#BUT ANYWAY. I ACTUALLY LIKE THIS LIKE WOW

[aesthetically-dying101]

Smooch

A/N: TO THE ANON: IM SO SORRY, i accidently deleted the ask that asked: "how would the jjk men react to you randomely kissing them?" FUCK ME IM SORRY FOR DELETING IT, ANYWAYS POOKIE HERE IT IS

warning: some established relationships, some non established, kissing, gojo being a lil shit, nanami being so DAMN adorabe its making me vomit. creepy rando man. mostly fluff tho (not for geto, sorry pookies), i'm being nice. Mostly crack

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso, Shiu, Higuruma. (in that order)

The air still thrummed with the tension of battle, smoke and cursed energy clinging to the ruined streets like stubborn memories. You stood on trembling legs, the adrenaline making everything sharper: the glint of blood on the edge of Nanami's blade, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the way his tie flapped rebelliously despite the chaos being over.

You’d seen him fight before, but this? This was something else. The man was a force. Watching him wade through curses, calm and unyielding, to protect his students—protect Yuji—had set your heart on fire.

Literally. Your chest ached. He was just so… Hot.

Inspiring.

Selfless.

Outrageously overworked, but hot.

Your crush on Nanami was no secret to yourself, though you’d buried it deep under professionalism and a healthy dose of "I'm-a-grown-adult-who-totally-has-it-together" denial.

“Kento,” you croaked, your throat dry from shouting during the fight. Not that he heard. He was still wiping blood from his weapon, his focus entirely on making sure Yuji wasn’t missing any limbs.

Yuji, for his part, looked like a kicked puppy. “I’m fine, Nanami. Really! A couple of scratches—”

“Scratches become infections. Infections become—” Nanami began, his voice low and even, and you wanted to scream because how dare he sound that composed after nearly dying. Maybe it was your brain short-circuiting from the sheer Nanami-ness of him.

The sheer whiplash of your emotions—from panic to relief to sheer I cannot believe this man exists—burst out of you like a firework. Before you could second-guess yourself, your feet moved. You grabbed the front of his stupid, perfectly pressed shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him.

Kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t planned.

It was pure, unfiltered relief, and affection, and admiration, and the overwhelming sense that Kento Nanami was too goddamn precious for this world. His lips were warm and dry, just like you imagined.

For one glorious moment, he froze—caught off guard in a way you’d never seen before. Then his hand twitched like he might touch you, and that’s when reality smacked you upside the head.

“Oh my God,” you blurted, shoving him away so hard he actually stumbled back a step. “Oh my God, I’m sorry—Nanami, I—Mr. Nanami—I mean, Kento—I—what did I just do?” Your hands flew to your face, muffling your panicked stream of consciousness.

Nanami stood there, stunned, his weapon slack in one hand.

“I don’t—uh—wow,” you stammered, pacing in tight circles. “That was so inappropriate. I mean, we’re at work—well, technically a post-apocalyptic battlefield, but that’s basically work. I just—oh my God, you’re bleeding. Are you bleeding? You are! Let me—no, no, I can’t touch you—”

“Do you like me?” His calm voice cut through your spiral like a knife through butter.

You stopped mid-pace, blinking at him.

“Do I…” You pointed to yourself, dumbfounded. “Do I like you?”

Nanami’s brow furrowed like he was trying to solve a riddle.

“You kissed me. That suggests…” He trailed off, his ears red. Red. Nanami Kento, the unshakable man himself, was blushing.

“OF COURSE I LIKE YOU!” you blurted, because what else was there to say? “Are you kidding me? You’re smart, and kind, and self-sacrificing to a fault, and the way you fight—” You gestured vaguely toward his weapon, heat flooding your face. “I mean, it’s really impressive, and your voice is, like, weirdly soothing? And—God, have you seen your hands? They’re insane. Like, how dare you have hands like that?”

Yuji, bless his sweet little heart, was standing a few feet away, looking utterly bewildered but also kind of...proud? Like he was rooting for you? You couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse.

Yuji made a small sound somewhere behind you.

“Yay?”

“Yuji, not now!” you snapped, your eyes still locked on Nanami, who looked like you’d just handed him a quadratic equation written in crayon.

The silence stretched. You wanted to melt into the cracked pavement and die there. And then—slowly, impossibly—his lips twitched.

“‘How dare I have hands like that?’” he repeated, his tone dry but warm.

“Don’t mock me! I’m having a crisis!”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint laugh lines around his eyes. “I’m not mocking you.” His voice softened. “I’m trying to process.”

“Process what? That I kissed you? That I have terrible taste in men—not that you’re terrible, you’re amazing—oh my God, I’m still talking—”

“I like you too.”

You froze. “What?”

“I said I like you too,” he repeated, his expression calm but his eyes gentle. “And I’m glad you kissed me, even if it was…unexpected.”

“Unexpected?!” Yuji exclaimed. “Dude, we all saw it coming!”

You and Nanami both turned to glare at him, and Yuji threw up his hands in surrender. “I mean—yay! Go, you guys! Woo!”

Nanami sighed, his hand reaching up to adjust his tie, and you caught it before he could. His gaze flicked to yours, surprised.

“Just…take care of yourself, okay?” you murmured. “You can’t keep putting everyone else first all the time.”

His hand closed around yours, firm and reassuring. “If I promise, will you stop worrying?”

You bit your lip. “Maybe. If you promise and let me take you to dinner.”

He raised a brow. “Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

“Understood,” he said, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw him smile.

You stumble into the apartment you share with Toji, at what must be the devil’s hour, the taste of dried blood and exhaustion heavy on your tongue. Your body feels like it’s made of bricks, each step a reminder of tonight’s shitshow. The job was a disaster, but hey, you're alive.

Barely.

Your shoulder’s throbbing, probably dislocated (you know you're gonna ask Toji to snap it back into place); there’s a slice on your thigh that’s gonna leave a nasty scar, and you’re fairly certain you’ve got a mild concussion. But the mission? Technically complete. Success, if you squint.

The apartment is dark, save for the faint glow of a streetlamp slicing through the blinds. The air is thick with the familiar scent of gun oil and that stupid cologne Toji always wears. You peel off your boots by the door, wincing as your sock squelches. Blood. Great.

Toji’s a lump on the bed, sprawled out like a dead man. His arm dangles off the side, his breathing slow and deep. Must be nice to sleep like that.

Must be nice to sleep at all.

You limp over, each step making you rethink your life choices, and shake his shoulder. Gently, at first. He doesn’t budge. Typical. You give him another shove.

“Oi, wake up, Toji.”

Still nothing. Unbelievable.

You’re mid-eye roll when he moves like a damn cobra, faster than your sluggish brain can process. In one smooth motion, he’s got you flat on your back with the cold barrel of his pistol pressed firmly against your throat.

Your first thought? Oh, for fuck’s sake.

His eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, but there’s enough menace in them to make anyone else wet their pants.

“Wife?” he grunts, voice rough from sleep.

Neanderthal, you think, staring up at him, unimpressed. You’ve just dragged yourself home from a near-death experience, and this is the reception you get? He smells like sweat and sleep (is that a thing?), his hair sticking up at angles only a demon could love. And he has the audacity to press a gun to your throat? Really?

“Put the gun down, idiot,” you mutter, too tired to care that he could accidentally end you right now.

Toji blinks, his foggy brain clearly struggling to connect the dots. But he lowers the weapon anyway, tossing it to the side with a grunt.

“You good?” he asks, rubbing a hand over his face.

Instead of answering, you grab his face. Both hands, firm, like he’s some unruly beast you’re taming. Toji freezes, wide-eyed, and before he can start grumbling or say something infuriating, you kiss him.

Not a peck. Not a lazy, tired smooch.

A kiss.

Like the kind that says, I almost died tonight but didn’t, and for some reason, I wanted to see your dumbass face when I got back.

He doesn’t react at first, probably still half-asleep and trying to figure out if this is some kind of weird dream. But then his hands come up, one settling on your hip, the other cradling the back of your head like you’re made of glass. He kisses you back, slow at first, then with a kind of feral intensity that makes you forget you’re bleeding all over the damn bed.

When you finally pull back, panting and lightheaded, he stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. “What the hell was that for?”

You flop onto the mattress next to him, groaning as every injury makes itself known. “Almost died. Needed a kiss. Shut up.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then mutters, “You’re bleeding.”

“No shit, my shoulder's been dislocated too,” you snap, already regretting the kiss because now you’re reminded that everything hurts. “You gonna fix it, or just stare at me all night?”

Toji huffs, dragging himself out of bed.

“You’re lucky I like you, woman,” he grumbles, rummaging for the first aid kit.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble, letting your eyes drift closed. The bed dips as he sits back down, and you feel the sting of antiseptic on your shoulder.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he says, voice softer now. “Gotta patch you up first.”

“Whatever you say, caveman.”

You think you hear him chuckle, low and rough, but you’re already half-gone. And despite the pain, despite the chaos of the night, you feel... safe. Stupidly safe, with Toji grumbling insults under his breath and his hands working carefully to keep you in one piece.

Home. Or something like it.

Gojo Satoru walked into the apartment, exhausted but relieved to finally be home. He'd been on mission after mission for what felt like forever, leaving little time for himself, let alone his girlfriend. The past few days had been a blur of paperwork, cursed spirits, and long hours of absence that left an ache in his chest, a longing to be with the one person who always made him feel like himself.

As the door clicked shut behind him, a familiar shift in the air settled over him — his Infinity. It wasn't just the buzz of the usual limitless power that made him feel protected and invincible, no, this was different. This was the subtle, barely perceptible moment when he knew his Infinity was off because she was here. It always did that when she was around, and he knew she’d be nearby.

But before he could even finish the word “I’m home—”

BAM.

You crashed into him, practically knocking the wind out of his lungs. Your lips slammed against his with all the pent-up affection that had built in your heart over the past few days. You kissed him like he was air, your hands grasping at the front of his shirt as if you'd missed him more than anything. The kiss was messy, needy — but most importantly, it was real.

Gojo froze for a split second, a low laugh escaping his lips as he felt the sheer intensity of your sudden onslaught. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as though he could disappear again if you didn’t hold him tightly enough.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he mumbled against your lips, feigning surprise, though the dramatic shift in his voice betrayed how deeply he was enjoying it. “Is this how you welcome me home, huh?”

“You’ve been gone for days, Satoru,” you muttered in between kisses, your voice muffled but full of emotion. “I missed you.”

You couldn’t help but slip your hands lower, brushing against the firm muscles of his chest, feeling the warmth that only he had. It wasn’t just about the absence- it was the aching distance, the unsaid words, the nights you'd spent curled in bed, staring at the empty space beside you, wishing he was there.

Gojo felt his heart skip a beat- you had that effect on him, always. Your warmth, your softness, and the way you seemed to understand him better than anyone else. The tension in his shoulders melted away as he melted into you, hands sliding down to hold you by the waist, to anchor you against him.

And then, with a dramatic gasp that could only be Gojo, he pulled back, his hands coming up to cradle your face (kinda squishing your cheeks), eyes wide as if he’d been struck by lightning.

“Princess—” he whined, the very term of endearment a mockery of how absurdly dramatic he could get. “I’ve been gone for days, and this is how you treat me? After everything I’ve sacrificed for you? For us?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You adored his theatrics, even if they were so Gojo Satoru.

“Yes, this is how I treat you,” you teased, glancing up at him with a playful sparkle in your eyes. “Now, kiss me like you mean it.”

And as if on cue, his lips descended, only to be met with—spray.

Hsssssssssss!

The sharp, cold spray of her plant vaporizer hit him right in the face.

His mouth immediately fell open in shock, the spray misting his face, and Gojo recoiled in mock horror. “WHAT—?!”

“You were gone too long,” you said, still holding the sprayer with an air of nonchalance, though you could barely keep your own smile from breaking through. “You don’t get to come back after disappearing and act like everything’s fine. You’re gonna have to earn your kiss.”

His hand flew to his face, rubbing the wetness away in exaggerated frustration.

“You vaporized me?!” he asked, turning his eyes toward you, his dramatic pout making him look like a child who’d been wronged. “After all I’ve done for you?! All my sacrifices? I’ve been risking my life, getting cursed every time, and THIS is how you treat me? This?!”

You giggled, looking at him like he was a giant kid. “You did disappear for days, 'Toru. And you were busy being all heroic, saving the day. Not like you left me with any choice.”

He wiped his face again, but as he did, he kept his eyes on you, his usual smugness replaced by a touch of genuine longing.

“I didn’t want to be gone,” he muttered, the act slipping for a moment as he looked at you with an almost vulnerable expression. “But you know how it is... sometimes I’m not really in control of it. I just... miss you, too. I just...”

Before he could finish, you stepped forward again, slower this time, your hands gently cupping his cheeks. This time, your kiss was softer, more tender, a quiet apology for the harsh spray. Your lips were warm against his, and the familiarity of your scent- the sweetness of your presence- seemed to fill every space around him. Your kiss spoke of longing, of missing him in ways that words couldn’t explain.

