Jungkook stared into the restaurant with murderous eyes. Too late, you realized Pierre had pulled you in front of the window. Away from anyone dining, but in full view of anyone on the sidewalk. Like your boyfriend, who witnessed the entire spectacle.
For a moment, your emotions overwhelmed, and you felt magic crack the walls you kept hidden. Embarrassment crept past your boundaries. Humiliation. Fury. Stuffing everything back, you quickly turned to rush through the tables.
Jungkook’s gaze snapped towards you, his brow furrowing. Reaching the staff room, you paced up and down. Jungkook saw you. He saw Pierre’s outburst, which meant you’d have to explain. You’d have to explain to Jungkook – the only person whose opinion you cared about – why you allowed other people to walk all over you.
He’d start to ask questions. Questions like, when was the last time you really got mad? You’d have no good response. Not because you don’t get mad, because you do. But because you don’t ever allow yourself to act on the feeling.
Faced with the prospect of brushing him off, you buried your face in both hands. Your usual excuses wore thin in your ears.
Pierre isn’t so bad. It was a one-time thing. You promise you’ll talk to Pierre tomorrow.
None of it would be true, and you didn’t want to lie to Jungkook. People never understood why you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but the answer was complicated.
Your last date said you lacked emotions, but you don’t think that’s it. Of course, you have feelings, but those feelings are buried beneath so many layers, they can be hard to see. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that you cannot.
When you feel, your magic reacts, and people get hurt.
That was the last part of yourself you kept hidden. Jungkook is normal and he doesn’t know you’re an Elemental.
You know that by now, you should have said something. Obviously, but the timing was never right. Twenty-five years old, and you still aren’t sure how to broach the conversation. Few people know what you are, so you haven’t had much experience with the explanation. Your magic isn’t something you use if you can help it.
Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.
Your dad, an Elemental, died when you were five. Before, you lived near the ocean on a flat strip of sand. Your memories from before then are faint, but whenever you try, you can hear his booming laugh. Can feel the salt sting your cheeks, your mom tossing you in the air while you spun around.
Everything afterwards faded. At five years old, a hurricane swept past the barrier islands and that, you remember. You recall your mom at the door, pleading with your dad not to go as he donned his jacket. You remember him holding her hand, kissing the top of your head, and saying he’d return soon. Not many Elementals lived in your area, and even fewer had water magic.
You recall the hours passing, stretching longer and longer until dawn approached. Flashing lights followed, a woman climbing from her car to speak to your mom. You recall the sound of your mom sobbing, the policewoman’s voice floating into the house.
The storm surge was stronger than expected, but your dad managed to divert the worst. He saved the town only to be hit by a bolt of lightning. Instant death, the policewoman said, her tone implying this might be a comfort. Chest tight, your fingertips dug into the railing. Comfort meant nothing when your dad was gone. The irony struck you even back then – your dad saved others, and no one came to save him.
For weeks following, your mom was a ghost. At first, neighbors stopped by to drop off casseroles and condolences. Soon though, their sympathy stopped, and the whispers began. You were young enough not to notice, too consumed by the enormity of your own loss.
Eventually though, you noticed something was off. Suspicious eyes followed you down the sidewalk. Mothers clutched at their children, hurrying them to the side of an empty street. One day, you traipsed downstairs and overheard your mom on the phone.
She sat at the kitchen table, facing away from the staircase. You paused on the landing, listening to your aunt’s voice blast on speakerphone.
“Nonsense,” she was saying. “Your husband was a hero, and anyone saying otherwise is cracked. He saved your town!”
“I know.” Your mom blew her nose. “But now, people are wondering if he caused the storm. They’re saying maybe he… made the hurricane. It’s this new mayor,” she said, frustrated. “He hates Elementals and keeps insisting our family orchestrated this to collect money. He says –”
“Oh, no.” Your aunt sounded furious. “Don’t you repeat a single word that hateful man says.”
“He has a point, though,” your mom said, her voice low. “Did you hear about Uniontown? A fire Elemental accidentally set their barn on fire. Nearly burned the whole town. Magic is dangerous. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now –”
“When was the last time your husband lost control, though? Are you saying you think he caused a hurricane?”
“God, no!” You watched your mom straighten. “But there are people saying… awful things.”
“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”
“I know.” Wearily, she exhaled. “They’re talking about Y/N, too, though. Apparently, she caused a tidal wave at the pool last weekend.”
Hearing your name said out loud, you shrank back in the shadows. You weren’t aware your mom knew about that, or that she cared. Bobby Clemmons teased Judith Bryce about her hair until finally, you snapped. Bobby was swept to the other end of the pool, much to Judith’s relief. She thanked you repeatedly.
Bobby was fine, except for some water up his nose. From the way he carried on though, you’d have thought he broke his arm.
Your mother lowered her voice, as though magic was something to be mentioned only in whispers. For the first time, a sense of shame crept over you. Your dad had always been open about magic, though stern. Stern in his belief magic should help people, not hurt. Never once did your dad insinuate magic itself was the problem.
Magic is dangerous.
Your mom’s words on the phone sank in as, your head pounding as you turned around to run up the steps. Even at six, you felt panic. If magic was dangerous and you were magical – that meant you were dangerous, too.
Slipping beneath your comforter, you stared at your shaking hands. Rain hit your windows, snowballing your worry to full-on fear. By the time your mom rushed upstairs, you were rocking under the covers as a storm raged.
She helped to calm you down, got your magic under control and a month after, you moved far away from the sea. A version of yourself vanished as you passed the pier. Despite this, you felt instant relief at the thought of control.
You remember your mom smiling when you joined the highway. “This will be good,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A fresh start, away from it all. You can be whoever you want to be, Y/N.”
Except for the person you actually were.
Her meaning was clear, even if she didn’t say it out loud. At the time, you found the thought soothing. If you didn’t want to use magic, you didn’t have to. You never had to become your dad, who all your friends said had caused the bad storm. Even the news had turned against you.
Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!
Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!
Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!
Always the exclamation point. Always the lurid fascination that blame could be pinned on a single person. New rules were implemented in the house. No magic, except in your mom’s presence. This soon became no magic at all, but you didn’t mind. Whenever you did use magic, it felt wild, chaotic – the opposite of how you wanted to feel.
Your early years were marked by the struggle to conceal your powers. Years passed without incident and then, something would happen, and you’d have to move. Your mom never begrudged you, simply packed the house to travel to the next city. Each time, you promised you’d do better but by the time you realized school wasn’t for you, you had moved no less than six times.
Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.
Creation meant tapping into emotion, but you found methods of coping. Painting was the only place you loosened the reins on your magic, and so it became an outlet of sorts. A release, preventing your emotions from spilling into unwanted places.
There were other strategies, as well. Deep breathing. Counting backwards from one hundred. Focusing on one point, then on another until the magic calmed in your veins. Until you forgot the dangerous and destructive water around you.
Some people proved more reactionary to you than others. With some people, your magic responded so strongly, you were forced to cut them out completely. The first person this happened with was your best friend, Katrina. You were fourteen when she confided in you her family was fire Elementals. In response, your magic surged.
For a glorious summer, you practiced magic in secret. Each morning, you and Katrina bounded through the woods towards the far creek. You summoned great waves of water for Katrina to singe into mist. Everything was fine until late one evening, your mom caught you. She witnessed the combined magic and lost her temper.
Dragging you from the woods, your mom slammed the front door in Katrina’s face. She sat you down at the kitchen table, delivering a scolding you’ve never forgotten.
Do you know how reckless you were? What if a tree had caught fire? What if you altered the town’s water supply? What if someone saw and the next time a disaster happened, they blamed it on you – or Katrina?
Stricken by these very real possibilities, you promised not to do it again. Although you begged not to move, your mom packed the next day – your fastest exit ever.
The second time you cut someone out was after high school. Elliot was an artist, a quiet guy who dabbled with oils. He saw you painting one day in the park and silently set up his easel beside yours. This happened for weeks until he asked you out. Your ensuing romance was brief and sweet, and your feelings grew within a short period of time.
When Elliot told you he loved you, you dissolved into panic. You could feel how your magic responded, reaching for water that surged through his tiny apartment. Tossing on clothes, you stammered apologies and fled into the night.
For weeks following, it rained. Enough for the reporters to forecast local flooding. The fact terrified you – imagining people trapped on top of cars, small businesses flooded, the Red Cross called in to ferry locals to safety. It took your mom flying out to put you at ease, clearing the skies and regaining control.
Since then, you haven’t let anyone else past your inner walls. Until Jungkook.
Swallowing hard, you stare at his apartment and wonder if you’ll survive. Breaking up with Elliot is one of your worst memories and you only felt a fraction of what you do for Jungkook. Maybe you’ll conjure a hurricane, bringing the events of your life full circle.
Shutting your eyes, you rub at them dully. There’s no point in wondering what-if. You need to end it now, before things get worse. All day, you’ve gone over the facts and arrived at the same conclusion.
As expected, Jungkook was livid about Pierre last night. He wanted to confront your boss himself, although quickly backed off when he realized this was your battle. This though, turned to confusion when you said your intent to do nothing.
Although you tried the usual excuses, none of them stuck. Even if it was just once, Jungkook argued, it shouldn’t go unnoticed. You snapped slightly at this, insisting you’d deal with things in your own time.
Getting angry near Jungkook was peculiar. Suddenly, you became aware of the water around you. Thick, leaden pipes lacing Jungkook’s walls. Moisture that hung in the air, in the clouds – within his very veins. The thought terrified you, wondering what you might do accidentally.
Your panic must have been visible, because Jungkook instantly softened. Crossing the room, he pulled you into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s just… I hate seeing you hurt. Of course, you know what’s best. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
His grip grounded you, enough that your magic dissipated, and that you realized a truth you’d hidden for some time.
You were in love with Jungkook.
No one in your life had ever been like him. Someone who was always in your corner, who protected you when they could and lifted up parts they couldn’t. Someone who liked everything about you – even the parts you weren’t brave enough to admit.
Studying his face, you tried to ignore the sudden ache in your chest. Even last night, you knew the inevitable. Memorizing his face, you tried hard to hold on. Jungkook’s slightly rounded nose, his full bottom lip accentuated by two piercings. Dark hair fell over his forehead; strong features contrasted by a soft gaze.
Jungkook watched you as well, and you wondered if he felt the same. Wondered why he’d commit you to memory, since you were the lucky one. He was the miracle, and you were biding your time.
Bending, he lightly brushed your mouth against his. Instantly, you melted. It wasn’t your first kiss and prayed it wouldn’t be the last, but something about last night felt different. Walking the two of you backwards, Jungkook pressed you against the wall and kissed you harder. His touch became desperate, one hand sliding beneath the lines of your blouse.
Your breath hitched at the brush of his fingers, delicious and warm against skin. His touch unknotted a hidden, tangled piece of your soul.
Ever since you met Jungkook, you’d held yourself separate. When you asked him to go slow in the beginning, he agreed. Touching was fine. Kissing was fine. Anything more, and you lost control.
About a month into dating, you met Jungkook at a bar and got tipsy. Three drinks in, you were frantically making out in an alley outside. Jungkook panted, “my place?” against your mouth, and you nodded. The journey back to his place was fast and slow, pausing in every dark place to drag his mouth to yours.
The second his door shut, you found yourself stumbling – into his bedroom, his bed, the confines of his heart. Shoes were discarded with every step, and Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. You returned his fervor in spades, nipping his lower lip to watch him smile.
When he fell back on the bed, you saw his pulse quicken. Staring up at you, Jungkook watched your clothing disappear with a gaze so dark, it bordered on onyx. Climbing onto him, you resumed kissing with a newfound reverence. Eyes falling shut, you did your best to stay present.
Each brush of his lips was combustive, each touch of his hands filling you with sharp, pulsing light. And then –
The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.
Startled, you pulled away and realized it had been you. Your magic had caused it, flooding his bathroom with water. Swearing under his breath, Jungkook scrambled out of bed to hastily turn off both faucets.
You sat there on his bed, heart pounding with fear. By the time he returned, you were already dressed and mortified. Jungkook was all apologies, certain he’d moved too fast, but you assured him he hadn’t. Anything that happened, you were an equal participant – too much maybe, although you didn’t say so out loud.
Lying in bed that night, you stared up at your ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though you were six and under the covers at your old house. Magic was dangerous. You would eventually hurt someone. Dread pooled in your stomach, recognizing the truth. If you couldn’t control your magic around Jungkook, you’d have to end things.
Heartache chased the thought, filling you with so much panic, you nearly drowned. Pushing this aside, you simply resolved to do better. To be better and keep both Jungkook and magic. This was simply another challenge; you owned your magic, not the other way around.
Thus, began the two best and worst months of your life. The best, since you’ve been dating Jungkook and the worst, because at every moment, you’re terrified of hurting him. Walking a line as thin as a razor, you’ve fallen in love while trying your best not to feel.
Until last night, you thought you’d been successful. Life was mostly under control, but then the Pierre debacle took place. Then Jungkook kissed you with such intensity, you forgot who you were and why you’d been holding back. Two long months of restraint and suddenly, you came undone at the seams.