Gojo’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. For a moment, there was nothing but the shared warmth, the closeness of your connection.

“I missed you,” you whispered, breaking the kiss just long enough to say it. “I missed you so much, Satoru. You don’t even know.”

He exhaled a soft laugh, brushing a strand of your hair from your face, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your cheek.

“I know,” he said quietly, his voice steady but full of affection. “I missed you, too. You’re all I ever think about when I’m out there.”

A silence fell between you, comfortable, soft. You rested your forehead against his, and he closed his eyes, just enjoying the moment.

Home.

“I’m never leaving you that long again,” he promised, his hands still resting on your hips, pulling you into him.

“Good,” you said with a playful grin. “If you do, I'll vaporize you again.”

He shot her a teasing look. “NooOOo- t's gonna mess up my hair-”

With a dramatic sigh, he kissed you again, and this time, there was no interruption, just two people who couldn’t bear to be apart any longer.

The sun was setting, casting golden rays across the horizon, as though the universe itself mourned for the moment. You sat beside Suguru, his body battered and bruised, the life draining from him far too quickly. Blood pooled around him, a cruel mockery of the warmth he used to exude. His breaths were shallow, his strength ebbing away like water through a sieve.

He was still so beautiful.

Your hands trembled as you reached out to him, brushing strands of dark hair from his face.

That face.

It still bore the faintest traces of the boy you once knew—sharp, confident, full of purpose. Now, his features were gaunt, his skin pallid, but his eyes... his eyes still held a spark of the man you had loved. The man you still loved.

"Suguru..." your voice cracked, a whisper more than a word.

He managed a weak smile, the corner of his mouth quirking up, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

"You're here," he rasped, his voice barely audible, strained.

Tears blurred your vision.

You nodded, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, as if the pain could anchor you in the reality of the moment.

"Of course, I’m here," you said, your voice breaking. "Where else would I be?"

A bitter chuckle escaped him, though it sounded more like a cough. "By his side," he murmured, the weight of Gojo’s name heavy in the space between you.

You shook your head fiercely. "Don’t," you pleaded. "Don’t do that. Don’t push me away—not now."

His gaze softened, but there was a flicker of sadness in his expression. "Old habits, I guess."

Silence settled between you for a moment, save for the distant cries of the injured and the hum of the world continuing without care. You hated it. How could everything go on like this while he was slipping away?

"I should’ve done more," you blurted out, the confession tearing from your chest like a wound ripped open. "I should’ve stopped you... back then. I should’ve fought harder for you."

Suguru’s brows furrowed slightly, a mix of surprise and regret crossing his face. "You couldn’t have stopped me," he said softly. "I made my choice."

"But I should have tried!" you cried, your voice cracking under the weight of your guilt. "I knew you were hurting. I saw it, and I—" Your words faltered, choked by a sob. "I thought if I gave you space, you’d come back. That you’d find your way back to me. To us."

His hand, weak but steady, reached out to yours. His touch was colder than you remembered, but it grounded you all the same. "Don’t blame yourself," he murmured. "You... you were the one good thing I had left, and I couldn’t taint that. You were my light, even when I didn’t deserve it."

You leaned closer, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. "You’ve always deserved it," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I never stopped loving you, Suguru. Not for a second. Not even when you—"

Your voice caught, and you lowered your head, pressing your forehead against his. He smelled faintly of blood and something earthy, something that reminded you of home.

"I’m so sorry," you whispered. "I’m so, so sorry."

Suguru’s breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought you saw his composure crack. His eyes glistened, his lips parting as though to say something, but he hesitated. "I... I don’t deserve your love," he finally said, his voice barely more than a breath. "Not after everything I’ve done. The people I’ve hurt."

You pulled back slightly, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. "You deserve every ounce of love, Suguru," you said fiercely, your voice steadier than you thought possible. "Even when you were lost, even when I didn’t know how to reach you—I loved you."

And then, before either of you could second-guess, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft, tentative, a brush of lips that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. Suguru stiffened beneath you, his breath hitching, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a brief, fragile moment, it was as though the weight of the world had lifted. There was only you, only him.

When you pulled back, his gaze searched yours, wide with surprise and something else—something raw and unguarded. "Why...?" he asked, his voice cracking, his brows furrowing as though the question itself pained him. "Why would you...?"

You smiled through your tears, shaking your head. "Because I never stopped," you said simply. "And because you deserved to know before—" Your voice broke again, and you choked back a sob. "Before it’s too late."

A tear slipped down his cheek, and his lips curved into the faintest smile.

"You’re cruel," he whispered, though there was no malice in his tone. "Giving me a taste of something I can’t hold onto."

"You’ve always held it," you said, your voice trembling. "Even when you didn’t know it."

You kissed him again, deeper this time, as if you could pour all the love, all the regret, all the words left unsaid into that single moment. When you pulled back, Suguru’s eyes were glassy, his breaths shallower than before. God no- please, he needs more time.

"I wish..." he began, but his voice faltered.

You nodded, understanding the words he couldn’t say. "Me too," you whispered, your thumb brushing against his cheek. "I wish we had more time."

The light in his eyes began to fade, and panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to stay steady. This was his moment, not yours. You wouldn’t let your fear steal it from him.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "For... for everything."

Your heart shattered, the pieces lodging in your throat, but you managed a smile, even as tears blurred your vision. "Always," you whispered. "Always, Suguru."

His eyes lingered on yours for a heartbeat longer before they slipped shut, his breath hitching once, then stilling. You clung to him, pressing your forehead to his, your tears mixing with the blood and sweat on his skin.

And then, there was nothing.

The grand hall buzzed with life, the air thick with wine, roasted meats, and the chatter of those brave—or foolish—enough to attend a banquet in Ryomen Sukuna's domain. You, one of the longest-standing servants in his service, moved amidst the chaos, your well-practiced steps carrying trays, refilling goblets, and blending into the shadows. You had no illusions about your position here. To serve the King of Curses was to balance on a knife's edge, but the years had hardened you. You were still alive, and in a place like this, that was an achievement in itself.

Perhaps you were even favored.

The whispers among the other servants suggested so. Sukuna, for all his wrath and godlike power, hadn’t crushed you beneath his four arms or silenced you for eternity. It wasn’t kindness, you knew that much. But the fact that you were still here, breathing, meant something. And that meant you tread carefully—at least most of the time.

But tonight? Tonight, you drank (a terrible decision, really).

The banquet was in full swing, and even servants were afforded some respite during such grand affairs. You’d accepted a goblet of sake, relishing the brief warmth it offered your tired limbs, and maybe—just maybe—you indulged in one too many. Which is why you didn’t immediately notice the attention of a particular male servant lingering too long, his touch brushing your arm as he whispered something that made your stomach twist unpleasantly.

“Don’t.” Your voice was firm, but the man didn’t relent, his smirk a sickening thing.

The room suddenly felt too small, the flickering torchlight casting shadows that felt sharper, darker. You turned, stumbling slightly in your attempt to move away, only to collide with something solid, something unyielding.

Four arms caught you in an iron grip, steadying your swaying form.

And then you looked up.

Sukuna, in all his terrifying glory, loomed over you.

His dual faces stared down, one expression unreadable, the other bearing a smirk that could freeze blood. His crimson eyes glowed faintly, and the room seemed to hold its breath. The noise, the revelry—it all faded into nothingness as your brain registered who you’d just stumbled into.

“Oh—my Lord, I—” Words failed you, and before you could think better of it, you leaned up on unsteady toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

As if that'd make any situation better.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t even logical. You’d kissed him out of pure instinct, as though the ridiculous gesture could smooth over your mistake. The taste of sake lingered on your lips, and you felt his skin—warm, impossibly warm—beneath them.

The world stopped.

Sukuna didn’t move, didn’t speak. He merely stared at you, the faintest arch of his brow the only indication of his surprise. One of his mouths twitched, as though he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or bare his teeth.

But the other servant? He slinked away without another word, the weight of Sukuna’s gaze enough to cow even the boldest.

You, however, weren’t thinking about that. You were thinking about how dead you were.

“My apologies, my Lord,” you mumbled, stepping back quickly, your legs trembling as you bowed low. “It was a mistake. I—I’ll leave—”

You fled without hesitation, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

*-*

The morning came too soon, and with it, a summons to Sukuna’s quarters.

You stood outside the heavy wooden doors, your palms sweating despite the cold. Servants whispered as they passed, their pitying gazes confirming your worst fears.

You’d kissed the King of Curses- on the cheek- but still.

You’d crossed a line so absurd it was almost laughable—almost.

The doors creaked open, and you stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of incense and something darker, something uniquely him. Sukuna lounged on a throne-like chair, his four arms resting lazily, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your knees threaten to give out.

“You summoned me, my Lord.” Your voice was steady—barely.

He leaned forward slightly, a smile curling one of his mouths. “Do you make it a habit to kiss your superiors, little one? Or am I special?”

Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your chest.

“No, my Lord. It was— It wasn’t intentional. I—”

“Explain.” His tone was almost amused, but the weight of his command was unmistakable.

You swallowed hard, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “There was a servant. He—he wouldn’t leave me alone. I was trying to get away, and I—” You broke off, heat flooding your face as you realized how ridiculous it all sounded. “I thought… If I kissed you, he’d stop.”

Silence.

And then Sukuna laughed.

It wasn’t the cruel, mocking laugh you’d feared. It was low, rumbling, and almost—almost—genuine. “You used me as a shield? Bold. Stupid, but bold.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you—”

“Offend me?” He rose, his massive form towering over you as he descended the steps toward where you stood trembling. One clawed hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re lucky I find this amusing. If it were anyone else…”

His words hung in the air, unfinished, and you didn’t need him to elaborate.

“But…” His voice softened, though it was no less dangerous. “The thought of another human touching what’s mine—” His grip tightened ever so slightly, his crimson eyes darkening. “—that doesn’t sit well with me.”

You blinked, confusion warring with fear. “Yours?”

“Yes, mine.” The declaration was calm, almost matter-of-fact. “You’ve served me longer than any other. You’re still alive. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

Your heart stuttered, his words wrapping around you like a noose. “I—”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, little one.” He released you, turning back toward his throne. “You’ll stay by my side from now on. I don’t want anyone else getting ideas.”

The dismissal was clear, but your legs refused to move, your mind reeling. Sukuna glanced back, his smirk widening at your stunned expression. “What are you waiting for? Go. And don’t make me summon you for something so trivial again.”

You bowed quickly, fleeing the room before he could change his mind.

As you stumbled into the corridor, your heart still racing, one thought burned in your mind.

What just happened?

Choso hadn’t expected to see you here.

The fight had been messy—blood everywhere, clinging to his skin, his clothes, the ground. Some of it wasn’t his own, but that didn’t make it better. The curse had been stubborn, and Choso’s cursed technique demanded sacrifice, drawing from the very essence of his being to fuel his strength.

Now, the aftermath was a field of carnage, and he stood in the middle of it, panting. His hair clung to his damp forehead, stray strands falling from the tie that barely kept it in place. Crimson stained his hands, dripping from his fingertips like a grim metronome. He was still catching his breath when your voice broke through the haze.

“Choso!”

You ran toward him, your expression shifting from relief to concern as you closed the distance. He froze, wide-eyed, as you reached him, ignoring the gore and grime that painted him from head to toe.

“Hey—what are you doing here?” His voice came out rough, almost scolding, but the undercurrent of worry was impossible to miss. “This isn’t a safe place—”

“Are you okay?” you interrupted, not stopping until you were right in front of him. You looked him over, your hands hovering near his arm before pulling back. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s not mine,” he said quickly, though his voice faltered when he saw the doubt flash in your eyes. “...Most of it isn’t mine.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as you stepped even closer. He could feel your warmth now, the way your presence melted into his, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“You shouldn’t—”

Before he could finish, you cupped his face in your hands, ignoring the sticky residue of blood that smeared against your palms. His lips parted in a silent protest that died the second your lips met his.

The kiss was soft, lingering—nothing hurried, nothing frantic. Just your warmth, your assurance, pouring into him like sunlight piercing through a storm. His mind blanked. For a moment, the weight of the fight, the exhaustion, the blood, it all evaporated.

When you pulled back, you didn’t move far, your faces still close enough for him to see the tiny flecks of color in your eyes.

“I’m covered in blood,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“So what?” You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face with a thumb. “I still love you.”

The words hit him harder than any blow he’d taken during the fight. He stared at you, his breath catching, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might give out.

“You shouldn’t—” he began, but you cut him off again, this time with a finger pressed gently to his lips.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I should or shouldn’t feel.” Your voice was soft but firm, leaving no room for argument. “I love you, Choso. Blood, scars, all of it.”

He swallowed hard, searching your face for any sign of hesitation, any trace of fear. But all he found was sincerity, shining as brightly as the sun.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he cursed himself for it, looking away. “I don’t deserve that.”

“Yes, you do,” you said without missing a beat. You tilted his chin back toward you, forcing him to meet your gaze. “And I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe it.”

For a moment, he could only stare at you, his mind a whirlwind of emotions too tangled to unravel. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he reached for you, his blood-streaked hands trembling as they came to rest on your waist.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with something unspoken, something fragile.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you,” you said with a gentle laugh, leaning in to rest your forehead against his.

He closed his eyes, letting the sound of your laughter fill the hollow spaces inside him. For the first time in what felt like forever, the blood on his hands didn’t feel like a weight he had to carry alone.

“I’ll get better at this,” he promised, his voice a quiet vow.

“You don’t have to,” you replied softly. “You’re enough just like this.”

And in that moment, with your arms around him and your love anchoring him, he almost believed it.

Shiu Kong was done.

Done with Toji’s crap, done with his own responsibilities, done with the persistent ache in his shoulders from hunching over paperwork all damn day.

His tie was loosened, but it felt more like a noose. A neat pile of ash gathered in the tray beside him, his third cigarette of the last hour smoldering between his fingers. Even the quiet hum of his office was suffocating. He just wanted— needed—a moment of silence, of nothingness, where the world would stop demanding every ounce of his energy.

So when the door creaked open, a surge of frustration welled up in his chest.

“Not now,” Shiu barked, spinning his chair around, ready to tell whoever it was to get the hell out. But the words died on his tongue the second he saw you.

You.

His wife, standing there with that soft, knowing smile. The one that threatened to disarm him every single time. And before he could say anything—an apology, a question, anything—you closed the distance, your hands cradling his jaw like he was something fragile.

Then, you kissed him.

It wasn’t hurried or fleeting. It wasn’t the type of kiss meant to start anything more. No, this was one of those grounding, soul-deep kisses—the kind that said everything words couldn’t.

Shiu froze. For a heartbeat, his mind couldn’t quite catch up. But then, his eyes slipped shut, and he melted into you.

God, he melted.

The cigarette tumbled from his fingers into the ashtray as his hands came up to hold your waist, pulling you closer like he needed you to keep him tethered to the earth.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead pressed lightly against yours. His eyes opened, and there you were, looking at him like he was something worth saving.

“...I was working,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

“I know,” you replied softly, brushing a thumb along the dark circles under his eyes. “But you looked like you needed a reminder of why you bother.”

He huffed, a sound caught between a laugh and a sigh. His head tilted, and you felt his lips graze your temple. A quiet, almost whispered, “You’re too good to me.”

“Someone has to be.”

The words came out lighter than you intended, but there was no mistaking the sincerity beneath them. You stepped back slightly, fingers still brushing against his tie as you loosened it further.

“You’ve been at this for hours. You’re going to work yourself into an early grave,” you chided, though your tone was gentle.

“Could be worse. Could be Toji burying me,” Shiu muttered darkly, his lips twitching in that way they always did when he tried to hide his amusement.

You rolled your eyes. “If Toji doesn’t kill you, the stress will.” Your hands slid up his chest and rested over his racing heart. “Take a break. Five minutes, even.”

He looked at you like you’d asked him to dismantle the entire operation single-handedly. “I can’t just—”

“You can,” you interrupted. “And you will. Because if you don’t, I’m going to drag you out of this chair myself.”

The silence stretched, but there was no tension in it. Just the steady thrum of your shared breath. Finally, he sighed, shoulders sagging like the fight had gone out of him.

“Fine,” he relented, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

“Oh, so you can be charmed,” you teased, grinning as he shot you a mock glare.

“You think you’re funny, huh?”

“I know I am.”

Another quiet laugh escaped him—this one real, unguarded. He reached for you again, his hand finding yours, thumb brushing along your knuckles. For the first time that day, the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured. But his tone betrayed him, softer than silk, full of gratitude he didn’t have the words for.

“And you love me anyway,” you replied, leaning in to press one last kiss to his forehead.

Shiu said nothing, but he didn’t need to. The way he pulled you into his lap, burying his face in the crook of your neck, spoke volumes. The smell of smoke and the faintest hint of cologne lingered between you as he breathed you in, as if you were the antidote to all the poison in his veins.

And for the first time in hours, Shiu didn’t think about Toji. Or work. Or the chaos waiting for him tomorrow.

For now, there was just you.

The room was cloaked in the kind of silence that only exhaustion could birth, heavy and thick like a shroud.

Papers were strewn across the table—witness statements, diagrams, hastily scrawled notes that didn’t quite connect. The overhead light buzzed faintly, and Hiromi could feel the weight of hours pressing down on his shoulders, the ache of his back bent too long over evidence that refused to yield.

You were pacing.

Barefoot now, shoes abandoned hours ago, socks sliding against the tiles as you moved like a restless pendulum, muttering bits of the puzzle under your breath. He watched you in the moments he dared to lift his gaze from the documents—watched how the fatigue softened your edges but sharpened your focus, a juxtaposition that shouldn’t have made sense but did.

Then, it happened.

You froze mid-step, eyes going wide, lips parting as if you’d just swallowed lightning.

“Wait,” you whispered, more to yourself than him. “Wait, wait, wait—oh my God.”

Hiromi sat up straighter, the air shifting with your energy as you spun on your heel, face alight with something triumphant, manic, and devastatingly beautiful. “We’ve got it.”

“What?” His voice was hoarse, unused for hours, but you didn’t answer. You only crossed the room in three steps, grabbed his face in your hands like he was some divine revelation in human form, and kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t even fully conscious—an act born purely of adrenaline and sleeplessness and the electric hum of victory. Your lips pressed to his, fleeting but fierce, a lightning strike that left him stunned in its wake.

Before he could even process it—before he could react—you pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, as if you didn’t even realize what you’d done.

“We’ve got it,” you repeated, a grin breaking across your face. “I have to tell them—this’ll break the whole case open—”

And then you were gone, feet pounding against the floor, the door swinging shut behind you with a gust of air that smelled faintly of you.

Hiromi blinked. Once. Twice.

The world slowly resumed its shape around him, but everything felt wrong now, tilted. You’d kissed him.

You’d kissed him.

And then you’d left like it was nothing, like it hadn’t sent a shockwave through every nerve in his body.

For a moment, he just sat there, fingers brushing absently against his lips, stunned into an unfamiliar stillness. Then—

“Wait.”

He shot to his feet, chair scraping harshly against the floor, legs moving before his brain caught up.

“Wait!” His voice echoed in the hallway as he stumbled after you, his usual composure unraveling like thread. “Hey—wait—come back!”

You were already halfway to the supervisor’s office, still riding the high of discovery, when his hand caught your wrist. The sudden pull made you spin, chest colliding with his as you blinked up at him, wide-eyed and confused. “Hiromi, what—”

“You kissed me,” he said, breathless and disbelieving, like the words had been dragged out of him by some unseen force.

“What?”

“You kissed me,” he repeated, voice cracking just slightly, and he was looking at you now like you’d hung the stars but forgotten to tell him they were his. “You—back there—you kissed me.”

For a second, you just stared at him. Then, like a slow dawn, realization crept over your face, turning your expression into something equal parts horror and wonder.

“Oh,” you whispered.

“Yeah.”

“I—oh.”

“You already said that,” he pointed out, but his voice was softer now, almost teasing, and you couldn’t help the way your lips quirked despite the mortification blooming in your chest.

“I—” You were cut off by his lips on yours, warmer and surer than before, a second chance taken with both hands.

This time, you kissed him back.

And when you broke apart, both of you laughing, breathless, and slightly unsteady on your feet, it felt like the exhaustion had been replaced with something brighter, lighter.

“Case first,” you murmured against his lips, though your hands didn’t quite loosen their grip on his jacket.

“Fine,” he said, smirking. “But I’m not letting you run off this time.”

And you didn’t.

A/N: ikikikik that hiromi's and nanami's are similar but LET MEEEE BEEEEEEEE. i tried okay, an attempt was made or whatever.Again, i'm so sorry to the anon that requested this and i stupidly deleted the ask. at first i wrote the gojo one in "her" pov, but i didn't like that and went back to "you".

Masterlist

:)

[sailorsoons]

ANOTHA DAY ANOTHA REPOST OF MY ORIGINAL REVIEW OF THIS FUCKING MF FIC. WOW. I LOVE DIS ONE.

This one is for all of my sleepy hot girls (gn) and the demons (existing) that keep them up at night because WE DESERVE TO SLEEP AND NOW I'M KIND OF FUCKING MAD THAT I HAVE TO TAKE AMBIEN WHEN I COULD BE TAKING LEE JIHOON???

Putting a cut because this review is actually me just babbling at Jade because I'm so mad and this is so good and I've never wanted something so much before ok

GOD I'm obsessed with this. LIterally the way you write Jihoon is dfogijdogisdjrgt it like turns my brain to static how he's just like very gentle and soft spoken but also incredibly firm and I literally am shaking in my boots right now I want him so baaaaad Jade lmao you have made my Jihoon desire go 📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈

The "that's enough" actually make my stomach drop to my asshole and I rolled over in bed and screaming into my pillow and kicked my feet that was so embarrassing for me oh my goddddddddd.

This paragraph has ruined me:

Whatever effect Jihoon has on you seems to be mutual. When he pulls back, he’s equally as breathless, likely just as starry-eyed. Awash in that lilac glow peeking in from the outside, he’s downright celestial — almost too divine to look at directly without watering eyes.

I'm insane, I literally feel feral. Awash in the lilac glow and the almost too divine I'm literally going to fucking come undone because WHAT THE FUCK that is so beautiful but also like - such a SPECIFIC muted color in the darkness that I inherently understand and god dammit I hate you!!!!!

Anyways I don't really know how you expect me to go to bed ever again and just take meds when this scenario now exists. I will now make it my sole responsibility to @ you in our server every night at 3:30 AM when I'm in goblin hours and then think wow, sure wish Jihoon could fix me which will ultimately make me mad and shake a hair brush at you angrily like that one meme.

Also out of context picture of reader at the end of this:

insomniac | ljh (m)

there are certainly worse ways to tire yourself out.

summary: it’s 2:00 am, and you can’t turn your brain off. thankfully, your boyfriend knows just how to scramble it. pairing: lee jihoon x reader au: established relationship type: one-shot (smut) word count: 5.2k rating: 18+ cw: reader is afab but no pronouns are used; reader has insomnia (unspecified re: prof. diagnosed or self-diagnosed); there’s a sentence about reader taking “an inadvisable amount of melatonin gummies” — don’t do this! — but they’re not impaired in any way; reader’s internal monologue is kind of angsty/self-deprecating at times; blonde!woozi has his hair in a bun, which is a warning in and of itself; completely unedited because my perfectionism has killed every wip i’ve attempted for months. ✰ minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my work. smut warnings: big dick lee jihoon™️, nipple stim, v fingering, unprotected p in v penetration, wee bit of aftercare. there are a total of six (6) orgasms in here because i believe in going big from home, incl. nipple stim & a-spot orgasms. a/n: i haven’t written anything in forever, due in large part to the fact that i’m exhausted but can never fucking sleep. i truly hope this isn’t incoherent garbage. 😵‍💫 dedicated to my fellow woozi-simping insomniac, @sailorrhansol. may we eventually rest in peace. multi permanent taglist. seventeen permanent taglist.

You should be asleep.

With the day you’ve had, you should’ve drifted off the second your body hit the sheets; and you should’ve stayed that way — unmoving, unconscious — for several hours, at minimum.

If the week’s worth of sleep debt wasn’t exhausting enough in and of itself, every single circumstance surrounding you begs you to give into the weight of your eyelids. To let yourself be lulled, just this once. Soothed.

From the vent in the corner, the gentle hum of the aircon goads you. It does its very best to convince you to curl up under the softness of your comforter, and to some extent, you’ve listened. You’re burrowed beneath your blankets with only the upper half of your face exposed, which should be more than enough to sway you. 

It’s not, though.

With no ability to keep your eyes closed, you stare dejectedly at the wall in front of you. Laying on your side, gazing straight ahead, you watch the faint echoes of the city lights as they wash over white paint. Not much bleeds through the blinds, leaving only hints of cobalt and red to blend into some sleepy shade of lilac. Whether or not you want to be awake to perceive it in the first place, you have to admit it: it’s beautiful.

But it’s not enough.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the groan building in your chest. With how closely he’s got you nestled against his body, Jihoon would feel it if you let that frustration manifest. You already ache from the sheer amount of time you’ve been policing your own posture; making any amount of noise now would interrupt the slow, delicate breaths he’s aiming into the back of your neck. Frankly, you’d rather die.

Taking his silence as a sign that you’ve remained off his radar, you let out a measured sigh, too worried that the full rise and fall of your chest will disturb him. 

Nothing.

But then, the arm draped over your waist shifts. 

“Fuck,” you mouth to no one.

It wouldn’t be out-of-character for Jihoon to feel the restless energy pouring out of you in waves, even in the depths of a sleep cycle. He senses every tiny change in your ecosystem long before you do. As unlikely as he is to ever admit it, it has to be exhausting to be attuned to someone so neurotic. He deserves every second of sleep he can manage to get.