Before long, you were again in his bedroom. Jungkook stripped off his clothes, bare skin pressing to yours with a searing intensity. Pulling you over him, a low hiss escaped while he kissed your throat. Even through his boxers, you could feel how hard Jungkook was. How badly he wanted this; a need you returned.
The thought of him inside you made you frantic. Pushing Jungkook onto his back, you straddled his waist and rocked forward.
Jungkook lay underneath you, his hair a dark halo. Suddenly, you could feel water everywhere. Magic, everywhere – it was in you, around you, in Jungkook’s walls and molecules. Everything felt so utterly fragile, and your magic responded.
Ferocious, it strained at your self-crafted bonds. Realizing how precarious your grasp on control was, your emotions slipped into panic.
You had to leave. Now.
Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.
“I – I’m sorry,” you blurted, scrambling off him. Bending for your pants, you pushed one leg through and hastily zipped. “I need to go.”
Jungkook stared, frozen in place. “I…” Shaking his head, he pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”
Stomach dropping, you roughly shook your head. Part of you ached to correct him but your magic was barely leashed, and you weren’t certain how much longer it’d hold.
Your magic wasn’t something you wanted Jungkook to see.
Frantically throwing on your shirt, you rushed towards his front door. His dog, Bam, whined from the couch and lifted his head as you passed. Yanking open his door, you escaped to the hall and downstairs. You heard Jungkook call after, but he didn’t follow, for which you were grateful.
Remembering his face broke your heart as you entered the subway. You kept your magic at bay until reaching your building, at which point rain swept the city in waves. Soaked through, you got in the elevator and saw Jungkook had texted. Shaking, you responded you’d talk to him tomorrow and turned off your phone.
Rain poured all night and you barely slept. By the time you woke, your mood had gotten worse. Work was torture. Even the lunch shift couldn’t save you, the looming specter of Jungkook impossible to forget. When Pierre showed up around one, you knew you were doomed. His glower could be felt all the way across the restaurant and no matter what you did, you somehow stayed in his way.
With little to no sleep and haunted by last night, the grip on your magic was tentative at best. Your entire shift, it hovered at the edge of your fingers. When Pierre commented you looked tired, the rain outside worsened. When a table of middle-aged men called you ‘girlie,’ their water glasses shook.
It was miraculous nothing happened until the end of your shift. That was the moment Pierre’s friends arrived, seating themselves at the table you gave away last night. One of them laughed as you poured them water, and you managed to push down your snide remark.
Glasses full, you turned around to go and the same one grabbed your waist.
You went still.
For so long, you’ve hidden your magic to protect others. You’ve kept them from hurting and there you were, broken, and no one cared about you. Just like no one cared about your dad, in the end. Teeth gritted, you whirled – and the entire water pitcher dumped itself at him.
At him, not on him.
You didn’t trip. Didn’t throw the water, although either would have been preferrable. Instead, the water leapt from the pitcher to slap the man in the face.
Horrified, you stared as reality sunk in. You had just assaulted a guest – a friend of Pierre’s, at that.
Shocked, the man wiped water down his visage. The entire restaurant fell silent, every eye in the room locked on you. Panic-stricken, you stammered an apology, flung a napkin on the table and fled into the kitchen.
The moment you crashed through the doors, you were hailed a hero. Izumi, your line cook, wistfully recalled the one time she punched a guy who grabbed her ass. Georgina added that once, she spit in the drink of a man who called her a bitch.
Both tactfully avoided the fact that you were an Elemental, which you appreciated. You were starting to feel marginally better – maybe you wouldn’tbe fired, after all – when the door to the kitchen swung open and Pierre stormed through. Seeing his face, your heart sank.
“You!” Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed. “Y/N – pack your things! You’re done here. Fired. You think you can insult my friend, pull some magic bullshit on him, and continue to work here? Fuck that. Get out – now!”
A pin could have been heard in the silence. Coming to your senses, you did exactly as asked and got your things. Pierre hadn’t mentioned pressing charges, and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.
Outside, you stood on the sidewalk and stared at the bus stop. Storm clouds brewed above, a visualization of your inner turmoil. Eventually, you turned and trudged down the subway.
Things had reached a point you couldn’t ignore anymore. You were beyond out of control. Emotions surged and strained against your internal walls, threatening everyone you held dear. The city didn’t deserve to be punished, even if no one within it knew of your sacrifice. Pierre’s friends were awful, but you could’ve just as easily lost your temper with someone you loved.
Someone like Jungkook, whom you couldn’t seem to be around without incident.
That was the reason most people feared Elementals. It was selfish of you to put your desires ahead of another person’s safety. The only way to protect someone you loved was to stay away.
Starting with Jungkook. You just wished he didn’t have to get hurt in order for that to happen.
Standing outside his building, you take a deep breath and press the buzzer. You wait for several long moments, wondering if he’s home and then –
“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the speaker.
Leaning in, you press 316. “Hey. It’s me. Y/N.”
A weighted pause, and then –
“Come in.”
The door unlocks, and you push it inside. Climbing the steps to his place, your heart starts to pound. The last time you saw Jungkook, you were running away. The last text he sent was, ‘ok,’ in response to your message. If you were Jungkook, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see you.
Coming to a stop outside 316, you lift your hand and knock. A howl responds, followed by the patter of gigantic dog footsteps. Unable to stop your smile, you shake your head at the chaos.
“It’s just me, Bam!” you say, and he stops.
Bam’s howl is replaced with a whine and the sharp thwack-thwack of his tail on the door.
“Bam, out of the way,” Jungkook calls, his voice coming closer. A few seconds later, the door flies open to reveal your boyfriend.
You only catch a glimpse before Bam barrels out, nearly knocking you over. Legs and tail akimbo, he slobbers all over until you bend to pet him. Once satisfied, Bam turns around and trots back inside.
Silence falls between you, and you look up to see Jungkook. He’s dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt bought at a concert you attended. He hasn’t moved aside, blocking you from entering.
Uncertain, you straighten. “Can I come in?”
Slowly, he nods and moves. You walk past him, trying not to focus on the heat of his shoulder. This might be the last time you see Jungkook, so you try to focus on that. Not the prospect of what you’re about to do.
Hearing the door shut, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I can’t stay too long,” you admit, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.
Jungkook regards you warily. His expression makes your chest ache, unused to him with such a stern expression. After last night, you suppose it’s earned. You should probably get used to it.
“Y/N.” His jaw works. “What’s going on?”
Deciding honesty is the best policy – up to a point – you force out your next words. “I think we should break up,” you say in a rush.
With a low whine, Bam slinks in the direction of the bedroom. Jungkook glances at him, distracted, before facing forward.
“What do you mean?” His head tilts. “Like, you want to take a break?”
Steeling yourself, you shake your head. “No. As in, I want to break up. Permanently.”
A train passes by the building, rumbling the floorboards underneath. Most people would avoid living in this building for that reason, but Jungkook was overjoyed by the prospect of discounted rent.
He doesn’t seem overjoyed now, though. Instead, he looks stricken.
“Walk me through this,” Jungkook says, walking closer. The set of his mouth has turned stubborn. “I don’t follow. Why are we breaking up again?”
The knot in your chest tightens. You should have known Jungkook wouldn’t make this easy on you. “We’re not good together,” you say, only to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m not good for you. I’m not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”
He comes to a stop. “I can wait, Y/N. I don’t mind.”
Reaching for you, Jungkook’s brows crease when you take a step backwards. His hand falls between you, and he stares at the empty space. The crack in your heart widens, made worse by his silence.
“I mind, though,” you force yourself to say. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Jungkook. That’s not fair to either of us. It’s too much pressure.”
The words make your heart splinter, reaching a point you aren’t sure can be reassembled. Maybe the pieces will simply lodge in your muscle, bruising your insides each time you draw breath.
“I won’t pressure you,” Jungkook says, automatic. His frown deepens. “Tell me what this is really about, Y/N. Is this about sex? It’s fine if we don’t have it.” Stepping closer, he takes your hand and you let him. “I just want you to be honest with me.”
Somewhat manic, you shake your head – and then nod.
Sex is a part of the problem, but it’s not the root cause. Sex with Jungkook is unthinkable. You can barely remain in control when you kiss, let alone allow more. With your past partners, this wasn’t an issue, but your past partners weren’t Jungkook.
Never have you met someone able to scramble your thoughts with a kiss. Whose gaze melted inhibitions and tore down every wall. You have little doubt that with Jungkook, you’d lose full control, and the thought is terrifying. Already, your makeshift barriers are weakened.
Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.
“Seriously, Y/N,” Jungkook says, returning your attention to him. “What’s this about? I can tell something’s on your mind.”
He takes your other hand, and you realize how close he stands. “Is it work?” Jungkook asks, a crease between brows. “Is there… some reason you can’t quit? You can tell me, Y/N.”
An odd zing of disappointment goes through you. For a moment, you thought Jungkook had guessed your secret, and this could all be avoided. If Jungkook knew what you were and that you lied to him – well, he’d end things for you. Hesitant, you consider revealing that truth but can’t seem to form words. It would devastate you, seeing fear replace love in his eyes.
“Work isn’t the problem,” you say at last. “It’s us, Jungkook. Or – it’s me. I don’t want to be together anymore.”
Disbelief flashes across his expression, and you idly wonder what will happen if Jungkook refuses. Even as you think this though, his expression shifts. Jungkook takes a careful step backwards, dropping your hands entirely.
He’s never been good at hiding emotion. Jungkook is your opposite in that way, revealing every shift of thought and desire. You watch confusion become anger, then bitterness a moment before he turns away. The set of his shoulders is still, staring out the window as yet another train passes.
Restless, he turns to drag a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe you,” he declares. “This is so out of nowhere, Y/N. What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’m telling you everything,” you say, panic rising. “And this isn’t out of nowhere! I’ve been telling you for months I need to take things slow and this – well, this is the opposite of slow, Jungkook!”
Jungkook stares back at you, heated. “Yeah, I guess so.”
The two of you stand there for a moment, the tension thick in between you. Eventually, you look away first and pull your bag tighter.
“Right,” you exhale. “Well, I should go –”
Striding forward, Jungkook reaches you to cup your face with both palms. Gently, he lifts your face towards him, and all thoughts cease completely. Gaze searching, his breath fans across your parted lips.
Jungkook’s gaze intensifies. “I don’t believe you,” he murmurs.
Adrenaline zips under your skin, stirring your magic into a deadly storm. Entire body tense, you suppress the urge to fight or flee. So often, you’re the one running but right now, you feel more compelled to fight.
A knife in you twists, knowing you’re a coward. If you were stronger, you could keep Jungkook. No matter how understanding he is, the fact remains that if he stays with you, Jungkook remains in danger. Each passing day only worsens the pain.
His face blurs. With a start of surprise, you realize there are tears on your cheeks. The furrow between Jungkook’s brows deepens, noticing as well.
“You’re not listening,” you blurt. “I can’t see you any longer, Jungkook. It’s in your best interest, I promise – I can’t do this. It’s too much.”
Reaching up, you remove his hands from your face and head for the door.
Jungkook follows close behind. “Which is it, then?” he demands. “You want me to go slowly, or you feel too much?”
Pressure weighs every inch of your skin, demanding you answer. Anything that comes out now will only make things harder. Reaching the door, you feel Jungkook’s hand on your shoulder. Caving, you don’t fight when Jungkook turns you to face him.
He’s too close to you. Too much and too close, his one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, his thumb strokes the elongated line of your throat. You swallow, hard, and his gaze follows the motion.
Jungkook’s gaze flicks to yours. “You keep saying you’re no good for me,” he says, his voice low. “But what if I don’t care? Don’t I get a say in this decision?”
The force of holding in your magic worsens, becoming near impossible. Hastily built walls threaten to collapse, and reality blurs between one moment and the next.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt, your hand searching behind you. “I have to go.”
Finding the doorknob, you twist and stumble backwards. Jungkook watches you go, the look on his face physically painful as you turn around. Each second that follows is pure concentration, trying not to break before getting outside.
The ocean is only a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment.
Reaching the harbor, rain pelts your face in a way that feels punishing. Magic makes your limbs tremble, escaping your body in wisps of fog and rain. The moment you arrive at the harbor, you shatter, collapsing forward to grip your knees with both hands.
Eyes pressed tightly shut, you hear the storm howl. Waves churn the harbor, sloshing over the sidewalk in an attempt to get closer. No tidal waves, you plead in an attempt at reason. No whirlpools, no water spouts.
Your magic listens in this regard, at least. By the time your eyes open, a curtain of rain mingles with tears on your cheeks. Staring out at the ocean, each inch of your body is numb.
Jungkook will never forgive you for this.
The thought banishes all the rest. You can’t say that you blame him. Slowly, you exhale as you lift your gaze. The chasm in your chest widens, becoming something unbreachable. This is all your fault. You wish there was some satisfaction in knowing this, but there isn’t.
Eventually, the rain dulls, and you push yourself upright. Your sneakers squish with every step, the silence all-encompassing as you ride on the subway. Entering the building, you remove your shoes and collapse on your bed, fully clothed. Thankfully, your roommate isn’t home, so you aren’t forced to explain the events of tonight. Seokjin would have wanted to discuss, and you aren’t sure you can without breaking down.
Burrowing your face into the pillows, you manage to cry yourself asleep. Rain doesn’t let up the entire night.
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“Tell me again.” Taking a seat at the table, Seokjin spoons yogurt and berries into his mouth. “Why did you have to end things with your boyfriend?”
Cracking open one eye, you glare from where you sit, slumped forward. “You know why, Seokjin,” you grumble. “Not all of us can be air Elementals in perfect control of their magic.”
“You could be, though,” he says, pointing with his spoon. “If you put in like, five seconds of training and embraced your water powers instead of running away whenever things got bad.”
“I am not running.”
“No.” Seokjin lifts a brow. “You’re cowering, which is far less attractive.”
“I’m not cowering, either.” Scowling, you bury your head deeper into your arms. “I’m wallowing. Big difference.”
Scoffing, his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl. Pushing his chair back to stand, Seokjin heads for the sink and turns on the tap. The water itches a spot deep in your chest, almost taunting.
“I can’t be too hard on you, though,” Seokjin says as he cleans. “You did get fired and dumped in one day – that’s pretty rough.”
“Does it count as being dumped if I did the dumping?”
“I’ll allow it.” He opens the dishwasher. “But only because really, you didn’t want to break up with Jungkook. You’ve just convinced yourself the world is better off without you – something I highly disagree with, by the way, but can’t fault you for feeling. It’s too sad.”
“Thanks,” you mumble, and close your eyes.
Two days have gone by since your decision to end your relationship with Jungkook. It hasn’t been great, to put things mildly. On Monday, you barely left your room and rain poured from the sky. When you did enter the kitchen, the weather person on Channel 9 predicted local flooding.
Seokjin arrived from his business trip that night, took one look at your face and helped stop the storm. You sagged with relief, falling into a fitful round of sleep that only lasted three hours.
Seokjin is one of the few Elementals you know who embraces their power. Both his parents are air Elementals, and he was raised to take over their magical consulting business. Said business does well, leading Seokjin to own a gorgeous, three-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. He got bored last winter, decided to post for a roommate and here you are. One of the few people in the city willing to room with an Elemental.
You don’t care what Seokjin does with his magic, although his laissez-faire attitude can occasionally be unnerving. You’ve lived your entire life with the assumption your existence is dangerous. All you need is a quick Google search to reinforce this fact. But then there’s Seokjin, living his life, seemingly none the worse for the wear.
He discovered your powers about a month into rooming together. Coming back from a trip, Seokjin opened the door to stare, slack-jawed, as plates washed themselves in the sink. Glancing up from your book at the table, you immediately sent two dishes crashing onto the floor.
Seokjin stared at this for a moment, then looked up. “You owe me new plates,” he declared and walked into his bedroom. After a moment, he popped his head out. “Hey – you think if we combined my wind and your water, we could create a waterspout but on land?”
“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”
“Right.” He slapped the doorframe once and disappeared. “Well, something to think about!”
Months later, Seokjin still doesn’t understand your avoidance of magic, but respects the decision enough to leave it alone. At least, until something like this happens and he’s again at a loss.
“Listen.”
Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.
“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”
Seokjin raises both hands. “Nothing, nothing. Far be it from me to comment on your mistakes. I’m sorry – did I say mistakes? I meant, ‘learned life experience.’ Through mistakes.”
“Was there a question in all that?”
“No question.” Loosely, he gestures. “Just wanted to say you can stay here, rent-free, until you figure this out. You know I’m only taking your money because you insist. I don’t need it. This place is already paid for.”
“Only because you frightened the seller so badly, they cut the price in half.”
“Listen.” Seokjin’s smile turns slightly sinister. “If they were willing to let their ingrained fear of Elementals influence their selling point, that’s on them. Not me.”
“Fair enough,” you sigh and sit back. “But seriously – thank you. This will give me some time to come up with a plan.”
Seokjin nods, tracing the rim of his coffee. Absently, he glances down the hall at the empty third bedroom. “You know…”
“No,” you say, automatic.
His right brow lifts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“You were going to suggest I use this time off to work on my art.”
“Okay.” Seokjin shrugs. “Maybe you did know. But seriously, Y/N – why not?”
Weary, you exhale. “Because every time I try to paint, I get this… block. I can’t explain it. Watercolors used to be the one place I felt comfortable using my magic. Now… I don’t know. I can’t seem to use my magic anywhere. Even my art.”
Seokjin tilts his head, thoughtful. “How long has this been going on?”
“Don’t know – a few months?”
“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”
Staring at Seokjin, you realize he’s right. That’s exactly around when you began dating Jungkook. The block happened not long after. Thinking about the early days of dating are painful though, and so you choose not to.
“I don’t want to talk about him,” you declare with a shake of your head. “Right now, what I need is a job. And to earn money. Preferably in that order.”
Seokjin’s lips twitch. “Let me know if the order changes. I know a guy.”
Before you can consider his offer too seriously, your phone rings on the table. Glancing down, your heart constricts at your mom’s name. It isn’t that you don’t want to talk. It’s that if you do, Jungkook’s name will come up, and you’ll be forced to explain why you two aren’t together. Right now, you’re managing to cope by avoiding the topic. You aren’t sure what will happen if you’re forced to confront it.
Not to mention the very real possibility your mom will be happy. She liked Jungkook, but she always worries whenever someone new enters your life.
Also glancing at your phone, Seokjin scowls. “Don’t answer it,” he says, walking past. “Whenever you talk to your mom, things get even worse.”
Seokjin’s not wrong. Your mom means well – really, she does – but talking to her tends to leave you exhausted. Still, you know from experience it’s better to answer now.
“I know,” you sigh and stand up. “But if I don’t pick up now, she’ll just keep calling. Hey,” you say, pressing answer. “One second, mom.”
Ignoring Seokjin’s sad shake of his head, you scoop up your coffee and head for your bedroom.
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Closing the door to your room, you lean backwards. “Hi, mom,” you say, lifting your phone to your ear. “Sorry about that. I was eating breakfast. How are you?”
“Oh, you know,” your mom says, and you can practically hear her smile. “Same old, same old. The better question is, how are you? I saw on the weather there’s some flooding by you. Hope you’re alright!”
Grimacing, you move the phone to speaker. You should have known your mom would check in. Reading between the lines of her question, you can hear what she’s really asking. Your mom wants to know if you caused the flooding – an answer which is undeniably yes, but she doesn’t have to know that.
Setting down your half-empty mug, you flop face-first on your bed. Less information tends to be more with your mom. You’re debating what to say when she solves the problem for you.
“I know you haven’t had a slip in years,” she continues. “But if there’s another water Elemental in town, you should try to steer clear of them! Being around them could set you off – that’s what happened to Becky’s nephew, she said.”
Fighting an eye roll, you roll on your back. Becky Mayweather is your mom’s best friend in the entire world and one of your least favorite people. She’s the type to bake cookies, offer a shoulder to cry on – and then promptly turn and gossip to the neighbors about it. She fancies herself an Elemental expert because a few of her friends married them. Funnily enough, neither you nor your mom have met these friends in person.
“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”
“It’s true! You know that I worry, Y/N. All alone in the city with another Elemental for a roommate…”
Annoyance spikes in your stomach. “His name is Seokjin, and I’m an Elemental too, mom. His mom could say the same thing about me.”
Seokjin’s mom could be saying that, but she wouldn’t because Seokjin’s mom and dad are both magic enthusiasts. The few times you met them, they were nothing but kind.
“Oh, Y/N.” Your mom sighs. “It’s not the same.”
“Why not?”
“Watch your tone,” she says. “I’m only telling the truth. You work hard on controlling your magic. Your roommate, on the other hand, uses his magic willy-nilly. In broad daylight! You two couldn’t be more different.”
Your mom isn’t wrong about that, although not for the reason she thinks. Seokjin does use his magic freely, but you’re the one at risk of hurting others – not him.
“Seokjin is a good guy,” you say tightly. “He’s letting me stay here, rent-free, while I search for another job.”
“Another job?” Her voice pitches. “What happened to the job at that restaurant?”
Cursing yourself for your own stupidity, you close your eyes. “Um… I was let go. Difference of opinions with management.”
“Oh. Well. That’s too bad, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s probably for the best – you don’t want to be working for someone you don’t respect, right?”
Some of your anger lessens at her genuine sympathy. It’d be easy to paint your mom as the villain but truthfully, she comes from a good place. You know that she loves you; she just doesn’t want to lose you the same way she lost your dad.
Exhaling deeply, you reach to grab a pillow. “I’ve been trying to paint,” you say. “It hasn’t been going well.”
“No?”
You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.
“Yeah,” you admit.
“Well…” Your mom draws the word out. “We always knew art was a risky hobby, Y/N. Painting. With watercolors. Something could easily go wrong and put you in danger.”
“I know, mom.”
“Actually,” she adds, her excitement growing. “Maybe this is a sign. Y/N – what if this means your powers are weakening?”
Your entire body goes still. “What?”
“Yes!” she says, oblivious to the panic in your voice. “You always loved watercolors because they made sense to you, right? Because of your… well, magic. What if a block means your powers are growing weaker? I wonder if other Elementals ever lose touch with their magic. I’ll have to ask Becky.”
Irrational anger surges within, and you hear the faucet in your bathroom turn on. Hastily, you work to turn it back off.
“You don’t need to do that,” you blurt. “I’ll research it myself. Actually, I should get going – I wanted to apply for some jobs this morning.”
“Oh, yes – good call, honey. You go and apply. Let me know if you need help. Becky has connections with the local university. I’m sure someone could help you update your resume – or even apply, if that sounds interesting to you.”
“Thanks,” you say, although it absolutely does not. “That’s a nice offer.”
“Have a good day, honey – I love you!”
“Love you, too,” you say before hanging up.
Dropping the phone onto your bed, you hug your pillow tightly. It takes several long minutes to relax, wading your way through an anxious sea of thought. Although your mom means well, conversations with her tend to leave you feeling drained. Since you were young, it’s felt like your mom has an idea of the perfect child, and they aren’t you.
Eventually, you stand to bring your mug to the kitchen. Seokjin is busy making another pot of coffee, the delicious scent wafting overhead.
Passing him by, you eye this warily. “Isn’t that your third pot this morning?”
“And?” Seokjin reaches for his mug. “You’ve had three cups yourself.”
“Touché,” you sigh, collapsing on the couch.
Minutes later, Seokjin enters the living room and hands you a mug.
Staring into the drink, you say, “Thanks.”
Settling onto the sofa, Seokjin examines you over the rim of his coffee. You ignore him, taking a long sip of your drink. A summer breeze wafts through the window, and with a flick of his wrist, Seokjin sends it back out.
A stab of envy goes through you, although you know it’s irrational. Seokjin always makes magic look easy, but you’ve never found it to be so. Maybe when you were younger, before the crippling fear and anxiety had a chance to set in. The only time magic ever felt normal was when you painted and now, you can’t even do that.
Thinking about painting makes you think about Jungkook though, causing the dull thud in your chest to become a sledgehammer. You miss him. Miss the easy way Jungkook made you laugh. How he insisted on constantly touching some part of your body.
Cupping your mug of coffee, you take another sip and sink into the sadness.
“Far be it from me to dole out advice.” Seokjin interrupts your tiny pity party. “But I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”
Too exhausted to argue, you merely exhale. “What’s the right way, then?”
His head tilts. “I don’t know. But I find it weird your block appeared around the same time you started dating Jungkook. You’ve…” Seokjin hesitates, and you recognize his how-do-I-put-this-delicately face. “You’ve given up a lot over the years, Y/N. Maybe this time, you gave up more of yourself than you realized.”
Silently, you wonder whether he’s right. For too long, you’ve gone through the motions of life without really living. Too scared of letting people in, scaring them off, of being yourself. Perhaps giving up Jungkook will be the final straw. The thought doesn’t comfort you, and you have no response.
After a moment, Seokjin turns on the TV. The morning slips by, though you can’t help but think about his earlier comments – could you control your magic if you tried harder? The moment you think this, you instantly banish the thought. You’ve been attempting for months, and nothing has worked.
With this cheery thought, you allow yourself to sink further into melancholy. Only this time, the water rushing overheard isn’t your friend. You aren’t sure it ever was.
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Wednesday morning, you leave the apartment in a haze. You thought that by today, things would be better but if anything, the situation seems to be worse.
Missing Jungkook is painful.
It hurts more than you thought, which might sound stupid, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When you and Elliot broke up, it was sad, but you knew it was for the best and that lessened some of the pain. Now though, each beat of your heart prevents the wound from closing. A tentative scab in one second, only to be torn open the next.
Jungkook always sent you good morning texts. Not because he was up before you, but because he went to bed so late, it was only an hour or two before you awoke. His words were the first thing you read in the morning, smiling sleepily at his rambling. Sometimes, Jungkook would include a late-night snack recipe. Always, he’d end with something he liked about you.