You grit your teeth and demand yourself to calm down, all while refusing to acknowledge how completely your actions and commands conflict.  

Maybe, you attempt to bamboozle yourself, you can sleep vicariously through him. 

He’ll wake up rested, and when you look in the mirror later, the first thing you see won’t be the cartoonish bags under your eyes.

It’ll be fine. 

It’ll be fine.

If you go to sleep right now, you’ll get five hours and thirty —

“You haven’t unclenched a single muscle since you climbed into bed,” notes the world’s groggiest voice from over your shoulder.

Jihoon’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck when he speaks. Without that tickling sensation, you might’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you were simply hearing things just now. That it was merely a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and the inadvisable number of melatonin gummies you ate before brushing your teeth.

He shifts again. This time, there’s no mistaking his movements. The arm slung over your side pulls you closer. So close, in fact, that you can feel the contented sigh leave his body, like his isn’t separate from yours at all.

With the distance erased, his face — the cold tip of his nose and the sheet-creased warmth of his cheeks — can nuzzle properly into the crook of your neck. You swear you feel the hint of a smile there somewhere, too. If you had to guess, it matches the upward curve on your lips.

“What are we spinning our wheels over tonight?” He asks without a hint of judgment, as if your burdens are automatically his, too.

The fact that he can’t see your face doesn’t stop you from frowning. Yet again, you’ve managed to drag him into your insomnia. Jihoon may never fault you for it, but you don’t need him to. You’ll hold it against yourself — grudge by proxy. 

“I don’t even know,” you admit with a frustrated huff. “There’s nothing coherent going on up there.” You lift your hand and gesture vaguely in the dark. “Nothing articulable, just… blender brain.”

“Mmm.”

Jihoon sounds so fucking sleepy, so at peace next to you, that it makes your stomach hurt. You wish you could be like him. For as calm as his presence makes you, you’ve learned that you’re incapable of feeling fully relaxed. At least, not in the way he is when he’s got his arms around you. He deserves to have that effect on you.

A beat passes in silence, save for his soft breathing. For a minute, you’re convinced that he’s fallen back asleep; and you pray to whoever that he has. He deserves that, too.

“How do we unplug the blender?”

You have to bite back a smile for two reasons: the way his words sound slurred when delivered directly to your skin, and the distinctly Jihoon drive he has to fix a problem that isn’t his.

When the love sickness leaves you down bad, and you forget to respond with words, Jihoon prompts you softly. “Hmm?” 

He punctuates this reminder with a kiss to your shoulder, then lets his lips linger against your skin, musing, “I can think of two things that usually do the trick: getting you hotteok from that cart down the block, which is currently closed, and —”

The rest of that thought fades out. Leaving you on the edge of your seat, Jihoon continues to kiss a languid line along the perimeter of your shoulder, as if he’s conducting some meticulous, geographical survey. Like missing a single spot will have grave consequences. A perfectionist through and through, even half-asleep.

You feel yourself melting, bit by bit, into his torso; the warmth of his bare chest against your back only expedites the process. Nevertheless, you peep, “What’s the second thing?”

His answer comes with a slip of his hand, down down down along the slope of your waist to your hip, long before he verbalizes it. It’s simple, delivered in that rough, early-morning voice you love so much. It’s more than enough to make you shiver:

“Making you cum.”

But as crazy as that statement makes you, you can’t make yourself act on it.

At any other time, you’d jump on that opportunity — jump on him — in a heartbeat. All you’re able to do now is jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound. 

Somewhere, deep down, you know he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t truly want it, want you; but that goddamned, sleep-deprived goblin taking up space in the far reaches of your mind is far louder than the voice of reason.

He’s only offering so you’ll stop keeping him awake.

He’s as exhausted as you are, if not more so for having to deal with your disorder again.

Burden.

Placing your hand on top of his, you slip your fingers into the spaces you find and squeeze once for emphasis. “I love you,” you start. He stills. “But, Jihoon, you’re so tired. I can hear it in your voice. Please, go back to sleep. It’s okay — I’m okay.”

Jihoon doesn’t push back. He stays within bounds, honors your shitty decision because, after all, it’s yours to make. With another kiss to your shoulder and a squeeze to your hand, he murmurs, “Love you,” before relaxing back against the pillows.

Minutes pass.

Maybe hours, for all you know. 

As the window of opportunity creaks shut, regret seeps through the gap. You know you’re wrong; you know he meant it; and you know that someone would have to be out of their fucking gourd to politely decline what he’s offering.

The unbearable heat licking up your neck is either embarrassment or the ghost of orgasms lost coming to haunt you.

Maybe you’d be better equipped to tell the difference if you could just — fucking — sleep.

Driven half mad, you try to keep from squirming.

You fail.

Maybe, since you can’t sleep, you and your wilted little brain should’ve let your perfect, empathetic boyfriend fu —

“That’s enough,” Jihoon grunts.

The hand underneath yours is suddenly above it, overtaking it and tugging carefully until your whole body moves. In the time it takes for you to roll from your side, Jihoon sits up and clears space for your frame to settle. You barely have time to blink dumbly up at him from your back before he cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, knees now on either side of your thighs.

Your breath seems to have gotten lost in the fray, but it’s not the sudden moves that shook it loose; it’s the sight of him looming over you, damn near scowling despite his lead-lidded eyes. It’s the disheveled bun of platinum hair at the crown of his head, which must’ve shifted in his sleep and spilled out the tendrils that now frame his set jaw.

The very best you can come up with is, “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” he retorts without missing a beat.

That face — god, that face — doesn’t budge. On the contrary, your stomach flips. This the most stern you’ve ever seen him. Confusingly, his tone isn’t even remotely harsh when he continues, “If those gears in your head grind any louder, the whole neighborhood will be, too.”

Grimacing, you open your mouth to apologize, but Jihoon’s eyes are searching your face with a distinct flicker of concern. You know that look. You also know that nothing you can think to say will make it disappear.

He speaks when you don’t, hard edges softening slightly. “I can fix it,” he insists, though you know him well enough to hear the plea hidden in there. 

Let me take care of you.

That little spark of desperation burns you up in a flash. You wonder if he can feel the fire spread when he lifts his right hand off the mattress just to swipe his thumb slowly over the edge of your cheekbone. Without thinking, you let go of the tension in your neck. Your head tilts automatically, seeking comfort you’ve only ever found in him, and rests against his palm.

“I have to admit it, though,” Jihoon confesses. “Yours isn’t the only mind that’s restless.”

He moves his hand away from your face but keeps his eyes trained on you. The incessant need you feel to apologize bubbles up yet again, uninvited. You swallow it. As you do, his fingertips trail down the length of your neck at a snail’s pace, effectively turning your thoughts to static.

“I’ve been holding you for hours now, and all that time —” 

He pauses just long enough to glance down at his hand, which hasn’t.

“— I’ve been wondering if I should have you channel that energy and tire yourself out on top of me —”

His touch whispers over your collarbone. It’s the only proof that you have any bones at all. Until now, you were sure that the rest of you had melted entirely, puddling uselessly on the sheets below. This time, when you bite your lips and swallow weakly, it’s not an apology that you’re keeping to yourself but a whimper.

“— or lay you back against the pillows —”

You don’t mean to directly contradict his statement the moment he makes it, but you can’t help it. The thin, cotton fabric of your top does nothing to dull the sensation of his hand on your left breast; leaves you with the unmitigated brush of his thumb tracing delicate swirls over your nipple. The breath you’ve been holding comes out shuddered, back arching off the mattress to chase his touch.

Emboldened by your reaction, Jihoon pulls his gaze off his own ministrations and directs it through his lashes back up at you. One eyebrow momentarily flexes in challenge. “— Take my time, and —”

Whatever desperate look you give him earns you some amount of mercy. He picks up where he left off in that dizzyingly deep voice of his, words molten, and drags the hem of your shirt up your torso. “Fuck you deep, until the only thing you can do is relax.”

Gobsmacked is too weak a word for the impact that suggestion has on you. The idea alone sparks a kind of relief so foreign and so sorely needed that it almost makes you cry. 

You don’t, thankfully. 

Instead, you stagger along the borderline of babbling. 

“I want that,” you announce on a shaky exhale. Then, with a shake of your head, you correct yourself, “No, it’s not even want. It’s —” Frustration over your inability to form a coherent thought drives you to scrub your hands over your face. “— need. I need you.”

You accompany that declaration by slapping your hands down at your sides, finishing off with a muted thump when your palms hit the mattress with enough force to bounce them upwards again. 

Even with your eyes screwed shut, you know Jihoon is sitting back on his knees, watching you with equal parts surprise and amusement. There’s no need to open them to confirm it, but you do anyway. His pupils have dilated widely enough to rival the moon floating over the skyline.

Though he’d be well within bounds to tell you to chill the fuck out, he doesn’t. He never has, as far as you can recall. In fact, Jihoon doesn’t say a thing. His hands speak for him, reaching for the shirt he so nearly got off your body before you lost whatever was left of your mind.

Keeping his word, as always, Jihoon takes his time. He takes care in sliding that tank top up and over your head without snagging your earrings, then he wordlessly drops it off the side of the bed to be forgotten about.

With your chest bare, it’s obvious how rapid your breathing is. Noting the quick rise and fall, he traces the curve of your waist with the side of his right index finger and softly says the quiet part out loud: “Let me take care of you.”

And you do.

You let him maneuver your body so he can settle with one knee between your thighs, rather than straddle them. You let go of your death grip on the sheets and thread your fingers through his hair when he leans back down to kiss you; and when he licks into your mouth, you let him swallow the moan that builds under the delicious weight of his body on yours.

Already, you feel every shitty, stupid thought begin to dissolve. You should’ve known this would be the case. 

He said he’d fix it, didn't he? 

And here he is, proving to you that his touch is magic. All it takes to coax the tension out of your muscles is the tender pass of his hand.

Whatever effect Jihoon has on you seems to be mutual. When he pulls back, he’s equally as breathless, likely just as starry-eyed. Awash in that lilac glow peeking in from the outside, he’s downright celestial — almost too divine to look at directly without watering eyes.

Undeterred, you stare right back at him and sigh, “You’re beautiful.”

His nose scrunches for a split second, just like it always does when you make him suffer through a compliment. Your exposure therapy is working, though. For once, Jihoon doesn’t groan or tell you to keep your praise to yourself. The corner of his mouth curves upward — just barely — and he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” you quietly insist.

Smirking slightly, he extends the index finger on his right hand and holds it to his lips. “You’re relaxing, remember?”

Though you could double-down, any fight you might’ve had in you fizzles out the second he bows his head and connects his lips to the underside of your jaw. Your head tilts further back with every centimeter he trails down the length of your neck, granting him increased access to wreck you even further. You have to keep your hands on whatever you can grip of his biceps — which ultimately isn’t much at all — to keep from floating away.

“Bold of you to call me beautiful,” he murmurs against your body, “When you just exist like this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue with a man who sounds so fucking reverent. Not in good faith, anyway. He says it with the kind of sincerity that underlines an undisputed fact; and you know better than to debate an expert.

With nothing to say, all you have left is to keen and melt even further into the mattress.

Like everything else he does, the way Jihoon kisses you is rhythmic. Steady and thoughtful, each feather-light graze of his lips on your skin causes your eyelids to flutter until you eventually decide to keep them shut. To cut out the visual and hone in on the physical sensation; to be truly present in the body he can’t get enough of.

As it turns out, being present earns the gift of his tongue circling one of your nipples. Soon after, you get the plush heat of his mouth enveloping the sensitive bud; the slow, deep pull of the suction he creates.

Eloquent as always, you moan, “Fuuuuck.”

The hand not holding up his weight massages your other breast, too considerate to leave half of you lonely. Whatever gentle pressure he maintains there builds inside you, further down.

It’s incredible.

No, it’s fucking perfect.

Jihoon switches sides, grazes your other nipple carefully with his teeth, and it’s over for you. You shudder beneath his body, back arching and a breathy sigh floating out of your chest.

Apparently, he’s just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Your eyes blink open and find him hovering over you with his jaw partially dropped, still smiling somehow.

Your questions overlap.

“Did you just —”

“— make me cum from this?”

His bemusement switches in an instant to something you can only describe as bewitched. Voice gravel-lined, Jihoon groans, “Oh, shit.” Adding immediately and twice as earnestly, “Goddamn.”

A flash of conflict makes him freeze. You know he’s facing the same internal debate that you are: he needs to be inside of you in the worst way, right now, but that’s not a conclusion the pair of you can just — leap to. 

There’s simply too much of him to take if he doesn’t fuck you open with his fingers first.

Jihoon shakes his head, as if he’s telling himself no. Like he’s reminding himself of what he promised — or threatened, more like — earlier, that he’s taking his time.

As much as you want to beg otherwise, you know you shouldn’t. So, you don’t. You reach out, encircle his wrist in your hand, and bring him back within reach. 

With undivided attention and darkening eyes, Jihoon watches you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue circling. He fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, all the while professing, “You’re perfect.”

Not generally, no.