His silence is deafening. Something not even your favorite coffee shop can fix, although you try. Standing in line, you aimlessly flip through songs on your phone. Today, you promised Seokjin you’d attend at least two interviews. The first one is in an hour at a sushi restaurant. Before then, you plan to load up on caffeine and organize your thoughts.
When the line moves forward, you flip to your messages. No new texts. Unsurprising, but it rends the scab in your heart anew.
Facing forward, you remove an earbud to order. “Hi,” you say, mustering a smile. “I’ll have an iced americano with rose syrup.”
“Got it.” The barista barely looks up. “That all?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Want a receipt?”
“Nope.”
“Cool.” She nods. “That’ll be ready soon at the end of the counter.”
Nodding your thanks, you replace the ear pod. Cranking your music louder, you wait for your coffee and lean against the counter. The coffee shop is tiny, empty for a weekday after the morning rush. Aimless, you glance over the clustered tables.
Your thoughts are on Jungkook before they can be stopped. You wonder what he's doing, what he’s wearing, whether he’s blocked your number yet from his phone.
A talented graphic designer, Jungkook works mostly on commission and on his own time. He does well for himself – enough to afford rent on his own place. Your mutual creative streak was something you had in common. Not your sleeping hours, that’s for sure.
Jungkook usually slept until nine or ten, then went to the gym before he made breakfast. You used to tease him about that, saying he couldn’t call it breakfast if –
Your heart falters. Jungkook must be on your mind since you seem to have hallucinated him here, at the coffee shop. You blink once, and then twice, but the mirage doesn’t fade, and you’re forced to conclude Jungkook is actually here.
Unfolding himself from a chair, he heads in your direction. Panicked, you glance at the counter, then back up. Your coffee hasn’t finished, which means that you’re trapped. Straightening, you do your best to seem natural and are certain you fail. Jungkook doesn’t just look natural, he is so as he approaches. At least, until you notice his hands in his pockets.
Jungkook does this when he’s nervous. Likely, he’s playing with the inside pocket lining. It hurts, knowing him so well, and not being his. When Jungkook comes to a stop, you stand mere inches apart.
“Jungkook,” you say, his name punched from your diaphragm.
He nods. “Hey.”
Uncertain, you glance down at the counter to check for your drink. Still nothing and, looking back, you tilt your head. “What are you doing here?”
Jungkook’s hands go deeper, if possible. “Getting coffee. Is that allowed?”
Your lips press together. “Sure. Theoretically, you can get coffee. What I’m asking though, is why you chose this coffee shop, five blocks away from your place. Usually, you’re not awake before noon.”
His expression is inscrutable. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Ah.”
The silence between you lengthens, and not in a good way. You know why you’re quiet but can’t tell what Jungkook is thinking. You suppose that it’s possible he woke up early, forgot this was your favorite shop and went on a long walk for coffee – it’s possible, but unlikely.
At last, Jungkook exhales. “Alright, fine. I wanted to see you.”
“Y/N?”
Both of you turn at the sound of your name. Glancing between the two of you, the barista seems to pick up a weird vibe, dropping the cup to hurry away. Grateful for the interruption, you reach for your coffee and attempt to reset.
It’s not fair of Jungkook, corning you like this. You were already forced to end this once – unfair, making you do so again. Breaking up with him once was barely possible; twice is unthinkable.
“Don’t you have anything else to say?”
His voice interrupts your train of thought and, gripping your drink tightly, you turn.
“Like what?” you ask.
“Like, I don’t know.” His brow furrows, frustration obvious. “Anything, Y/N.”
Behind the counter, the barista fills a tea kettle to set this on the stove. You watch it instead of Jungkook, unsure how you’re going to do this again. The pressure of the water boiling is near tangible, mimicking the internal state of your mind.
Biting your tongue, you decide a safe exit is best. Jungkook will get the hint without you being forced to break his heart. Counting backwards from ten, you exhale and attempt to walk past.
“I’m sorry you came all this way,” you say in a murmur.
You’re nearly past Jungkook when you hear a soft swear. Only one more step happens before his hand grips your elbow.
“Y/N, please,” Jungkook breathes, turning you towards him.
Your gaze lifts and you start at his obvious pain. Staring back, Jungkook searches your face for something unspoken. Whatever he seeks, he must find it, since determination enters his.
You tear your gaze away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”
“I want to know if you were serious about breaking up.”
He’s still holding your elbow.
You must notice this at the same time, but neither of you move. Your gaze returns to his, drawn like a magnet and you realize your mistake when you can’t look away. Romeo’s line about Julie being the sun comes to mind, making sudden sense. You orbit around Jungkook, whether you like it or not.
In the background, a tea kettle whistles. “I meant what I said, Jungkook,” you say, forcing yourself to speak first. “I’m not good for you.”
A muscle in his jaw feathers. “But why,” he demands, frustration seeping through. You can hear in his voice the long nights of desperation, of little sleep in your absence. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Y/N. What did I do?”
A chasm in your chest opens, hating how easily he jumps to self-doubt. Before you can think better of it, you move closer.
“Nothing,” you say, one hand on his arm. “You did nothing wrong, Jungkook. I’m just not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”
“But why not?” His gaze sharpens. “Everything was fine between us until Sunday.”
“Everything was not fine.”
Jungkook pauses, then barrels on. “When you say you can’t be in a relationship… what you’re really saying is you can’t be in a relationship with me.”
“With anyone,” you correct, although you aren’t sure that’s the truth.
Your magic has never been this temperamental. Possibly because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love. Dating someone not Jungkook would be safer, but the thought is abhorrent.
If you can’t have Jungkook, you don’t want anyone. That will be your punishment. Jungkook will move on, fall in love, and be happy with another person. Not you. No one else will compare, and if you can’t now, you doubt you’ll move past this crippling fear.
“You keep telling me that,” Jungkook says, growing heated. “But I’m the one you’re breaking up with, so it’s a little bit about me. You need to give me something, Y/N. Is this about your past? I know you don’t like to talk about your childhood, but I want to know.”
A loud buzzing fills your ears, gaze darting around. You haven’t told Jungkook much about your family, not wanting to invite questions about being an Elemental. The thought of him guessing sparks panic again, and the tea kettle on the stove whistles louder.
“People in my past hurt me,” you say in a rush. Magic itches beneath your skin, begging for escape. “That’s part of it, but not all.”
“What’s all, then?”
Frustration seeps past the wall, and several things happen. Your magic lashes out, a loud noise makes you jump, and the tea kettle shatters while hitting the floor. Water sloshes across the tile, steam hissing as the barista jumps back with a yelp.
Startled, you whirl around. One barista turns off the stove, another grabs a towel while a third finds a broom. Luckily, none of them seem injured – the tea kettle missed their skin. Taking a half-step towards them, you force yourself to stop. Although you want to help, that might make you seem guilty.
Already, the guilt within you is rising. You felt your magic overpowering you and chose to stay. If a barista had been hurt, it would’ve been your fault.
Turning back, you find Jungkook staring at the mess. He looks similarly shocked, twisting the knife in your gut. If he knew you caused this, he’d look at you that differently.
“You see?” you blurt, and he glances in your direction. “Everyone around me gets hurt. I can’t hurt you, too, Jungkook.”
Shoving open the door, you’re halfway outside when his words reach your ears.
“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he says softly. “You already have.”
The door shuts behind you, and you almost make it home before starting to cry. The skies open again above the city.
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“This can’t be a coincidence,” you mutter, staring through the window.
The slightly dilapidated Ramen-rama tables stare back at you until the owner walks past. Catching you standing there, he motions you on.
Somewhat chagrined, you trudge down the sidewalk. Reaching a playground two blocks away, you collapse on a bench and attempt to be rational. Four different interviews. Spread across two different days. Each one ending the exact same.
One crappy interview, even two, and you’d understand. But four crappy interviews in the same way? Something weird is happening. Each interview, you arrived, greeted the owner, answered a few questions, and were thus informed the position was filled.
It wasn’t that you hadn’t gotten a job. It was that your interviewers seemed nervous, staring hard at your resume and never your face. They seemed relieved when you left, as though you were liable to break something for fun.
“Hey. Did you interview this morning at Ramen-rama?”
Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.
You don’t recognize him; certainly you’d remember if you met before. Dressed in a Ramen-rama t-shirt, his dark hair is gathered in a bun on his head. His hair makes your chest ache, since Jungkook used to wear his like that.
“Um, yeah,” you say, yanking yourself from your daydreams.
He smiles and nods. “I thought that was you. Listen – I overheard the manager talking this morning on the phone while I was unloading the truck. I think he was talking about you, so I thought I should tell you what I overheard.”
Concerned, you straighten. “Uh, okay. What was he saying?”
“He was talking to your old boss – Pierre? Apparently, he’s calling around and warning people not to hire you. Said that you stole from him, or something. Not sure if it’s the same story for everyone, or if he’s making up shit up in the moment.”
Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” The guy’s smile turns wry. “I’m assuming none of it’s true. You don’t look like the thieving type, but the boss is running a business, I guess. Can’t be too careful.”
“Right.” You pause, then shake your head. “I didn’t steal, just so you know. A guest was an ass to me, so I dumped water on him – on accident,” you add.
Laughing loudly, the guy clutches his bicycle. “Wow, I’d love to hear that story. Especially the part about it being an accident,” he adds with a wink, sticking out his hand. “I’m Wooyoung.”
“Y/N,” you say as you shake. “So. Pierre is calling people?”
Brow furrowed, Wooyoung pulls back. “Yeah. Sorry I had to tell you like this. Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to know, but figured I should.”
You push yourself to stand. “I do appreciate it. Thanks for telling me.”
“No problem.” Sheepish, he glances down the road. “I should actually get back if I don’t want to lose my job. Delivery,” he explains, nodding towards his bike. “Need the extra income.”
“Makes sense,” you say, forcing a smile. “Good luck.”
Wooyoung nods, then pauses in a way that feels familiar. He’s checking you out, you realize after a moment. Although flattering, it’s instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Wooyoung is cute and in another life, you’d say yes, but in every life, it’s hard not to want Jungkook.
Waving goodbye, Wooyoung climbs onto his bike and takes off. You head in the opposite direction, needing to put distance between you and Ramen-rama. If Pierre is shit-talking you across town, you’ll be hard-pressed to find another job at a restaurant. Owners are notoriously clicky and for how many restaurants there are, there are surprisingly few out of the loop.
Maybe you can ask the coffee shop if they’re hiring. Although you should probably avoid work with water for a bit. This drops your mood, your thoughts turning desperate. You’re so deep in an anxiety spiral, you nearly run into an open door on the sidewalk.
Jerking upright, you stare at faded, golden letters. Creative Courage is spelled in looping cursive over a frosted window. Art supplies fill a display case, while the other is clustered with art of all kinds. You spot sculpture, pottery, painting, and sketches before losing count.
Before you can chicken out, you push open the door.
Stepping in, tiny bells chime to announce your arrival. Soft, ambient light fills the space – a shop that’s two-fold, you realize now that you’re inside. The front sells art supplies while in the back stands a classroom. There’s a class in session now, several artists seated on stools before easels.
“Can I help you?” someone asks, stepping into your path.
Blinking, you focus. “Um, no – thank you! I was just looking.”
“Of course!” The woman beams, reaching up to arrange a clip in magenta hair. “That’s what we’re here for. If you do change your mind, let me know – we’ve got art supplies out front, and classes are held daily in back.”
“Classes?”
“Mhm.” Crossing her arms, the woman nods. “Mostly still life and figure drawing, but we’re hoping to add some more soon. Are you an artist?” she asks, sounding hopeful.
Immediately, you stiffen. “No. At least, not right now.”
Her lips twitch. “Not sure it works like that, unfortunately. Who you are can’t come on and off like a jacket. I like that, though,” she admits with a laugh. “Might borrow it the next time the muses aren’t singing.”
You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”
Her head tilts, surveying you with unnerving intensity. “My name is Taryn. I co-own this place with my partner, Micah. They’re the one teaching right now.”
“Oh,” you say, somewhat wistful. “That’s nice.”
“Thanks.” Her smile widens. “So, what was your preferred medium? You know, ‘back when’ you were an artist.”
You can’t help but laugh when Taryn lifts her hands to use air quotes. Some people have a way of making you feel included in their jokes, and Taryn is one of them. She teases you in a conspiratorial way, letting you know she understands. People often call art a labor of love, which can be true but more often, it’s a complicated tangle of love, pain and frustration.
“Watercolors,” you admit. “And my name is Y/N.”
Her eyes brighten. “We’ve been meaning to add a watercolor class for ages. Some of our regulars have asked, but Micah and I are both hopeless. Potter,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And Micah prefers charcoal. Sometimes sculpture.”
“Wow,” you say. “Those are very different.”
“You don’t say.” Taryn laughs. “Micah likes to keep things fresh. What about you? Have you ever taught be– hang on,” she blurts, her eyes going wide. “Did you say that your name is Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N?”
Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”
Whirling, Taryn hustles through the front room to duck behind a counter. Digging through several drawers, she pulls out a print to hurry back.
“Is this you?” she demands, thrusting this in your face.