However, Jihoon has a habit of ending up correct, even if you disagree. This isn’t a battle worth picking. In this moment, you’re willing to entertain the possibility that you’re perfect for him.

A soft pop underscores your choice to release him. His mouth must’ve gotten jealous; it swiftly replaces his fingers, tongue reclaiming any territory he wrongfully assumes he’s lost.

You’d be content to stay this way forever — and likely could, if it came down to it — but Jihoon has an agenda. He sticks to it, to the letter, and in dropping his hand down your body, he lets his knuckles drag softly over the trail he blazes. The little sleep shorts you wear are moved aside, and your thighs part for him, too, offering unrestricted access.

Two fingers slip inside of you easily, no doubt aided by the orgasm that snuck up on you — the one you’re still thinking about; the one he’ll secretly hang his hat on forever, having brought it on without touching you here at all.

“Listen to you,” he smirks against your lips with a curl of his fingers. 

As if you weren’t already acutely aware of the way you’ve drenched him to the base knuckles, he rolls his wrist, stroking your g-spot while the heel of his hand nudges your clit. Even the dulcet hum of the aircon isn’t enough to mute the obscenity; you hear the slick rush with every slow thrust of his fingers.

You respond with some sort of whimper. The sound barely registers without any breath behind it. If Jihoon hears it, he doesn’t let it affect his pace — just the stretch. He scissors his middle and index on the way out, then returns with his ring finger, unearthing a proper moan from the very bottom of your lungs.

His head tilts to the side. Warm breath hits the shell of your ear, prompting a contradictory shiver. “I think you’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

Buried in you, he taps his fingers against that same, spongy spot. Every neuron you have begins to buzz.

“In fact, I think you want to cum all over my fingers,” he whispers, goading you with his rough voice dropped low. “Think you wanna soak my fucking hand, so I can fill you properly.”

You think you’ll have to apologize later for the crescent-shaped indents your nails leave on his shoulders.

When your second orgasm overtakes you, you feel it tingling all the way up at the crown of your head. Just like the first, it’s not a clap of thunder but a roll — patient. The intensity only builds, the longer it lasts. Jihoon makes sure it does — makes no adjustment to the slow, steady tempo, as it pulls you fully apart.

Every muscle you tensed as you came goes limp. It’s anyone’s guess whether you have any bones left. You’re sure that the only thing keeping you from seeping like honey through the mattress, or pooling on the floor below, is Jihoon’s body caging you in.

“Don’t ask me what my name is.” Your head droops to the side, and you mumble, “I do not remember, and I do not care.”

He kisses the temple that isn’t smushed against his left forearm, which, coupled with his elbow, now holds both of your weight. “If you’re spent, I can sto—”

“Don’t you dare.”

The emphatic look you muster lacks energy, you’re sure, but the point still stands, even if your stamina doesn’t. Half-lidded, you stare at him with all the force you can find.

“I’ll stay awake for the rest of my life if you stop now. I swear to you, Lee Jihoon, I will die on this hill.”

“Easy, tiger,” he purrs. Out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you clock the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The whole point of this was for you to relax.”

To prove that you haven’t lost the plot entirely, you close your eyes, rather than roll them. Then, you cave completely. 

You whisper, leaving no question as to how badly you need him, “Jihoon… Please.”

“I’ve got you.” He nudges your temple with the tip of his nose. “But I can’t fuck you unless you give my arm back.”

Begrudgingly, you scoot your head several centimeters across the pillow, heaving a put-upon sigh as if he’s asked you to move a mountain instead. You give yourself a moment to mourn the loss of your headrest, then you open your eyes. As you do, any thought of pouting flies out the window.

Having crawled back to the end of your bed, Jihoon gets to his feet. Once there, he drops his hands and eyes to the loose knot cinching the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a sight you’ve seen a thousand times — his naked chest so pale in contrast with his usual, all-black attire — yet it’s one you’ll never truly get over. Even harder to cope with is the fact that he’s never been in a hurry; not once in his goddamn life.

If you’re being honest, that’s one of the things you’ve always loved most about him. Envied, even. You fret endlessly about the process, whatever that may be; he trusts it. You scale the walls in anticipation; he’s never been caught sweating.

The best example of this comes the second he finishes addressing that knot. His sweatpants pool at his ankles; he kicks them aside; and you immediately set to wondering how in the motherfuck he managed to be so patient with you when he’s this incomprehensibly hard.

Really, you don’t deserve him.

Nevertheless, you get him anyway. 

Him pushing his flyways out of his face; him reaching out slowly to hook his fingers under the elastic band of your shorts; him cursing under his breath when he tosses those shorts over his shoulder and finds you wet and wanting.

In return, Jihoon gets you right where he wants you — trembling underneath him, with pliant legs opening wider at the request of his hands on your thighs. When his body fills the space between them, those same legs wrap around his back to keep him close, just like the arms you slink around his neck.

“Deep breath,” he reminds you as he lines himself up, only half-jokingly.

It’s good advice — something Jihoon probably should’ve heeded. 

He doesn’t. 

You keep your eyes on his when he slides inside of you, and you swear you see his mind blow in real time. Not that you have room to judge, however. In fact, that’s precisely what’s causing you to short-circuit: the perfect pressure of his length within your heat, sinking in slowly so as to not shock the system.

When he eventually bottoms out, low moan splintering from the depths of his chest, you have to blink quickly to keep tears within your waterline.

To check in, Jihoon runs his hand along the side of your thigh then back again. “Alright?”

Whatever you say in response comes out through a dreamy sigh, framed in quotation marks by fluttering lashes. Nonsense, most likely, or never better. In either case, he’ll understand; he always does.

Placing your hand on his, you slip your fingers over the top and pull him forward. He lets you, comes down carefully until the comfort of his weight against your frame makes you feel anchored. With every inch that’s erased between you, he fills you further, pushing out whatever air remains in your lungs through some needy little whine.

Among the million sensations you have to grapple with, the most hard-hitting, ironically, is comfort. Pure and unadulterated. You enveloping him, enveloping you.

To prove it to yourself that you’re not dreaming, you slip your fingers into his hair, nails scratching delicately over his scalp. In return, he rolls his hips forward, just like he promised — slow, steady, deep. You clench around him involuntarily, a reflex your body must’ve learned to keep him close.

“Love the way you grip me, but...” Jihoon exhales a sigh against your neck, head tilted to keep your face in his periphery. Pulling out further just to thrust in deeper, he warns, “You keep that up, and I’ll cum too soon.”

He’s one to talk.

Every time he grinds his hips languidly towards yours, you have to talk yourself off the ledge. 

If you let him wear you down again, you fear that there won’t be enough left of you to savor this; and you never want this moment to end. You want to live in it — to feel the delicious drag of his cock along your walls — to hear that obscene tide ebb and flow whenever he fucks himself further in you — to feel so fucking full —  for as long as he gives you. 

It was a valiant effort on your part, if you do say so yourself. Futile, though, because Jihoon pulls out all the stops. The next time he pulls himself from you just to roll back in, he swivels his hips as he thrusts, ensuring that you feel him everywhere.

“Oh.”

One syllable on a gasping breath, then you forget every single word in your vocabulary. Like warm molasses, bliss washes over you at half-speed, seeping in and sticking until the blender motor in your brain is fucked beyond repair.

At least you’re not the only one.

“Fuck, fuck —” 

Holding him as closely as you are, you feel each muscle in Jihoon’s body tense one-by-one, rippling as your third orgasm steals his first, going lax when his release floods. “— Fuck,” he groans, all the while twitching inside you.

Though he slows, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until he pants, “Kiss me,” that you realize it: Jihoon doesn’t intend to stop.

Neither, it seems, do you.

Maybe you’re greedy. Maybe you’re too obsessed with the brush of his tip against your cervix with every gentle, shallow thrust. Maybe, above all, it’s the way his cock doesn’t soften inside of you but his face does when he catches you looking at him from under a heavy curtain of lashes.

You catch him by the mouth, just like he asked. It’s indulgent — messy, echoing the other point where the two of you connect. Licking into him while he fucks himself into you, ragged breaths barely loud enough to overpower the explicit, sodden sound below.

“Can you still speak in sentences?” He pants in a rare moment when his lips break from yours.

Can feel you in my stomach, you want to say. 

“I’m — you’re gonna make me —”

You can’t choke out the words, though you suspect Jihoon gets the point. This far in, his touch reaches a detonator you didn’t even know existed; there’s no way he misses the explosion of pleasure throughout your entire goddamn body.

He’s caught in your blast radius, your walls pulsing and spasming to such an insane degree that he can barely move. Mind blown to fucking smithereens, your ears ring too loudly to hear whatever he says to you when he cums again — hard — and the arms bearing his weight buckle.

Jihoon’s flushed cheek winds up pressed to your shoulder. He stays there while your joint trembling subsides, then any muscle that could make him move is too spent to do so.

“What just happened?” He sounds as delirious as you feel. “That was… shit. What did your body just do?”

You have no idea. 

You have no capacity to form any.

All you have is the weight of his frame on yours and that of your eyelids, which flutter as you try and fail to keep them open. The best you can give is a non-responsive, utterly fucked-out sound — not enough shape to be a word, not enough breath to be a sigh.

Eventually, although you can’t imagine how, Jihoon finds enough strength to shift himself off of you. You don’t see anything that happens next, but you feel it all — the kiss to your temple; the hollowness when he pulls out and the sticky rush that chases him when he leaves.

“I’m coming back to clean you up,” he promises in a hushed tone from a million miles away. Chuckling despite his own sleepiness, he adds, “Don’t move.”

I won’t, you think but don’t say.

And you don’t move.

At least, not until the smell of hotteok reaches you eight hours later.

svt taglist: @ashonheavenscloud @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rasparagus @bouclesdefeu @ourkivee @sourkimchi @gyuguys

multi taglist: @bahng-chrizz @jihopesjoint @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon

also paging the cap gang: @daechwitatamic @yoongukie-ff

[echo-riot]

✞⛧ Texting loser!Ellie ✞⛧

An: I really love these tbh-

1:29 am

Ellie: Hey, uh… you busy?

You: Not really. Why?

Ellie: Oh, uh, no reason. Just… thinking about you. Like, not in a weird way. Or maybe a little weird? But not creepy weird. Just normal weird. You know what I mean?

You: Ellie, breathe. What’s on your mind?

Ellie: Okay, so, like… you know how I said I wasn’t gonna be all clingy? Yeah, I lied. I miss you. A lot. It’s pathetic. Please don’t make fun of me.

You: Aw, you’re cute. I miss you too. What are you doing right now?

Ellie: Thinking about your thighs. Uh—I MEAN. Playing guitar. Totally just playing guitar. Haha.

You: Ellie… are you serious right now?

Ellie: My brain is broken. Ignore me.

You: Nope. Too late. So, what exactly are you thinking about my thighs?

Ellie: STOP. I can’t handle this kind of pressure. I’m already sweating.

You: Sounds like a “you” problem. But I kinda like knowing you’re flustered over me.

Ellie: Oh, I’m beyond flustered. I’m like… short-circuiting. Can you just, like, show up at my place and sit on my face so I stop embarrassing myself?

You: Bold of you to assume I’d let you off the hook that easily.

Ellie: PLEASE, I’M BEGGING YOU. I’ll do anything. Wash your car? Carry your groceries? Worship the ground you walk on? Actually, I already do that

You: Yeah, I know you do. Loser.

Ellie: Rude, but accurate. Anyway, I gotta go. Gonna play guitar and pretend I didn’t just admit that I’m obsessed with you.

You: Obsessed, huh? Good to know. Maybe I’ll reward you later

Ellie: DON’T TEASE ME LIKE THAT. My heart can’t handle it.

You: Guess you’ll have to wait and find out. Bye, loser.

Ellie: I love you, okay? I LOVE YOU. There, I said it. Bye.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

2:20 pm

Ellie: Hey, so, uh… question.

You: Here we go. What’s up?

Ellie: Hypothetically… if I were to, like, write a song about you, would you think that’s cool or kinda cringe?

You: Depends. How many times does the word “thighs” show up in the lyrics?

Ellie: Why are you like this? I’m trying to be romantic, and you’re bullying me.

You: Oh, I’m the bully? Says the girl who stared at me for five minutes straight last night and then said, “Sorry, you’re just really distracting.”

Ellie: IT WAS A COMPLIMENT. Also, you were wearing those shorts. What was I supposed to do?

You: Be normal?

Ellie: Impossible. I saw your legs and forgot how to act. You’re lucky I didn’t pass out.

You: Wow, I’m flattered. So where’s this hypothetical song?

Ellie: …It’s not done yet. But I might’ve rhymed “perfect” with “I’m not worth it.” Thoughts?

You: Ellie, you’re such a loser, but I love you.

Ellie: Yeah? Say it again. Slowly this time.

You: Nice try. Not happening.

Ellie: Fine. Guess I’ll just sit here and suffer in silence, replaying it in my head.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

12:30 am

Ellie: Hey.

You: Hi. What now?