Even cross-eyed and close, you recognize your most popular work. A watercolor series on the majesty and destruction of sea storms. Looking at this makes you feel raw, and so you look up.
“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”
Pulling back, Taryn looks at the print reverently. “You’re amazing. Micah was trying to do something similar but couldn’t capture the right feeling.”
Shuffling awkwardly, you shrug. You’ve never felt as though your work deserved acclaim, although it’s nice to know the series resonated with others. One of your favorite aspects of art is how it can be intensely personal but once shared, takes on a universal quality. You find it constantly surprising; how many people seem to share the same burdens.
“Seriously.” Taryn shakes her head wryly. “If you ever wanted to teach a class, let me know. We’d be lucky to have you here.”
“Thank you,” you say, stuffing both hands in your pockets.
You hadn’t realized your desperation was obvious. Or possibly Taryn is just incredibly good at reading others. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you stepped foot in the art world. Even before dating Jungkook, you felt your passion lagging. It’s been a long time since you wanted to connect with your inner voice, although merely the act of being here calls the tide in your blood.
Dangerous.
Recognizing this, you reinforce an inner wall. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m not really looking for something right now.”
Taryn nods. “Sure. If things change though, just let me know – before next week,” she adds. “We try to publish our class schedule on the first of each month.”
“Will do. Thanks, again.”
“Anytime!” Beaming, Taryn spins to restock the next shelf.
Realizing your conversation is finished, you continue down the next aisle. The shop’s materials are superb, and your fingers are itching to reach out and touch. Reaching the front, you notice a quote painted over the register: Creativity takes courage – Henry Matisse.
You stare at this for a while, unsure why it hurts. Courage isn’t something you’ve thought about in a long time. When you were younger, you pushed people away because it was safe, but now you find yourself wondering who was that for – others? Or yourself?
Maybe the reason you keep yourself separate is because you are afraid people might leave you. Like Katrina. Or Elliot. Or even your dad.
Suppressing magic was hard at the start. Everything about it felt counter-intuitive but you reasoned doing the right thing often took effort. This is what you told yourself, anyways. It made said effort more bearable.
When you first began painting, the relief you felt was immense. After so long spent ignoring your emotions, you found a space to be free. Your series about the sea was oddly therapeutic, working through complicated emotions; your love for the ocean, coupled with fear of its wild beauty. Similar clashes within yourself about magic. And always, always, the desire for more.
For a few hours though, those feelings could be a part of you. Magic could be a part of you, so long as you remained in control – and with brush in hand, you were.
Only now does it occur to you that maybe, this wasn’t healthy. Maybe you shouldn’t feel the need to compartmentalize, as though certain pieces of yourself can only exist in certain spaces.
Tearing your gaze from the words, you exit the shop and gently shut the door. Pulling your jacket tighter, you head down the sidewalk and let your thoughts drift. Jungkook only saw you paint once, but the memory is hard to forget.
You had just started dating, barely past the stage of calling him ‘boyfriend.’ The constant influx of emotion was difficult to manage, and after a few weeks, you were exhausted. Most of your time spent without Jungkook was seated before your canvas. After one particularly frustrating session, you set down your paint to stubbornly stare at the canvas.
A throat cleared from behind.
Startled, you spun and found Jungkook standing there. His gaze moved quickly to yours, but you realized he’d been staring at your half-finished work. Normally, you felt panic at the thought of someone seeing a work in progress. That night though, the look on Jungkook’s face eased your concerns. Awe; pure and clear.
Yanking down giant, over-ear headphones, you hastily stood.
Jungkook lurched forward. “No!” he blurted, only to halt. “I mean – you don’t have to cover the painting. I liked it.”
He seemed flustered, which made you slightly flustered, but you took a slow step sideways. Eager, Jungkook’s gaze traversed the canvas.
Eventually, he looked back. “Sorry about that,” Jungkook said and walked closer. Warm hands found your waist. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“How did you get in?” you laughed, burying your face in his chest.
“Seokjin.” He paused. “Did he not say I was here? I texted you a half hour ago, but you didn’t respond. I figured I’d stop by, and Seokjin said to come up.”
Softening, you made a mental note to chastise Seokjin later. Tightening your arms, you lifted your head and smiled.
“So.” Jungkook glanced over your shoulder. “This is you.”
This sent a thrill down your spine. He spoke as though he’d known you before, but only on a surface level and now, he understood. Jungkook knew your art was part of you, as much as your heart or your soul. You had often felt the same, but never said so out loud.
Magic swelled, and you pushed it back down, but it was difficult. When Jungkook bent his head, you forgot to be scared and let yourself feel. The brush of his lips. The tightening of his hands. The current within you, swelling against your highest walls.
Loudly, someone knocked on the door. Breathless, you jerked backwards and found Seokjin in the door.
“Hey.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Wanted to let you know our dishwasher broke. Flooded the kitchen.” Pointed, Seokjin looked at you. “Everything is all good, but I’m calling a plumber tomorrow. Carry on.”
In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly ended the evening and sent Jungkook home.
Remembering how the night ended, you stifle a groan and walk faster. Once more, you couldn’t control your magic and put Jungkook in danger. Hardly the creative courage Henry Matisse imagined.
You always assumed suppressing your magic was the best choice. But the best choice for who? Certainly not for you, who lives isolated, inert and in fear of yourself. Your dad used to call your magic a gift, but it’s been a long time since you felt that way.
This memory brings with it a sharp stab of pain. Since your dad passed, fear has replaced any joy your magic brought. Fear of falling victim to the same fate he did. Of others’ rejection. Of failing to live up to your father’s example.
You have little doubt that if your dad could see you now, he’d be confused by your actions.
You push others away in the name of saving them. Again, you think of Jungkook and for once you allow it. The entire way home, you wish that he’d call.
He doesn’t though and eventually, you stop hoping.
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By Friday, the threads keeping your feelings at bay are nearly worn through. Intrusive thoughts push against fragile bonds, threatening the haven you’ve carefully crafted.
With more force than needed, you toss clothing into the washer. Your usual laundromat was closed, forcing you to walk five blocks to the next one. Sweaty from suddenly sweltering temperatures, your arms sore from the hamper, the situation does nothing to improve an already crappy mood.
Wiping your forehead with one arm, you slam the door and press start. The machine whirs to life, laundry tumbling in a way reminiscent of your inner turmoil. Up, you did the right thing by ending it with Jungkook. He’ll swiftly move on and find someone else. Down – but you don’t want him to find someone else. You want him to find you.
Teeth gritted, you turn and grab your hamper from the floor. Placing this on the washer, you wearily tug your cell phone from your pocket. By the time you walked home, you’d have to come back, leaving you with forty minutes to kill. You could read more of the book you just started. Or submit your resume to a couple of restaurants.
After yesterday’s disaster at Ramen-rama though, the interview process has stalled. Instead, you’ve found yourself thinking more about Creative Courage. For a brief moment, you even walked into the third bedroom to paint.
You immediately walked back out again, but merely the act was more than you’ve done in months. The thought of creation brought mostly panic, since it’d involve you being honest. Something you haven’t been with yourself in a while.
Because if you were honest, you know what you’d find. You would regret breaking up with Jungkook. Maybe even find that, deep down, you want to be selfish. You want to keep dating him, even if Jungkook gets hurt in the end.
After all, you saw what loving an Elemental did to your mom.
Putting down your phone, you scan the laundromat and find your gaze catching on the person in the next aisle.
No. No, no, no – absolutely not.
The universe – or whoever’s writing your story – must be cruel and unusual, since standing beside you is Jungkook. You’d recognize his head anywhere. Straightening from his hamper, Jungkook turns to face you and goes still.
Eyes wide, he seems stunned until someone slams shut their dryer. Both of you jump, breaking eye contact and time seems to reset. Pressing start on his machine, Jungkook grabs his gym bag and hoists it over one shoulder. He strides towards the exit, halfway there when you spring into action.
Dashing towards him, you cut him off at the dryers. Footsteps slowing, Jungkook meets your gaze with visible confusion.
“Sorry,” he says, tugging his gym bag behind him. The thick, grey strap of it cuts across his hoodie. “I was just leaving. I can come back later if you want to finish your load.”
Again, he tries to move past you, but something inside of you snaps. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but somehow, find your hand gripping his sleeve.
Startled, Jungkook stares.
Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”
Head spinning, all your words seem to fly out the window. Nothing about this was planned. You have no idea what to tell Jungkook besides I’m sorry, and even this would be woefully inadequate without explanation. Which you can’t give.
“You don’t have to leave on my account,” you say at last.
A singular brow lifts. “No? You didn’t seem to think that way on Wednesday.”
You suppress a wince, although you try your best to hide it. “I know,” you admit. “It’s just… this is your usual laundromat. I don’t want you to leave because of me. I wouldn’t even be here, expect the one near me is broken and –”
“Got it,” he interrupts, the words tight. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.”
Swallowing hard, you stare down at your shoes. You know you deserve this, but it’s just so hard to see Jungkook hurting. He deserves to be happy, not wasting his energy on hating you.
“Okay,” you whisper.
Your eyes start to burn, and you squeeze them shut to prevent a reaction. You absolutely cannot cry in front of Jungkook. Not when you’re the one who started this; the very last thing you want him to feel for you is pity.
“Hey.” Something in his tone shifts, and you hear Jungkook step closer. When you open your eyes, he watches you intently. “What’s wrong?”
A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.
Anyone else could have asked those words, and you would have been able to answer. For Jungkook to do so is unthinkable. You’re the one who ruined this. The one who hurt him, who ended this and still, Jungkook is concerned about your well-being.
“I was fired on Sunday,” you say in a rush. “Before I came to see you.”
He blinks only once before his face hardens. “Before you broke up with me, you mean.”
“Yeah,” you whisper.
Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, Jungkook glances away. His expression is taut, and you feel a sharp pang of envy. It’s so easy to read Jungkook. You’ve spent so long hiding your emotions, it strikes you as luxurious how easily he feels.
A muscle in his jaw tics. “Y/N,” Jungkook says, turning back. “What are you doing?”
“What… do you mean?”
Fear spikes your heart, wondering if Jungkook has finally pieced the facts together. Maybe he saw more than you realized at the coffee shop. Maybe he finally knows what you are.
“Why are you… torturing me?” he clarifies, a slight rasp to his voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were fired? That sucks, but it doesn’t make this okay. It doesn’t make us okay,” he adds, gesturing to the air between you.
“I – I know,” you stammer, nearly blurting out something you’ll regret.
Like that you’re an Elemental teetering close to the edge. One who can feel every pipe, every spin cycle within the walls of this laundromat. All of them churning, pulsing, begging for your magic to release the water inside.
“You know?” Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. “Again, Y/N – what do you want from me?”
Since you started talking, you’ve moved several steps closer. Another breath, another reach and you’d be in his arms. Glancing down, you notice how quickly Jungkook’s chest rises and falls.
He’s afraid, you realize. Jungkook’s fear isn’t the same one as yours, though. He isn’t afraid that you’ll see him, but rather that you’ll destroy him.
Realizing this, a barrier within you crumbles. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, somewhat desperate.
“You keep saying that.” Determined, he steps closer and somehow, your hand entwines with his to press against his chest. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but you won’t tell me why. Won’t tell me anything, Y/N – you were fired, and this is the first time I’m hearing it.”
“I couldn’t tell you!” you blurt. “I can’t explain it, Jungkook, but I couldn’t tell you when it happened.”
His gaze sharpens. “Then, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off broken up.”
Releasing you, Jungkook brushes past you and heads for the exit. You stare blankly at the wall before you, your whole world caving in as your head starts to spin. Magic seeps beyond your fractured walls, flooding your veins in desperate search for an exit.
“That’s not true,” you protest, spinning around. “I’ve told you more than anyone else in my life, Jungkook. I’ve let you in in ways no one else has.”
Jungkook stiffens at the door, his entire body taut. For a single, long moment, it seems as though he might reconsider but the longer you stand there, the more you watch the fight drain from the lines of his shoulders.
“I don’t doubt that’s true,” he says, hand hovering above the doorknob. “But that’s not the same as letting me in.”
He starts to go.
Everything around you becomes white noise.
When you were ten, you passed a famous dam on one of your cross-country moves. Your mom took you to see it, swinging your hand while entering the viewing platform.
The moment you saw it, you went wholly still. Trillions of gallons of water, trapped behind concrete, constantly pushing but unable to break. It felt like your magic. Raw, untamed power contained by a solid wall. You stared for longer than any other visitor, until your mom pulled your arm and said you should leave.
The entire way to the car, your mom was silent and once you were buckled in, she twisted around to see you. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said, her voice serious. “That dam will only work if the wall holds. If the wall breaks, do you know what happens?”
Silent, you shook your head.
“The water will flood the whole valley. Everyone in its path, all the forest – they’d be gone. The wall can’t break, or bad things happen. Do you understand me?”
Solemn, you nodded because even then, you understood. Although your magical dam was intangible, it held equal importance. You had to hold in the magic, otherwise bad things would happen. So long as the wall was in place, you were safe.