Ellie: What do you think it would take to convince you to marry me? Like, is there a specific snack you like? Or should I just propose while holding your dog hostage?

You: Ellie, we’ve been dating for three months.

Ellie: Okay, but, counterpoint: you’re perfect, and I don’t want to wait. I’d propose tomorrow if I wasn’t afraid of passing out mid-speech.

You: Big words for someone who forgets to text back for three days.

Ellie: HEY. That’s a creative process issue, not a love issue.

You: So what I’m hearing is… you’re madly in love with me and bad at time management.

Ellie: Exactly. See? You get me.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

3:30 pm

Ellie: Okay, I’m officially spiraling. Can I just tell you something without you making fun of me?

You: No promises. Go on.

Ellie: Sometimes I sit around and think about how lucky I am that you actually like me. Like, I’m a disaster, and you’re… you’re you. It doesn’t make sense, but I’m not questioning it. I just—thank you for putting up with me.

You: Ellie, you’re my favorite disaster. And if you keep being cute, I might actually have to show up at your place and kiss you right now.

Ellie: DO IT. PLEASE. I’LL PAY FOR YOUR GAS. I’LL—

You: Relax, loser. I’m already outside.

Ellie: Wait, what?! Hold on, I gotta brush my hair—

You: Too late. I’m coming in.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

10:30 am

Ellie: Hey.

You: Hi, Ellie. What’s up?

Ellie: Can I say something without you laughing at me?

You: You’ve already asked this today, and it was hilarious. Go ahead.

Ellie: Okay, so like… I’m trying really hard not to think about the way your ass looked in those jeans earlier.

You: Ellie.

Ellie: What? I’m being honest. It’s a problem. I almost walked into a pole because of you.

You: It’s not my fault you have no self-control.

Ellie: Self-control? With you? Yeah, right. You literally walked by me, and I stopped functioning.

You: Good to know I have that effect on you.

Ellie: Oh, you know. You definitely know. You’re evil for it, by the way.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

4:40 pm

Ellie: Hey. Are you busy?

You: Not really. Why?

Ellie: Because I was thinking… you should come over. Like, now.

You:Why?

Ellie: Because I miss you. And because I really need to kiss you. Maybe more than kiss you. But, uh… yeah.

You: You’re bold today.

Ellie: You’re hot every day, so I figured I’d stop pretending to be cool about it.

You: Ellie, you’re such a dork.

Ellie: Okay, but I’m YOUR dork. Come over so I can prove it.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

2:28 pm

Ellie: I just saw your Instagram story. I’m losing my mind over here.

You: Why? It’s just a selfie.

Ellie: Just a selfie?? You looked so good, I almost dropped my guitar. What are you trying to do to me?

You: Ellie, calm down.

Ellie: Calm down? You’re out here looking like THAT, and I’m supposed to act normal? No chance.

You: So dramatic.

Ellie: You think it’s funny, but I’m literally sitting here like, “Wow, that’s my girlfriend. I’m the luckiest loser alive.”

•|||——————————————————————|||•

9:34 pm

Ellie: I can’t stop thinking about you.

You: What else is new?

Ellie: No, but like… it’s bad. I’m at the store, and everything reminds me of you. I saw strawberries and thought about how you taste like them when you wear that lip gloss. It’s driving me insane.

You: Ellie, get it together.

Ellie: Can’t. Don’t wanna. I’d rather think about you.

You: You’re so thirsty.

Ellie: Yeah, for YOU. And I’m not sorry about it.

You: You’re ridiculous.

Ellie: But you love it. And you love me. Soooo… can I come over?

You: You’re lucky I love you.

Ellie: I know. Be ready when I get there.

[slaytheday12]

helloooo i have a request for youu

okay so walker scobell x reader where walker and the reader 'dated' when they were kids (like 11ish maybe?) but walker moved away, so they obviously stopped talking. then fast forward to now, he messages her on Instagram and at some point in the convo he says smth like "we never broke up" i hope this makes sense 😭

anyway i love youuu <33

We Never Broke Up

You and Walker had been inseparable as kids. From the moment you met at summer camp, there was an instant connection. At 11 years old, you didn’t know much about love, but whatever you had with Walker felt special. It was the kind of friendship where you’d pass notes, dare each other to do silly things, and sneak away from the group just to hang out under the stars. You’d even playfully called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, giggling at how grown-up it sounded.

But life had a way of pulling people apart. When camp ended, Walker moved across the country. You promised to stay in touch, but as time went on, the phone calls and texts became less frequent, and eventually, they stopped altogether.

Fast forward to now, and you were scrolling through Instagram, mindlessly tapping through stories. That’s when you saw him.

Walker Scobell.

You blinked, unsure if it was the same Walker you’d known all those years ago. But as you clicked on his profile, there was no doubt it was him. Except now, he was famous, starring in movies and making headlines. You hesitated for a moment before hitting the follow button, figuring there was no way he’d even notice.

To your surprise, he did.

The next day, a notification popped up: Walker Scobell has sent you a message.

Your heart raced as you opened it.

Walker: Wait... is this the same Y/N from camp? You: Depends. Are you the same Walker who screamed when we saw that raccoon by the cabins? Walker: 😭 Okay, fair, but yes. It’s me. Hi. You: Hi. Wow, it’s been forever. Walker: Yeah, like, what, 3 years? Maybe more?

The conversation flowed effortlessly. It was like no time had passed at all. You caught up on life how he got into acting, your own adventures, and everything in between. As the chat went on, the nostalgic warmth of your childhood friendship crept back in.

Then, out of nowhere, Walker dropped a bombshell.

Walker: You know... we never actually broke up. You: 😳 Walker: I mean, technically, right? We never said the words.

You laughed out loud, staring at the screen in disbelief.

You: Pretty sure moving across the country counts as a breakup, Walker. Walker: Nope. Doesn’t count unless someone says it. I’m just saying... we’re still technically dating. You: Oh, really? And what does that make us now? Walker: Long-distance couple reunited. 😌

You couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks heating up.

You: You’re ridiculous. Walker: Maybe. But I mean it. You were my first girlfriend, and I’m pretty sure I never stopped liking you.

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at his message, unsure of what to say. Before you could respond, another message popped up.

Walker: Sorry if that’s too much. I just... I saw your profile and couldn’t stop thinking about you.

You took a deep breath before typing your reply.

You: It’s not too much. Honestly, I’ve thought about you too. A lot.

From there, the conversation shifted into something deeper, filled with confessions and laughter as you both navigated this unexpected reunion. By the end of the night, one thing was clear: whatever spark had existed between you as kids hadn’t faded it had only grown stronger.

Walker wasn’t just someone from your past anymore. He was part of your present, and maybe, just maybe, your future too.

A/N: u know i had to do my queens one first this my o.g girl i love her with my whole heart

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092

[spaciebabie]

dawg I just had the craziest realization about myself THERAPY IS WORKING!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!

[lalalalalalakakakak]

Another lil doodle

[the-clock-of-the-time-dragon]

Man, for someone who keeps invoking media literacy, you sure seem to be struggling with accurately addressing the points that I've been making.

1) He is good at lying to people about who he is, all while being able to make himself likable 2) He is secretly unhappy and has been thinking about the day with the Lion Cub a lot

Here's part of where I think we fundamentally disagree: I don't think he's much of a liar tbh. He doesn't care enough to lie. If anything, he seems almost incapable of it at times. He has coping mechanisms — namely: telling himself (and others) that even though life is pointless, that's actually awesome because you can do whatever you want and not have to worry about anything — and one could, I suppose, argue that he's lying to himself in that sense? But he does clearly WANT to believe it, and acts accordingly. True, Elphaba sees discontent within him and assumes he must be hiding some inner depth (because how can he possibly be unhappy if he's empty inside?? selfish and shallow people don't feel bad about stuff or help others!), but I think his later actions actually show how shallowness can sometimes have its own kind of depth, and selfishness can have its own kind of beneficence. I'm aware this isn't intuitive or prima facie stuff — that's why I posted an analysis about it.

I think it’s a much more plausible headcanon that he has always been working as a double agent than your headcanon that he’s decided instead to randomly embrace being a fascist.

Honey, here's the thing: contrary to what you suggest, mine is not a headcanon in this case. At all. He became a fascist soldier. All ulterior motives (speculative or not) aside: that is simply what he did. It's text. I never said he "embraced" it in the sense that he liked it. It's directly stated that he doesn't like his situation. But that didn't stop him from quite literally choosing to be in that situation. Sucking up whatever other feelings he has and doing it anyway.

Maybe it’s hard to “reconcile the compassionate boy we saw in the woods with a fascist commander” because he isn’t one?

Except he literally is. That is what he became. Your insistence that he worked his way through the ranks of a fascist military without ever doing any of the actions that make someone fascist is beyond belief. Like obviously I understand that your contention here is that he didn't "become" a fascist on an ideological level. He just went through the motions without internalizing or identifying with the fascists' ideas. But I'm afraid plenty of German (or hell, Confederate) soldiers were "just fighting for their loved ones" and "didn't actually believe in all that stuff": but they fought anyway. And they fought on the wrong side, and did the things that came to define what we think of when we talk about their regimes. You are doing exercises in idealization. Becoming a fascist is as much (or more) about physically carrying out the acts of fascism as it is about adhering to what it proposes. Rejecting the latter does not erase the former.

Maybe if you “read by sheer text; on the actions and statements on the page” you’d realise that his actions in act one don’t make sense in act two if you read him as part of the regime?

He. Is. Part. Of. The. Regime. You don't get to say he was somehow set apart on some abstract level from the force that he commanded. Good Lord.

My point about the challenge of reconciling Fiyero between Act I and Act II was not "wow, this doesn't make sense, he must have changed so drastically!!!" I literally explained my point. He hardly changed at all — and that's interesting. The ways in which he did change are equally interesting — because they aren't positive, contrary to what one may usually expect from a character arc of a male lead in a fantasy story. In most such stories the male lead confronts his flaws and he either overcomes them or makes peace with them. Fiyero does neither — which is completely in character and honestly a perfect and natural evolution from where he began — and from a writing perspective I absolutely love it, lol

Oh sorry, Fiyero should have just gone down to the resistance job shop and got a top post there!

I know this is tongue-in-cheek, but the fact your unironic insinuation underneath it appears to be that... *checks notes* rebellions do not have job openings for charismatic men of action...??? Where were you going with this??? lol

The resistance that, as far as we know, basically doesn’t exist, as it doesn’t seem like Elphaba has got much help either (we know there’s rebel Animals that shelter her, but she’s also at the point where she tries to beg her father for help and seriously considers just giving up and joining the Wizard).

Hon... has it occurred to you that by the time we get to Act II... the rebels are fringe and weak because they've been repressed for years by the forces Fiyero volunteered in? Like, we are TOLD that there are rebels. That's a fact. We know that one of the primary activities of the Gale Force is violent repression against Animals. Come on. You're good at extrapolation. Put two and two together here.

But in all seriousness: no movement? Start one then. If it's really that deep. Sounds like a skill issue to me.

Someone has to do this job, if it’s not Fiyero it’s someone a lot worse. We know Fiyero has compassion for Animals, we know Fiyero wants to protect Elphaba (we literally see him doing so three times in act 2). If Fiyero places himself in command, however grim it might be, he now has some degree of control over Oz’s army and how much damage they can do to the Animals and Elphaba.

The damage has been done though. On his watch. To some extent on his ORDERS even. The Animals are all but erased from Oz. Elphaba is so deep in hiding that Fiyero, with all the resources at his command, hunting her desperately, still turns up nothing every time. "Someone has to do this job", when the job is fascism, is not a defense. In fact, "I was just doing my job" is a very well-known and infamously horrible non-defense particular to this exact context. It'd be a better overall argument if him being captain instead of someone else had actually made some objective difference to the end results, but we don't see that. Like I guess you could really stretch things and credit Fiyero for there still being a small holdout of rebel Animals around at all?? Like maybe if he hadn't been there, they'd have been dealt with a bit more aggressively or something? But that seems like a pretty meager end to try and justify his means.

It wasn’t planned that he’d meet her in the throne room, no, but it certainly was planned, by putting himself as the head of the search for the Witch, that if she was found in a dangerous situation he could get her out of it. He manages to get all his guards away and for her to escape safely, he couldn’t have done this if he’d been in any other position.

And he couldn't have achieved anything comparable in ANY other way besides doing fascism? Really?

Imagine, if you will, an alternate scenario: Fiyero doesn't join the Gale Force, and instead joins with the rebellion. Elphaba finds him. They're working together to save Animals again, like old times. They do stuff together and they have each other's backs if either one is caught in a tough spot. Fiyero never gets engaged to Glinda. Is that not a MUCH less convoluted, far more sensible plan? The fact that all explanations for why Fiyero chose anything OTHER than that seem to boil down to weird borderline fascist apologia, is how I know my points are valid.

you told me him being in the Gale Force achieved nothing, it saved Elphaba’s life and allowed the ending to happen.