Now though, you squeeze your eyes tightly as the wall starts to crumble.
Emotions break with the force of a tidal wave, racing ahead and drowning all in its path. Memories you thought were long buried continue to rise, crushing you further. Your walls are destroyed in a matter of seconds.
You remember your dad, kissing you on the head before leaving the house. Katrina’s stricken expression when the door shut in her face. Jungkook, asking you what he’d done wrong again.
Each memory drags you under, and you shudder against the onslaught. It takes everything you have to remain standing while your restraint dissolves.
Hands grip your arms.
Surprised, your eyes fly open to find Jungkook before you. His neck muscles strain, yelling to be heard over thundering water. You try your best to focus, to rein your magic back in – only to realize with horror, it might be too late.
The laundromat around you is in chaos. Several ceiling pipes have burst, water crashing down in torrents of water. Already, waves lap at your ankles. Noise filters back in, flickering before solidifying to something substantial.
People are screaming, abandoning their hampers in an attempt to get out. The door has stuck though, unable to open under the onslaught of water. Jungkook yells again, and this time you hear him.
“Are you okay?” he bellows, close to your face.
You stare upward, stupefied. Another pipe bursts, and you think that was you, but it’s hard to be sure. Hard to understand which parts are in control and which parts are not. What particular emotion is holding the reins at any moment.
Determination replaces fear in his face, and Jungkook bends before you have time to blink. In an instant, you’re tossed over his shoulder. A yelp escapes, upside-down but he’s already wading through the aisle of washers.
Jungkook shouts at people to move, but no one is listening. After a moment, you feel him exhale and surge forward. Although you can’t see, the people seem to be moving, so Jungkook must appear confident.
Grasping the door, he pulls on it, hard. Nothing happens. Exhaling, Jungkook grips your waist tighter and mutters, “Hold on.”
You don’t have time to ask why, since he yanks harder and the entire frame shudders. Jungkook does this again and another pipe bursts, drawing your gaze. By the time you look back, the door has budged an inch and water is pouring out. With a final wrench, Jungkook yanks open the door.
People shove past him, rushing into the street with the tide of water. Spinning around, Jungkook shields you with his frame from the wet crush of bodies. His grip never wavers, feet anchored to the ground as though they’ve rocks themselves.
With each breath, your pulse slows until finally, you locate the faint threads of magic. Before, you felt too much at once. The crush was overwhelming but now, you manage to breach the surface. For the first time, you see your panic influencing the tide.
Realizing this, you reach inward and try to – turn. With great effort, you identify the source of your power and disconnect. Water in the ceiling slows to a trickle, and then, nothing.
Exhaling against your neck, Jungkook’s hand moves lower.
You can’t help but shiver. “Jungkook?” you murmur into his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Could you… you know, set me down?”
“Oh.”
Somewhat sheepish, Jungkook lowers you to face him. He doesn’t step away, and neither do you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to be selfish and make it as long as possible.
He stares back at you, waterdrops caught between his lashes. In the background, water continues to drip from a pipe. The soft plink-plink echoes the thud of your heart.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Jungkook’s hands remain on your waist, his touch scrambling all semblance of sanity. You aren’t sure how to answer without being honest.
Truthfully, you’re not okay.
An okay person wouldn’t break up with their boyfriend and then, six days later throw themselves in their path. An okay person wouldn’t be hiding their magic, they wouldn’t be lying to the person they love and most of all, wouldn’t continue to place that same person in danger.
Silent, you survey the aftermath of your outburst. Deep down, your magic itches in response to your panic. Seeping outward, it seeks to mold to the fear, but you manage to stop it. Something about the wall being gone makes your power less alien. No longer an unknown variable, but a constant.
“No,” you exhale. Steeling yourself, you take a step backwards. “No, Jungkook, I’m not okay. I… this is exactly why you should stay away from me. Bad things happen, and I can’t control them. I’m so sorry.”
Again, you brace yourself for his anger, but it never comes. Jungkook is unusually quiet, head cocked to one side. He sees right through you, a sensation unnerving enough that you drop your gaze.
“I should go,” you repeat, stepping around him. Reaching your washer, you hastily unload your soggy clothing. “I have to go.”
Jungkook says nothing, although you feel his gaze on the back of your head. Hefting your hamper, you slam the door shut, and turn. The water level at your ankles has dropped, no more than a centimeter remaining in the room.
Sirens wail in the distance, likely on their way to investigate. Your stomach lurches, recognizing the cost of your magic. As soon as possible, you should reach out to Seokjin. His company might be able to cover the damage if the laundromat can’t.
Nearing the exit, you look anywhere but at Jungkook’s face. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, unsure what else to say. “Really, I am.”
Again, he lets you move past. Water rushes out when you open the door, seeking the street, then the gutter. Hurrying past, you can’t shake the feeling something has changed.
Not only with you and Jungkook, but with you and your magic. Silent, you prod the place deep within from which your magic stems. You’re used to a wall, feeling closed off but now, it seems your mom was right.
Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.
A weightlessness accompanies this that you didn’t anticipate. Despite the terror of your outburst, there was a moment near the end when you stopped it. When you felt what was wrong and controlled your outburst of magic. You haven’t done that before.
The thought is followed by regret, remembering Jungkook. When you broke up, it was supposed to save him. Instead, you’ve only put him – and yourself – in greater danger. Maybe because you’ve continued to see him. Everything would be fine if you moved or kept your distance.
But then, another part of you wonders if you were wrong from the start. Maybe instead of providing distance, you should have come closer. Should have allowed Jungkook to decide whether he wanted to stay. After all, today, he experienced the worst of your powers, and he didn’t run. If anything, he moved closer.
Suddenly exhausted, you hail a cab. The driver grumbles at your wet clothes but allows you inside, and you tip him extra upon reaching your place. What you should do is find another laundromat and finish your load, but there’s an itch in your fingers you haven’t felt in some time.
Dropping your hamper at the door, you shutter yourself within the third bedroom. Not allowing yourself to second-guess, you sit down at your easel and pick up a brush.
For the first time in a long time, you allow the magic to flow. You paint.
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 © kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.
Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! Continued in Part II, here.
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itsonlybaby · 7 months ago
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𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞﹒
◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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putting out so many bellamy fics, here's the playlist I listen to while writing fics
Bellamy Blake - Arkadia
꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ You had a dream about your best friend Bellamy, and you try to suppress the feelings by avoiding him. Bellamy doesn't let this slide. ﹒   ⊹  ⤷ cw: smut, piv, praise, nsfw, gentle Bellamy
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His hand glided along my thigh, sending shivers down my spine. My breathing became erratic the closer and closer he got to my cunt, the place I craved his touch the most. Bellamy leaned down, giving sweet kisses to my stomach area before I finally felt his fingers on my pussy, sliding up and down coating his fingers with my slick.
I just about came when he pushed two fingers inside me, thrusting them up and hitting my sweet spot.
"Hey!" Octavia, my roommate, yelled.
I shot up instantly looking around taking in my surroundings, a wave of disappointment washing over me, suddenly missing the dream I had just awoken from. Why had I been dreaming of Bellamy of all people? He was my best friend!
My disappointment was replaced by my guilt.
"You've been asleep an hour past breakfast, wake up." She spoke, putting on her black boots and lacing them.
An hour? What happened to my alarm clock?
Octavia noticed my confused look towards my clock, "You didn't set it last night,"
Shit.
I climbed out of bed and almost tripped on my blanket. I walked to my dresser and pulled out a fairly cute outfit. Shorts, a tank top, and Bellamy's guard jacket I still needed to return. But I knew he'd have to steal it back to get it.
"Where are you off to today?" I asked Octavia, putting on my socks and then my brown boots. I saw her stand and grab her sword, placing it in the holster on her back.
"Gonna spend the day with Lincoln, makes things less boring around here." She opened the door to our room and left.
Leaving me to only my thoughts memories of the dream came flooding back to me. It was like I could actually feel his touch on my thigh. His big, calloused hands, his soft kisses to my stomach, touching me as if I were a porcelain doll.
Shaking my head I snapped out of my thoughts, I had things to do today.
Walking to my little clay shop beside the Armory I sat down on my stool. Reaching under the desk I brought out a lump of clay I left to dry.
I had a clay shop, though it wasn't really a shop. Bring me the dirt and I'll make you whatever you want. It made the days less boring and brought smiles to everyone's faces, people would commission things for their partners, moms, siblings, and friends. Knowing my little sculptures could bring such joy to the people of Arkadia was a nice feeling.
Slapping the lump down on the desk I rolled up the sleeves of Bellamy's jacket and began kneading it, this is where most of my strength came from. Once I was sure it was soft enough to work with I sat back down, dunked my hands in the water, and began sculpting. Taking mini lumps from the big piece of clay.
I had finished two before my thoughts caught up with me.
Kneading the clay again, I thought about Bellamy's hands, mouth, hair, and body. How good he'd feel against me.
"Clays not gonna knead itself," Bellamy spoke in an amusing tone.
I hadn't even noticed I stopped kneading.
The sight of Bellamy made my heart drop, without his usual jacket you could see his muscular arms, a sight I needed engraved in my brain.
Looking at his face my eyes were wide, I had hoped he didn't notice my unusual staring. I needed to get my head out of the gutter.
"Yeah, just got distracted," I replied, an awkward laugh coming after.
Bellamy raised an eyebrow, bringing his hands to his hips. He definitely noticed.
"You okay, princess?"
That name again. I practically melted every time he called me it, though I'm sure he meant it in a friendly manner it just sounded so good coming from him.
I let out a series of stutters before taking a breath, "Yes," It came out as more of a question than an answer, and I knew he didn't believe me.
Then finally, my saving grace came.
"Oh, look, customer," I say, the look on Bellamy's face still evident.
A customer from two weeks ago approached my shop, Bellamy looked between us and took his leave.
A part of me felt bad knowing I had pushed him away slightly. But id never get any work done if he was standing there looking so damn good-
"Hi, I'm here for the fox statue. For my boyfriend." She greeted me with a bright smile, clearly full of excitement to see the final result.
I returned her smile and nodded, "I remember! Let me get it,"
A few hours had passed since then and the sun was setting, many happy customers, and I somehow seemed to get a lot of work done.
Closing down shop I washed my hands in the bucket of water and walked towards the mess hall, feeling my stomach rumble.
Entering the room I looked to see what was on the menu for tonight's dinner.
Fish and tomatoes were an odd pairing but given our resources it was fairly good.
Grabbing a plate from Sinclair I searched for some familiar faces, to which I only found Bellamy.
Thinking the previous feelings for him faded I walked up and sat in front of him, a smile greeted me at my presence.
"Where is everyone?" I asked, getting comfortable and taking a bite of the fish. Not very flavorful.
"They headed to bed early,"
"Why didn't you?"
"Wanted to ask what was up with you earlier,"
Thank god I had finished my food, the intensity of his stare would've made my appetite vanish.
"I've just been distracted," I stated, hoping he would just take that for an answer. But I knew he'd keep budging.
"With?"
"I'm getting pretty tired, I'm gonna head to bed," I stood abruptly, not wishing to continue the conversation further. How else am I supposed to tell me best friend I had a wet dream about him and everytime I see him it comes back to me?
"Bye, bell," I flashed a nervous smile and quickly walked off before he could say anything else.
I knew I'd have to confront him sometime, but I'd hold off as long as I could until then.
Making it to my shared room I quickly opened the door and entered, Octavia probably spending the night in Lincoln's room. I was grateful for that, tonight I just needed to be alone.
Getting undressed I put on a pair of pajama shorts and just used Bellamy's jacket as a top.
Climbing into bed I slid under the covers, making sure to set my alarm this time.
Staring up at the ceiling for a good hour my mind clouded over with thoughts of Bellamy, it was expected at that point. I hadn't even noticed my hand going towards my cunt, rubbing myself through the fabric. Letting out soft, quiet moans at the feeling. As good as it felt I needed more.
My hand slid underneath the shorts and I teased my entrance, just as Bellamy did in my dream. Pushing into myself with two fingers the feeling was amazing, but imagining It was Bellamy again wasn't enough. I craved him, and in my lusty haze, I shot up and headed for the door.
I couldn't believe I was going to do this, I couldn't believe how badly I needed him.
I made a B-line for Bellamy's room, knocking on it. I was practically banging on it. A few seconds passed until I was met with the sight of Bellamy towering over me, his messy hair going in all directions, his shirt that hugged his arms so well, and his sweatpants that barely hid anything.
"Is your roommate in there?" I ask breathily.
With a shake of his head, I connect our lips in a messy needy kiss. The feeling of our lips touching for the first time makes me shiver, Bellamy makes no motion to push me off, instead, he pulls me inside, shutting the door with his hand. He picks me up and carries me to the bed, needing this just as much as I do.
He only pulls away when he sets me down on the bed, unzipping the jacket to find nothing under making him slyly smirk, my face flushed with an unimaginable redness. My mind now catching up with my heart.
This was really happening.
His hands gently fondle my breasts, soon snaking their way down my sides, to my hips, and then to my shorts, with every touch of his fingers, my body shivered, bathing in the attention from his hands and eyes.