The logic here is just... Okay. Hon. If he. Had chosen. Something else. The sequence. Of events. Would be. Radically different. And Elphaba. Would not. Have been. In the. Situation that. You give. Him credit. For saving. Her from. At all.

If you joined the Mafia "to protect your family", and then your cousin follows you into a meeting one day and almost gets shot, but you stepped in and stopped it, that doesn't somehow mean things went according to your plan; you only "protected" them from a scenario they would never otherwise have been in had it not been for you, lol

Even her sad verse in Thank Goodness imply she joined because she wanted it (and only later found out it wasn’t quite how she planned).

And y'know a very particular way it wasn't like how she'd planned? She didn't plan on getting it as part of her abuse. Being showered with nice things is a well-known abuse tactic, because it's enticing and allows the abuser to insinuate that their victim was consenting and enthusiastic about what happened to them. There's more to it, absolutely — Glinda is perhaps the most complicated character in the show — but the fact you insist on victim-blaming over and over is... wow.

No one was going to imprison her,

The guards physically detained her and Elphaba had to break the laws of fucking physics to get them to let go, wtf are you talking about, lmfao

there’s literally no reason at all to enslave her,

Except that she's the closest person in the world to their new Public Enemy #1, and can be leveraged in about a million different ways in their favor. Glinda has intel. Elphaba might have been tempted to try and come back and get her. She's a perfect bargaining chip in case Elphaba got too aggressive too: the Witch might back off if Glinda's life were threatened. And, as the Wizard quickly discovers: Glinda is really likable and sociable and boosts morale wherever she goes. So they made her theirs, and dulled her pain by trying to appease and cater to her in every superficial way available. This is Abuse 101, hon.

But ok, let’s take your “enslavement” fantasy scenario. Fiyero is literally the next candidate for Morrible to “enslave”, she knows he and Elphaba were at least tentative friends, she might even have realised he was also absent after the day with the Lion Cub, he’s dating Glinda and his royal connections and fame and likeability make him a useful asset. If Morrible really is blackmailing people to join her on trumped up charges, it would be very easy for her to either use the Lion Cub situation to blackmail into it, or threaten to hurt Glinda if he does not.

"Fantasy"... jfc dude, lol

Fiyero wasn't literally in the palace in the clutches of the guards as a perceived accomplice to the Witch at the end of Act I. The situations are apples and oranges.

Tbh as far as we know, Fiyero didn't really know a ton about Elphaba to begin with; certainly no specific useful intel. There's no reason to think Morrible ever put two and two together vis-à-vis the cub — a slacker student like Fiyero being absent from class isn't weird. And even if for some reason she did get suspicious enough to press the matter, there's so little she'd have to go off of that he could literally just say he ducked out when the whole class started spasming, and that's pretty much that. And yeah sure he's "dating" Glinda, and may under the right circumstances be manipulable if she got threatened: but let's not forget this is also the dude who abandoned her the very first chance he got, and then pointed a gun at her as a bluff without a second thought. He doesn't care enough about Glinda for that to be really leverageable, and it's not like Morrible wouldn't know that: his unenthusiastic response at their engagement announcement would tell her, if nothing else had by that point.

But then... Fiyero didn't ever need to be coerced to become what he became. He volunteered. Glinda was caught in the attic and knew a certain regime-delegitimizing, worldview-shattering secret — I fail to see how there is any scenario you can seriously propose in which the Wizard letting her go with that knowledge, with her closeness to Elphaba, etc., could even be halfway tenable from the Wizard's perspective. It actually defies belief that you can misread her situation as badly as you are.

This is headcanon.

Nah. He literally sang two separates songs about it. Dancing Through Life's whole thing is "nihilism rocks because you can just do stuff and never worry about it", and his part in So Long As You're Mine has him going "I don't care about anything except acting on our desires in this fleeting moment". I don't need to headcanon anything to simply point out that those sentiments are neither deep nor considerate (and, as I have said: don't have to be), lol

This is canon: he pointed a gun at the Wizard to help Elphaba escape. He had to escape too.

He spent years specifically trying to find her, with the heavily implied desire to run away with her. And what did he do the second he saw her? Ran away with her. Say she hadn't been in danger: say she was either undiscovered, or was reconciled with the Wizard. Do you think — based on your own version of him, double agent headcanon and all — that he would have been content NOT to leave there with her then? That after years of searching, he would just let her fly out of there and leave him behind again? Did we watch the same show?? At this point your take on him is even more reactive and thoughtless than mine, if you think his character would allow him to not only deny his passion for her but also to stay in a situation he regards as meaningless and insufferable. As I said to begin with: he can be protective of her AND do so shallowly and selfishly. Reread my original post if you need a refresher on what makes his attachment to her shallow and selfish; and friendly reminder that my saying these things is not a diss, I'm a fan of Genuinely Self-Absorbed, Deeply Shallow Fiyero.

“He doesn't think about the potential consequences of abandoning Glinda; for never cared about either his own safety or hers,” I’m sorry, are you really blaming Glinda telling Morrible and the Wizard to spread a rumour about hurting Nessa on Fiyero? Talk about fucking victim blaming.

Genuinely baffled as to your thought process here — I never said one word about what you're referring to, I was literally just pointing out that Fiyero didn't remotely consider that his fiancée could potentially catch some flak for his unexpected treason, or that leaving her totally alone with her abusers could worsen her situation (as we actually do see by the time of March of the Witch Hunters, where Morrible is far more directly and openly cruel to her than she was when Fiyero was there). This should be familiar to anyone who's seen abusers behave differently when other people are around, but flip a switch as soon as they have their victim all to themselves.

Not the Elphaba faking her own death plan! That must have taken days as the scarecrow. And careful manoeuvring of everything involved!

Cute, but you do realize you're agreeing with my point, right? Unless you're NOT being sarcastic, in which case... Okay. Fiyero did not plan the Melting. We aren't told how far in advance Elphaba planned the Melting, or what degree of input Fiyero had in it (hard to coordinate beforehand considering she was in a whole different part of Oz than he was, he was with Dorothy at the time, and, y'know... she only just learned that the Scarecrow was him MOMENTS before the Melting) but the pieces were all there and so simple that he could intuitively figure out basically what she was trying to pull off. Secret passage. Fire. Water. Rumor. Literally all he had to do was play along with the stage she'd set. It doesn't exactly take a Doctor of Thinkology.

Well I have happy news for you! He no longer has a hollow existence! That’s literally what act two is trying to tell us! Elphaba: Fiyero, you frightened me. I thought, I though you might have changed. Fiyero: I have... changed. * You’ve got me seeing through different eyes Somehow I’ve fallen under your spell and somehow I’m feeling it’s up that I fell

I hate to burst you bubble... but he hasn't changed for the better. I already said that. He still has a hollow existence — he tells us just how hollow it is in Thank Goodness — he just looks to Elphie as his one and only solace. I've elaborated on some of the layers behind it, but basically I argue that he chose Elphaba as his object of desire precisely because that is what she represents to him, in its purest form. Desire. She's "the one that got away"; the one he can't find; can't reach. The only thing in his meaningless life that's unavailable — and therefore tantalizing. She's the only one who doesn't swoon over him or get caught up in his carefree dissociative escapism. She's the one with a sexual tension so palpable but so frustratingly unresolved (until As Long As You're Mine ofc). She's the only challenge in his life that isn't an ineffable internal conflict between his id and superego: and in fact soothes that conflict because she stimulates them both.

[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.

[narfin-frood]

Pretty sure it's heavily implied he's a reanimated chimpanzee skeleton, here's a post I made with more details: https://www.tumblr.com/skeletondanc3r/725323780689477632/hes-actually-very-likely-a-chimpanzee-the-final?source=share

OH MYGOD HOW HAVE I ONLY NOW COME ACROSS THIS THEORY WHAR

SHIT DUDE THAT DOES SUPER LOOK LIKE HIM DOESNT HE

IS THAT WHY I LIKE HIM SO MUCH. WE ARE BOTH MONKEY......... WOW

to me he is. very hulking. very gorilla shaped. that big hunched ribcage....just from my own personal mild obsession with primates i think gorilla suits him the closest, as opposed to chimpanzee, at least on account of he's built the way he is. he is awful upright, though, but we all knew theres some nefarious green magic afoot Anyway so....

thats crazy. wow. mind=freaked

[lilahardell]

FIRST LOVE ISN'T ALWAYS THE BEST LOVE

Hyunjin x reader

Part-5 Surprise and Jealousy

Yeji,Y/n and Tess were walking in school after class as Tess and yeji are flirting playfully.Y/n feels someone looking at her and turns to look as she sees Felix standing there waving to her smiling she rubs her eyes not believing it as he just laughs"Omg wtf?!".she runs to him hugging him tightly"Felixxx" he hugs her back,his arms around her waist and hers around his neck.Y/n pulls back a little but still hugging him, "You jerk why didn't you tell me? I missed you!" She hits him lightly and Felix chuckles holding his chest for a dramatic reaction "really after I came all the way here?" She smiles pulling back from the hug. "Why the hell are you here though? How and is mom okay? How's she doing.

Felix pov- As I hug her tightly, my life feels like it just gained light again. Gosh I love her so much,she's so talkative tho, although I missed it. I missed her hitting and laughing,her smile and hair.Only if she knew how I'm not here for the job at all.. it's for her. How I had to convince her mom to let me come here although her mom said "ik u love her but don't disturb her studies" how I had to beg for 5 days straight to let me come here and see her daughter again. I did do a little emotional blackmailing tho... Ok but I'm not here for a job but for her. My love.. however who tf is gonna find a job now,god I'm doomed.

Y/n- "hello sir back to earth ik I'm beautiful, but don't stare so much and answer my questionss"

Felix laughs softly"calm down, she's great and I'm here for a job interview, if they take me then I'll stay here and if not. I will go back"

Y/n nods "ohhh wow"

"no because actually tell me about your job? Are they gonna give you a place to live? Where is it? How's the pay?

Felix assures her "dont worry, it's a interview for now but if I get in I'll definitely get paid good and they're supposed to pay enough for my rent so I'll be good"

Hyunjin who was watching from afar,the scene unfold, his jaw tightening. He had seen the way Y/n lit up when she spotted the guy-Felix, her so-called best friend. The one she talked about with so much affection.

He watched as they hugged, the closeness between them undeniable. Something churned in his chest, a feeling he didn't want to name.

Gathering himself, he strode over to them, keeping his expression neutral. "Y/n," he called, his voice even.

Y/n pulled back from Felix and turned, her eyes widening slightly. "Hyunjin."

Felix turned as well, his smile polite but curious.

"This is Felix," Y/n said, gesturing toward her best friend. "Felix, this is Hyunjin, my project partner and..." She hesitated. "Friend."

Felix offered his hand. "Nice to meet you, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin shook his hand briefly, his grip firm. "You too."

There was a moment of silence, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Hyunjin's gaze flickered between Y/n and Felix, noting how comfortable they seemed together.

"Anyway," Y/n said, breaking the awkwardness, "I was just about to show Felix around. He's visiting for a few days."

"Right," Hyunjin said, his tone clipped. "Enjoy."

Y/n gave him a small smile, and Felix nodded politely before they walked away. Hyunjin watched them go, his hands clenching at his sides.

Felix noticed Hyunjin's reaction, and as they strolled around campus and greeted her friends,yeji and Tess who had a lot of fun seeing him after hearing so much about him...he couldn't shake the feeling that the other guy wasn't just a casual friend.

"You talk about him a lot?" Felix asked casually.

"Hyunjin?" Y/n said, glancing at him. "Not really. We argue more than we talk

But Felix couldn't help overthinking it. He saw the way Hyunjin had looked at Y/n, and it was a look Felix recognized all too well.

At her apartment at night now-

"come on let's get inside, She holds Felix's hand showing him around and finally to her room "and this is where I cry and dance at the same time". Felix laughs softly"yeah I know.. that's definitely you,he sits on the bed,laying down definitely tired of the journey

"okay..how's mom? Everything good? Why'd u leave her alone there?"

Felix sighs softly smiling"she's completely fine and healthy and I didn't want to come but she forced me saying I should come here for you and the job. She really misses you" Y/n softly smiles too"yeah I miss her a lot too, I hope she's okay.."

Felix replies"she's fine I swear she really badly forced me to be here i was supposed to come like 5 days ago"

She sits beside him , "gosh I missed you",Felix gets back up "I missed you too"he says smiling softly....

"Btw since yeounjun is at his sisters house for 2 days, you can sleep in his room okay? Don't u dare touch shit and only come to my bathroom and my room for stuff u need" Felix nods "yupp,I wanna sleep so bad gosh I didn't sleep more then 2 hours on the flight my back hurts"

Time skip

Over the next few days, Y/n couldn't stop smiling. Having Felix there felt like a dream. She introduced him to Yeji, Yeonjun, and her other friends, and they all seemed to get along effortlessly.

But at night, when she lay in bed, the insecurities crept in. She was supposed to be over him. Felix had always been her best friend, nothing more. She had told herself countless times that he would never see her the way she saw him.