He easily took off my shorts, the cool air hitting my now vulnerable warm cunt.
Bellamy was at a loss for words, never seeing something so beautiful before. The bulge in his pants now makes the material stick out in a more than noticeable way.
The feeling of embarrassment caught up with me, I moved my arms to cover myself but was stopped by Bellamy's tight grip.
"Don't," He demanded, letting go of my arms once I nodded shyly.
With a flushed face, Bellamy lowered his pants, revealing his cock. He took ahold of my legs and placed them on his shoulders, "Okay?" He asked, making sure this was really happening.
"Yeah, that's... that's good," I replied, reassuring him.
He guided his tip along my slit, coating it with my wetness as a type of lube. The feeling of him being so close to me made the hairs on my neck stand up.
I had wondered for a moment what people would think of us, but too in the moment to care.
Readying himself, Bellamy looked down at me again, taking in the sight of me with his jacket on.
"Please, I needed this," I muttered, "Needed you,"
"Feelings mutual, princess,"
And before I could reply he pushed in slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. I let out a moan as he bottomed out in me. My hands reaching out for his, he met me halfway and grabbed ahold of them. His big hands intertwined with mine. He placed our hands above my head and gave them a squeeze.
I squeezed back, hard.
"Can I move?" He asked, he so badly wanted to move. But he wanted our first time together to be gentle, sweet, and full of genuine love.
I nodded hesitantly, preparing myself for the pain and pleasure.
Bellamy pulled out and pushed back in at a slow pace, agonizing to him, it took everything in him not to just slam back into you at a rough pace.
The moans I let out sounded like heaven to him, he couldn't help but join in with his own grunts of pleasure, the way I would tighten around him started to become too much, and he couldn't keep his own sounds in.
"You're doing so good," Bellamy assured between groans, his voice had become gruff.
I bit my lip to try and stay quiet, fearful the room next to him might hear.
Bellamy didn't like that at all, "Let them out, princess,"
And when I shook my head 'no', he slammed into me hard, forcing my moans out as I squeezed his hand more.
"Bellamy!" I moaned out.
This only egged him on, loving the way his name sounded on my tongue.
As much as it hurt, it felt amazing how well he filled me, and how easily he could hit my sweet spot.
"Faster, please," I begged, staring into his eyes.
"Alright, princess,"
Bellamy leaned in closer making my legs bend more, letting him go deeper inside me. His pace began to speed up, making my moans grow louder in volume.
Every thrust was a new place deeper inside me, I felt my legs begin to shake, the familiar feeling of ecstasy creeping up my stomach.
He must've caught on, "It's okay, cum on my dick, princess, go ahead,"
His reassuring words put me over the edge, "Bellamy, Bellamy!"
My back arched as I reached my high with Bellamy fucking me through it.
My climax brought him even closer, the way my pussy clenched around his cock was overwhelming for him. His thrusts became sloppy and unhinged. He tried to keep it in, to make this moment last longer.
His brows furrowed while he stared into my eyes, saving this memory forever, "You're so beautiful," he breathed out, "So pretty with my jacket on,"
With a few more erratic thrusts he quickly pulled out, finishing on my stomach, bringing a newfound warmth all over.
Full of hesitance he let go of my hands, taking off his shirt and cleaning his cock and my stomach off while catching his breath. He threw the shirt into a bin in the corner of his room. Now taking a place next to me, wrapping his arms around my exhausted body.
"Been dreaming of that since we met," He whispered in my ear, placing kisses all over my neck.
I smiled.
If only he knew.
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◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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delaber · 2 years ago
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A Date (Bucky Barnes x Reader)
Summary: you have a date and Bucky’s not exactly happy about it.
Words: 3.8K
Trope: friends to lovers 💞 with a jealous Bucky trying his best to be brave, and failing horribly.
Notes: another fluff piece to mend Bucky’s heart ❤️ honestly, I have a problem with all these fluffy fics I’ve been writing recently. I just cannot stop myself lol.
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"You have a date?" he manages to splutter just before the panic takes over and makes his heart skip a few beats.
Fuck!
A fucking date?!
His fingers are slipping on the wet handle of the pan he's in the midst of cleaning, and in that moment, all he can think about is how happy he is that he's currently bent over the kitchen sink so you can't make out the shocked expression on his face.
You're nodding beside him, playing with the dishtowel you're holding but Bucky can hardly make out what you're saying when you return his question with a quiet "yeah".
His ears are ringing bells and he just wants to get the fuck out of there.
Silently, he's begging for you to stop talking. He doesn't want to know more. Doesn't want to hear what you've agreed to and who you're... - fuck, what if it's someone he knows?
What if it's Sam?!
Shit!
The panic in Bucky's chest runs amok! If he walks in on his two best friends fucking, he's gonna kill himself!
With dread, he realises that he has to know how careful he needs to be around the compound...
"With - uh - with whom?" he clears his throat and curls his toes in prepared mortification, his narrowed gaze firmly fixed on a wet piece of broccoli that's lying lonely and sad at the bottom of the sink.
Please don't say Sam, please don't say Sam...
"You know the cute guy from the coffee shop?" you answer proudly, and it makes Bucky's heart spring violently back to life. That guy??? "- he finally asked me."
Well, it's not Sam - yet somehow, it's worse.
Deep breath, he tells himself and plasters on a neutral expression as he looks up from the pan and directly into your eyes.
At least you look excited, he concludes as he takes in your dreamy little smile that's usually reserved for when vibranium fingers briefly brush over your warm skin but that he now has to share with... him. The moron in the green apron. Mr I'm-too-busy-flirting-with-your-girl-to-get-your-order-right.
Fuck, he's burning up!
"That's great, sweetheart," he hears himself croak from far away, trying his best to sound like he's happy for you and not as if his heart is in the process of being ripped out of his chest. "I'm real happy for you."
"Thanks, Buck," you playfully bump your hip against his while looking down at your hands as you once again twist the towel between your fingers.
You seem almost... nervous. This date must really be a big deal to you.
He gulps and pushes away another incoming wave of nausea. It's not as if he hasn't long ago accepted that nothing will ever happen between the two of you. You're friends. That's it.
"Are you excited?" He asks without really knowing why. He doesn't want to hear your answer. To hear you verbally confirm the look you already have on your face.
Slowly you look up at him and he has to chomp down on his inner cheek to keep himself from doing something stupid.
"You know what?" you ask quietly with a tilt of your head and Bucky's heart starts racing even harder. "- I actually am."
Even you sound surprised - not that Bucky can really blame you.
"Mmh," he merely hums and pretends there's a particularly stubborn area on the dirty pan that needs his attention.
"Is that weird?" You ask.
He can feel how the sincere question in your voice laces itself around his abdomen, squeezing him tight.
Is it wrong of him to want to snap the stupid piece of teflon-coated metal in his hand in half? You're his best friend and he should just be happy you're happy.
Fuck it, he is happy! He loves you more than anything and you deserve to feel this way - he just wishes it was because of him and not someone else.
"No, sweetheart," he mumbles, trying to untie the invisible knot behind his navel as he starts scrubbing again. "Why would it be weird?"
Thankfully, you don't answer.
...
Cold droplets of water are running over your forehead and down the length of your nose, desperately trying to reduce the tension that's been resting right between your eyebrows since your conversation with Bucky last night.
Splashing your face with water is a stupid attempt to make yourself feel better - you know that - it hasn't worked the other times you've tried it and this must be the tenth attempt since you woke up this morning. The only thing that'll truly help is if Bucky would tell you what's going on.
He's been acting weird since last night, and even though you aren't sure what reaction you'd been hoping for, this definitely isn't it. You know he isn't exactly the biggest fan of the man who's taking you out for dinner later, but getting so annoyed he can barely uphold a conversation? Well, that wasn't really a scenario you'd even considered at all...
You suppose you could just tell him the truth - maybe that would make him more accepting of your choice of date - but it's not as if you can really tell him that the only reason you're going on that date to begin with is to force yourself to get over, well, him.
You've known Bucky two years now and apart from small moments here and there, nothing's happened. It's been two excruciating years full of pining and painful almosts and ifs but he clearly doesn't look at you that way and you don't want to keep putting yourself through the heartbreak. You deserve to spend your friday nights with someone who actually sees you for what you are: beautiful, smart, desirable, a woman.
And as you stand looking at yourself in the mirror, you realise that you need this date to get Bucky out of your head. Fuck if he doesn't approve of the cute guy from the coffee shop. It's none of his business who you're going out with and if he wants to be annoyed about it, then so be it.
Yet you still cannot stand the thought of him sitting by himself all night. He hasn't seemed like himself all day and you know how he can spiral over the smallest of things.
Thus, you check for Sam in the kitchen, the gym, and in the spa area in the basement of the compound, but eventually find him in the common room on the third floor, completely hypnotised as he stares at the television screen in front of him, the playstation controller grabbed tightly in his hands.
You do a quick scan around the room to confirm that it's just the two of you before you approach him. "Wilson, have you seen Bucky today?"
"Bucky? Uh - no," Sam mumbles without moving his gaze away from the animated character who's running through an abandoned city. "I assume you've already tried the dark cave he calls his room?"
"I know where he is," you sigh and flop down on the sofa next to him, stretching your legs and putting your feet in his lap. "I was just hoping that maybe you'd talked to him."
He doesn't answer apart from a few incoherent noises you're sure are for the game and not for you, so you poke at the controller with your toes to get his attention. "Sam..."
"Hey! I'm trying to save humanity from a zombie apocalypse here. Keep your stinking feet away from me," he playfully flicks the underside of your foot without sparing you a glance. "I already told you I haven't seen your siamese twin all day."
"Yeah, but do you think you could... go check on him maybe?"
"I'm busy. You go check on him."
"Sam..."
At the sound of your soft-spoken words, Sam sends you a brief side-eye before he finally tosses the controller down on the sofa table with a loud sigh. "What'd you do?"
"I didn't do anything," you shake your head innocently. Is it really your fault that Bucky is too childish to accept the man you're going out with? No.
Sam runs his eyes over you and squints hard. "You guys are usually so dependent, you're practically joined at the hip. And now you want me to go talk to him even though you didn't do anything?"
"Look, he's being weird," you sigh, "- can you just check on him? Please? Maybe have a guy's night in with beer and that stupid zombie-game you're always playing or whatever?" you gesture to the television screen where the character from before stands panting, saying random stuff every few seconds. "I don't want him to be alone."
"First of all, The Last of Us is not stupid!" Sam raises his index finger at you, feigning an insulted huff. "Secondly; a guy's night in..? While you're doing exactly what if I may ask?" he arches an eyebrow, urging you to keep talking.
"I - uh - I have plans," you say quickly and try and look determined although you can feel your entire face heating up. "...a date of sorts."
The dead-panned look on Sam's face is quickly wiped off, instead replaced with an annoyingly broad smirk. "You have a what now?" he chuckles teasingly.
"You heard me," you roll your eyes.
"Oh I heard you loud and clear," he hoots, "you are going on a date!" he says, emphasising the last word with a wriggle of his eyebrows.
"Don't be a dick about it."
"My, oh my. We're finally gonna see what kind of man that can sweep the rug from underneath you."
"Okay, I'm leaving," you make a move to stand up, but Sam interrupts you by putting his palm to your shin.
"Come on, I'm just teasing," he laughs, "tell me about your date. Who's it with? - Not Bucky, I assume."
"Why would I go on a date with Buck?" you shrug nonchalantly although you can once again feel the heat radiating through your every feature. "It's the cute blonde from the coffee house down the street."
"Oooh, the guy who looks like a young Brad Pitt but with humour?"
"That's the one," you press down on your lips and avoid looking directly at Sam. God, this is embarrassing.
"He's a cutie!" Sam teases with a chuckle.
"I know," you play with a loose thread on your shirt, avoiding his eye.
"Then why aren't you more excited about it?" He asks but immediately emits a groan, "Jesus... do not tell me it's because of Bucky?!"
"I'm worried about him," you whine and bury your face in the sofa cushions.
Sam rolls his eyes. "You're going on your first date in forever and you're worried about that sourpuss?"
"Sam, you didn't see the look on his face when I told him about it! He hates the guy - I think it really upset him."
"Of course it upset him," Sam scoffs, "It's like taking candy away from someone who really wants to fuck said candy!"
Your eyes snap over to Sam in an instance. Completely taken off guard, your voice dies in your throat. Did he just...? No, surely, you must've misheard.
"Come on, don't pretend you haven't noticed," Sam groans, "I swear to god, he's two days away from crawling behind you just so he can lick the ground you're walking on!"
The earth has stopped spinning. "W-what?"
"The puppy eyes? The 'pick me' behaviour?" he rolls his eyes at your shocked face.
Your heart starts pounding so fast you can barely keep up. "Are we talking about... Bucky? As in our Bucky?"
"Uh, huh," Sam nods as if it's the most obvious thing on the planet. "That guy's practically begging you to take him by the hand and lead him to your bed. He's so in love with you, it's disgusting to look at."
"He's what?!" You exclaim loudly, completely out of breath. This is definitely news to you! "No, no, no! Bucky's not in love with me, we're friends," you pant with the blood rushing past your ears.
Sam shoots you an unimpressed side-eye, "yeah keep telling yourself that"
"What do you mean?" you pant, trying to puzzle together Sam's suspicion with your disbelief.
"I swear to god, the two of you don't even have a single brain cell put together..." he rolls his eyes, "I've seen that boy almost snap his neck because you were laughing and he wanted to know what you were laughing at. Trust me when I say that he's not annoyed that you're going on that date - he's jealous."
Well... fuck!
...
You don't think you've ever been this nervous as you pace the hallway outside Bucky's bedroom. You've been here ten minutes now, desperately trying to force yourself to actually make contact with him, but you're holding yourself back. There's so much on the line and what if Sam's incorrect? Then, you will truly have mucked up and everything between you and Bucky will be ruined.
Shit!
You stop pacing. You can hear his favourite album from the forties playing on the other side of the wall but apart from that, there hasn't been a single sound from in there.
You pray he's in a better mood than when you walked in on him angrily hunched over his bowl of cereal this morning, but the fact that he put on the only type of music that can calm him down, doesn't really scream 'put-together'.
It makes you even more nervous though you know you have to talk to him at some point. It's not as if you can avoid him forever - so before you can truly think about the upside of postponing the inevitable conversation, you raise your knuckles and carefully knock on his door.
Everything inside you tenses up. You vision becomes blurry, and you seem to automatically focus all your attention on the sounds coming from inside his room. There's a short shuffle, a sigh and then an irritated "what?!" muttered from somewhere behind the walls.
This is bound to go wrong.
You consider running away and pretend you've never even been near his room, but it's too late to back out now. You have to talk to him at some point, you remind yourself.
With your nerves running wild and the blood pumping through your every vein, artery, and fibre, you open the door a little and poke your head inside his room with a small "hi," your throat so dry it comes out as a hoarse whisper.
He's sitting on the bed with his long legs crossed at the ankles, his hand buried inside a book that's lying closed in his lap. He looks angry at everything and everyone - as if he's minutes away from strangling someone - but when he finds your eyes from across the room, the tense muscles in his cheeks seem to unclench a little.
"Oh, hey," he breathes and runs a hand through his hair in embarrassment, licking his lips. "I thought you were Sam..."
You smile, so relieved to see him softening that you automatically step inside his room without waiting for him to ask you to. "Sorry to disappoint."
"You're not," he shakes his head with a small gulp, "I thought you'd left already. Don't you have that big date?" he asks in a weird voice and sends you a stiff smile.
"Not until seven," you shrug and sit down next to him on his bed, immediately noticing how he's started avoiding your gaze.
"Right," he nods and occupies himself by putting his book on his bedside table. "So - uh - still looking forward to it?"
How do you tell your best friend that no, you're not looking forward to it because he's the one you really want to go out with?
"I don't know," you shrug, suddenly so anxious your temples have started pounding, "not really."
He finally looks up at you again, his slate blue eyes jittery as they meticulously search your face. "What happened?" He asks with tightly knitted eyebrows, "you were so excited for it yesterday."
You hesitate. "...Honestly?"
"Yeah, honestly," he sits up a little straighter, a serious look on his face, "- he didn't upset you, did he?" He says on impulse, his voice suddenly dark and dripping with venom at the mere thought as he reaches out for you and puts his fingers on your arm.
"No Buck," you shake your head and take a deep breath to get your pulse under control. "He didn't upset me."
"Then what?" He squeezes your arm softly, his eyes concerned as he tries to read you, "you can tell me anything."
"I know... It's just that..." you hesitate and consider ending your sentence with I'm in love with you, but the words die in your throat.
"What sweetheart?" he shuffles a little closer to you.
"Bucky," you heave a big breath of air to prepare your bold question that can potentially change everything between you dependant on his answer. "Do you not want me to go on that date?"
"What?" his eyes immediate travel over your face and you can almost hear his pulse running haywire as his fingers let go of your arm. "What makes you think that?"
"It's just..." your breathing picks up as you scan his every anxious feature. It makes you anxious too. "- you started acting weird the minute I told you about it. You've been avoiding me all day."
His fingers find your arm again, his grip a little tighter than before as he desperately looks at you. "No, no, no, sweetheart! That's not what happened," he licks his lips and plasters on the fake smile he's been practising in the mirror all day. "- I mean... I'm not the biggest fan of the guy but who you're dating is really none of my concern. I'm sure he's great, and as long as he treats you well, I'll make sure he stays on my good side," he says softy and sends you a smile that seems a little too genuine for your liking.
You hesitate again as you check his face for cracks, but his smile stays intact and happy. "...So you're really okay with it?" you ask in a small voice, mortified.
"Are you kidding me? Sweetheart, of course I'm okay with it!" he slides his fingers down your arm, capturing your hand inside his fist. "I really just want you to be happy. That's what's important. And you deserve to be taken care of for once instead of being stuck here with me and Sam." He reassuringly squeezes your fingers tight, but it just feels as if he's in the process of letting you go.
Slowly, you can feel your heart breaking.
You knew it... You knew Sam was wrong. Bucky isn't in love with you. Never has been. Never will be. Things are exactly the way they've always been and you're left pining after a man who doesn't want you back.
God, you feel like a idiot for getting your hopes up like that.
"Good," you nod resolutely, fighting hard to not let the heartbreak slip through your well-feigned mask. "I'm happy to hear you feel that way."
"Of course I do," he smiles solemnly.
"I should probably go get ready then..."
"Yeah," Bucky nods and lets go of you. "It's almost six."
With a sigh you hope he doesn't hear, you stand up from his bed and brush down the front of your jeans, not really sure you even want to leave his room.
He's looking up at you like a deer caught in headlights. "Have fun," he says while his hands grab the sheets underneath him, fisting the fabric. "- can't wait to hear all about it."
"Thanks, Buck," you feign a smile to match his, "I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you, sweetheart..."
You turn around with a wave of your hand, but the smile on your face falters the minute you've turned on your heel.
You can hear his heavy breathing over the music playing in the corner, and when you reach out for the door handle, a delicate sound finally breaks the reticence between you.
"Don't go..."
At first, you're not sure if you're imagining it, but then you hear him shuffling behind you, and when you turn around and face him, he's on his feet. "Don't go on that date," he whimpers in defeat, "I'm begging you. Please... don't go."
"Bucky..."
"I'm in love with you," he says guiltily with a gulp.
Your heart stops.
"- and I can't pretend I'm okay with you going on dates when I'm not."
You're completely speechless. You want to comment on everything. Run to him and proclaim that you're his. That you've always been his. But you're nailed to the spot and all that manages to escape your lips is a tight whimper.
"- I know it's probably not what you want to hear right now..." he closes his eyes and looks as if he's in pain. "And I know I'm risking everything by telling you this," he gulps, "but I've been keeping it in for so fucking long, trying to protect our friendship. I just can't keep pretending I don't want... more. It's stupid, I know."
"Bucky, it's not stupid," you finally manage to croak and it's as if the force that've been gluing you to the spot finally lets go. "It's not," you whisper as you take a few long strides over to him, stopping right before your chests touch. "It's not stupid," you repeat and reach a hand upwards, caressing his bearded chin.
His eyes are glistening, and his breathing is coming in ragged as he searches your face. "Sweetheart," he gulps in confusion, "I don't... - what does this mean?"
"It means -" your hand reaches up so it can rake through his hair, coming to a halt on the back of his neck where you can feel the goosebumps travel through his entire body. "- that I'm in love with you too. Have been for quite some time. Since I met you, actually."
Now it's his turn to be glued to the spot.
His mouth falls a little open and you can tell by the look on his face that he's in the process of questioning everything, so you underline your confession by putting your forehead to his. "I want to be yours," you whisper and observe him closely.
At first, he tenses even harder, but then a small smile starts tugging on his lips as he finally relaxes in your arms and pulls you closer. "I want you to be mine, too," he declares sweetly as his heart blossoms in his chest. He reaches down and kisses your cheeks, your nose, your forehead.
"It's you," he whispers against your skin, "- It's always been you."
"Kiss me," you beam and almost cannot stop smiling silly when you reach up for his mouth, finally claiming the softest, most pillowy lips you've ever had the pleasure of kissing.
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evilminji · 4 months ago
Text
You know? I kinda wonder...
In a Self Insert type scenario, in Star Wars?
They would be MUCH more open to listening to "buddy, a storm's comin'" type warnings. Their Cannon knowledge, even if spotty, would probably echo with the Force and draw its attention to them somewhat. Because they KNOW.
KNOW what is going to happen. Not guess. Not assume. KNOW. Like the Force does. And that? Coupled with their inherent strangeness? Would make them the oddly colored duck of the flock, as it were. Not Super Important... buuuut? Easy to spot.
One of the Force's Blorbos.
Just cause, really. Cause they look funny. The Force doesn't even have a plan for um! But they turned up, ate the Force's food, and look at their wittle faaaace~☆! So it's keeping them. You know... assuming they survive.
Which?
Brings me to my point?
Since they LISTEN? The Force probably chatters like a mofo. Since a Self Insert would be anxious and constantly ASKING for wisdom. For help. A friend. Guidance of any kind. The Force would be draped around them like a particularly pleased with itself shoulder cat. A hovering backseat driver.
Because you DO keep asking, after all.
It's like muscle memory. Building strength. Not... not GREAT, in all actuality? Because Self Insert is avoiding making their OWN choices, probably out of fear? But on the OTHER hand? Both of them KNOW that there is literally a Sith Master like... less then 5 minutes away from where they live. Constantly.
And they are a Youngling.
So???
At What Point?? Does the Force? Engage "Fuck it, we take our baby and run" protocols?
Just? FULL ON "you stop midway through making your dinner, turn off the soup, pick up your kids, leave the house, and NEVER LOOK BACK". Because? Yes. The Jedi KNIGHTS and MASTERS may have vows to try and protect the people of the Republic?
BUT THE YOUNGLINGS DO NOT.
They, in fact, need to be PROTECTED.
And if the Force itself? Says "if you stay here, they WILL die."? You gotta go. Hopefully? You have enough warning to like... pack a ship. But, ya might NOT. Might just be "aaaand, everybody put down your pads! Suprise field trip to Anywhere Else! IMMEDIATELY. Single file, younglings. No running!" Like?
What would you do?
I kinda wanna see it.
Just this somber, vaguely haunted, crechling walking up to import figures like Madam Nu and Yoda going "if I tell you The Force told me we have to take the younglings, ALL OF THEM, and any history we think is worth preserving, and LEAVE... would you listen? Or would you let us die here?" With their tiny lil face and to serious expression.
Like a prophet of Doom.
And WHERE? Exactly? Are they supposed to go? Oh, simple. They are to Trust In The Force. And let it guide them. Out IN THE UNKNOWN REGIONS of wild space! Because THATS fine! Is this a joke?
No.
No the youngling is dead serious. Terrifyingly serious. Has been studying how to pilot a shop like they will have to do so THEMSELF. Asking questions that paint a concerning portrait of a child that fully intends to take their peers on this journey, with or without them.
And the Force? The Force says they MUST. That it is impossibly important they DO.
WELL THEN....
Do they... TELL anybody?
No. Not a single soul. Specifically, not a single soul In The Senate. Ah. Concerning! Guess we're? "Losing" a ship in the war? Oh dear. Such casualties. All those lives. Oh noooooo, and such and so forth. UNRELATED note! It's been FAR too long since this temple was cleaned! Unacceptable. You, random clones definitely not assigned to that ship we definitely just lost! Help us... clean!
Just?
The power of "fuck it, we took our ball and went home/left"? Should be USED more in fics. The Force TOTALLY knows where some sweet, sweet habitable planets are. You'll NEVER fuckin find them if they don't want you too! An entire temple of Jedi asking for the SAME thing? Versus a crusty lil shit?
They asked first. And nicely!
With THIS, balance is maintained. Not through FORCE. But through walking away for a bit. Allowing OTHERS to decide if this is what THEY want for themselves. Order 66 may or may not still happen? But? At most? All you would kill is the current fighting adults. Not the teachers. Not the elders. And CERTAINLY not the young.
They? Are far away. Where the Force is still clear and the light is strong. Growing up. Reflecting on what went wrong. Farming. Building a new temple with the Clones. You know, the ones who didn't have their comms. Never GOT that dreaded order. Get to live free men on a peaceful planet.
Cause historically? You send your kids AWAY from active wars zones. Places that are priority targets for your enemies. And if the Force itself is saying "move the babies"? Welp! Guess you gotta move um, don't ya? It's scary. Uncertain.
But it is an act of faith.
And I just? Wanna see Sith's plans just COMPLETELY fuckin implode? Because they could not plan for Faith. For Trust and Community and Hope. All the things they believe so trite. So worthless. The very things that would lead grown adults, POWERFUL PEOPLE, to actually? LISTEN to a mere youngling. Then follow their lead.
It would be?
Inconceivable to them.
@legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @hypewinter @babbling-babull @hdgnj @starwarsblr @starwars
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