Then why does my heart still race when I see him? she thought bitterly, staring at the ceiling. She felt pathetic, like a foolish girl clinging to a hope she had no right to hold onto.

But the moment she saw his face, all those doubts vanished. His smile, his laugh-it was everything she had missed. She couldn't help but wish he was here for her, not just for a job interview....

AND ONCE AGAIN YALL- I MADE THE CHAPTER SO LONGG wtvv thankyou so much for the reads and likes guys, if you have Wattpad (to my Tumblr readers) please check it out here too and votee. I'm working so hard on thesee I need to sleep fr but I love writing it too. I love you guys and thankyou for reading. Mwahhh 🩷

[queerofcups]

wow hi!! first of all thanks for replying, genuinely. it feels very hard to start any kind of dialogue in this fandom! second of all, just to ground this, I'm definitely not trying to change your mind and you're almost certainly not gonna change mine. I made a little haha at the end of my first reply, but I really just think this is a really interesting conversation/exploration into how differently people can see the same show!

I think we maybe disagree on a couple things.

I don't think Louis is so supremely monogamous. We see him acting in nonmonogamous ways quite a bit. Their first hookup is a threesome. He chose to go and fuck Jonah when Lestat weaseled his way into an open relationship. To your very point, he actively pursued Armand while still being in love with Lestat (I dont think this is actually all that nonmonogamous of an action functionally, but intellectually, if nonmonogamy is pursuing multiple emotional and sexual relationships simultaneously, well...). Is Louis' initial pursual of Armand less real because he's still in love with Lestat?

I suppose you could argue that all of these things are different because they're sexual connections and not romantic? Which, sure, but that's still not monogamy.

I think, in fact, that we agree with that ultimately they're each others #1. I'm actually not a multi-shipper, I'm not particularly interested in watching (or reading) about them in other relationships, I just don't really understand the insistence that they must be monogamous forever, because they love each other.

Which brings me to the next core point where we seem to disagree, which is that it feels like mmm. I don't say this to cast aspersions about what you, as a person, believe, we are literally internet strangers writing fanfic about fictional characters. So I will say that this particular argument feels like one that puts eternal monogamy on a pedestal in which it is the most perfect, most ideal form of romantic love and if these characters stray from that, it must be because something is wrong and their love is invalid or not real.

I think Lestat tries to get Louis to fuck Antoinette because he loves Louis very much and wants Louis to have fun. I think Louis fucks Jonah because he wants to and also Lestat is getting on his fucking nerves and he's hurt by his lover and wants to get his lick back.

I personally don't think its actually that unbelievable to suggest that they'd open up their relationship or pursue someone else in a forever relationship? For toxic, codependent reasons and also for mundane ones. People who love each other very much open up relationships after 5 years, 12 years, etc. I don't think them fucking other people means they aren't THE OTP, you know? I think that's the part we definitely agree on lol, these idiots are obsessed with each other.

anyway, I think we're reading the show very differently, even down to the engagement with outside material. But I think that's great, actually, I'm happy to be having this chat with you.

louis and lestat wouldn’t even hesitate to walk out into the sun if the other ceased to exist and people think they would ever consider polyamory. it’s just not realistic. they invented monogamy and the soul being irrevocably tied to one other soul for eternity and beyond

[deminetly]

✶ RATING YOUR DRS ✶

……………………………………………

⋆ hogwarts 7/10 ok so I personally havent even watched harry potter but it seems awesome,, hogwarts is a classic since basically every shifter has a hogwarts dr but who wouldnt wanna learn magic ?! at the same time i also kinda dont get why you would want to shift to a school from all places ALSO CONSIDERING HOW MANY PEOPLE THERE ARE AND HOW MEAN SOME OF THE TEACHERS ARE BUT

⋆ twilight 7/10 i used to LOVE twilight when i was like 12 (confession i was team jacob ,, and lowk still am.. HES HOTTER OK DONT BLAME ME) and i LOVE the vibe,, highly depends on who youre shifting for tho (if its alice then 8/10 shes like wow)

⋆ fame 7/10 ok i keep rating everything 7 but IDK fame is good but i feel like id get bored after like a few shifts (even though i still have a fame dr) but if you know how to spice it up for yourself then good for you!! (bonus points if its set in the 70s-2000s)

⋆ mermaid 8/10 rated it an 8 instead of a 7 because i keep rating everything 7… anyways its cool but again i feel like i would get bored (unless you know how to spice it up AGAIN) i do fw mermaid more because its like magical and you can script in a forbidden fling with a human or something.. (can you tell i have commitment issues) now i want to make a mermaid dr and design my tail omg

⋆ band/music artist 8/10 as most of yall probably know i do have a band dr so how could i rate it anything lower?! anyways i love hearing about peoples band drs (or any drs for that matter but especially bands bc i can get inspo for my own teehee) i think developing everything for that dr can be super fun and putting together your little group and whatnot

⋆ apocalypse 8/10 would probably have rated this much lower if i hadnt seen those aesthetic slideshow games on tiktok where youre packing for and trying to survive an apocalypse BUT i feel like if you scripted in safety and good vibes it could be a lot of fun and now i wanna make a zombie apocalypse dr..

⋆ the backrooms 6/10 you are BOLD for that,, i get creeped out by just watching a tiktok about them (im aware that the backrooms were on my dr ideas post..) it lowkey depends who youre with because shifting there alone would actually be CRAZY..

⋆ better cr 5.5/10 i dont really get the consept of this like if i were to make a better cr i would FIRST OF ALL change basically everything and atp it wouldnt even be a better cr just a good dr ykwim and how do you come back after shifting there and not feel depressed asf😭

⋆ heartbreak high 5.5/10 i feel like not many people have seen this show and also i dont really fw shifting to shows or movies as much as your own creations but i did like the show itself,, i honestly i wouldnt personally shift there since the vibes are like too.. like 2020 and some people are real assholes but you do you it could be super fun id actually love to know about all the drama

⋆ euphoria 6/10 idk why i like euphoria more than heartbreak high they lowkey give me the same vibe but euphoria is like a better version (i literally havent even seen this but i did watch like 2 hours worth of it from tiktok) ANYWAYS most people there are ASSHOLES too and again PERSONALLY WOULDNT WANT TO GO THERE but again would love to hear more about the drama because there must be tons of that

⋆ monster high 9/10 ok so why did i not think of this before i LOVED monster high when i was a child but im lowkey scared of shifting to an animated world idk it feels off.. the vibes and there tho love that for you

⋆ dead poets society 8/10 again personally havent watched it but from what ive heard it seems cool (that with about 200 other movies have been sitting on my watchlist for years but my commitment issues are so bad i cant commit to watching one movie so i will probably never watch it oops) anyways i want to make a secret society dr now

⋆ my little pony 7/10 oh little me would have LOVED this but again i cant with the animated drs ESPECIALLY considering you would be a PONY?? i need to know how this feels or like what.. i love mlp but honestly (tw: opinion) TWILIGHT IS SO ANNOYING I COULD NOTTTT STAND HER ASS (yes i do know id be able to script her out but i like complaining)

[angelpuns]

Night thoughts time.

The way I genuinely was shocked and surprised today when I realized that the transition to living with my grandma did not in fact have negative impacts on my mental health. Like at all. I was doing better in December anyway ( for some reason??) And then after I moved here its like. Wow. Is this how it feels to not hate where you're living??? Like most of my mental woes lately have been work related and I wouldn't even call them woes. Last year I would get so genuinely upset all the time at what felt like nothing but GODDAMN maybe it was something and I wasn't being overdramatic??? Idk.

Maybe I just haven't lived here long enough to cause turmoil who knows. I also had a brief period of genuine happiness and good mental health back when I first got an apartment with an ex friend, but obviously I realized later that it actually was awful. So maybe I'm just in the honeymoon period. But also not having to see my parents every. Single. Day. Is such a breath of fresh air. I haven't felt this good in a while. idk what that says about me or them but who cares :) I'm doing well for now :))

I actually prepared so much for this move ( not packing stuff, I mean like preparing myself mentally and checking and double checking stuff that was important to me, stuff like that ) that maybe that's why I haven't been totally mentally destroyed by it. But I do genuinely think I'm no longer in fight or flight mode. Like I used to come home every day and not be able to do anything cause the mental strain of the job AND dealing with my parents was just too much. And I thought I was being overdramatic and lazy. But now that I don't live with them I find it pretty easy to come home and have actually nice conversations with my grandma and then I'm still able to do a significant amount of things before bed. Like my day isn't over at 5 anymore because the mental strain isn't there ( as far as home stuff anyway )

Also! I totally overdid it again today and I am in p a I n :) unrelated to the parents thing haha

[riggedbones]

Very sorry for the icah it's taken over me.

Anyways, Stylish One quest but instead if it being a subversion of the 'secret admirer sending a love letter' it's played straight (<= lmao)

Scenario A1 : Stylish One become man beam. Cisfrin gets jealous when Miracis mentions Stylish Man in the classroom and decides to go to his house next loop. Stylish Man gets to keep being the same level of shyness when Cisfrin tells him Miracis knows about him.

Stylish Man gives Cisfrin the letter and Cisfrin immediately looks at that thing the moment he steps oit of the house. Generic love letter blah blah blah. Instead, Cisfrin throws the letter away and gives Miracis the bow himself - claiming he 'bought' it for her.

Scenario A2 : Miracis bringing up Stylish Man in the classroom, but admits to having a crush on him because his scariness made him "mysterious and sexy".

Fem!Cisfrin decides that next loop she will try to get them to hook up so she can get rid of the competition for Cisbeau. She /also/ thinks Stylish Man is kinda cute but oh no! Stylish Man is actually very shy and awkward!

Fem!Cisfrin starts a quest to help him be more confident (so he can ask out Miracis) while roping in the rest of the party. Cisdile says something generic about Stylish Man reminding her of how her first boyfriend was like, but left him cause he was a "lesser man" in comparison to her husband. Cis!Fem!Bonnie says how romance is gross and Cisdile says she'll understand when she gets older (or Cis!Male!Bonnie says something about how girls have cooties).

Cisbeau offers to help Stylish Man become more of a man by doing bro stuff. But Oh No! Stylish Man in the hour he's known Fem!Cisfrin has developed a crush on her! AND Cisbeau notices this and gets jealous!

Don't know how to conclude that. I think I'm dying (joking)

wow! this is all bad. i'm really caught up on the "lesser man" comment, somehow we've wrapped around to cisdile almost being camp.

i'm trying to decide if the second option is too much care for a side character.... no i don't think so, actually. with fem!cisfrin there are too many girls in the party for isabeau to date them all, of course! how lucky is he? the stylish one gets whoever doesn't end up with isabeau. everyone's happy!

[otterly-darling]

First Birthday

'Surprise!'

Remus almost jumped out of his skin as he walked through the dormitory door.

'You scared me- wow!'

He looked around; the room was decorated from tip to top. Colourful streamers magically suspended in mid-air, fairy lights in all colours strung up along the walls and wrapped round the bed posts, balloons of all shapes and sizes - most of them animals, Remus noted - floated just out of reach.

'Wow,' he said again, because he didn't know what else to say.

'What do you think, Rem?' James bounded over, a silver party hat perched precariously on top of his head. 'Do you like it?'

Remus nodded vigorously as James tried to wrestle a hat onto his head too. 'It's wonderful.'

'There's cake and everything,' Peter chimed in from across the room; he was sitting by a small pile of wrapped presents and Remus' stomach flipped a little at the thought that they might be for him.

'Pete!' Sirius, who had appeared from inside his four poster carrying a neatly wrapped package, complete with bow, shot a stinging hex at him. 'You've ruined the surprise now!' He looked over at Remus, 'I made a cake.'

'All of this was Sirius' idea actually,' James started, 'The decorations and the cake, obviously Pete and I were well up for it and would have got you a present anyway and I thought we might have done it in the common room because then there would have been more people but then Sirius said-'

'James!' Sirius almost shouted and then clamped his mouth shut.

Sirius shrugged bashfully at Remus. 'I - I mean we, figured that maybe you would prefer something smaller. Just us. I dunno. We can move it all down to the common room if you want!' he rushed on.

'No!' Remus said, 'This- This is perfect. It's all I want. Thank you. I can't believe you've done this just for me.'

Sirius beamed at him. 'Of course I have. Happy Birthday, Remus.'

@wolfstarmicrofic

[n1ghteeea]

Have there been any headcannons of the fellas and Janine that you personally disagree with or don't make sense to you?

Ooooh, that’s fun.

The fandom is dead and I’ve only been here since August, so I can’t say I saw a lot of stuff to either agree or disagree with tbh (which is why I ask ppl to send me their hcs and ideas bc I wanna see at least SOME content) buuuut there are a few character interpretations that piss me off.

1. “Janine would be jealous if Egon got in a relationship with other guys” she literally would not. If it was someone else? Maybe. The guys? No. Dude, they are a family. He constantly spends time w/ them instead of her, they sleep in the same room, they are BASICALLY an old married relationship already, and she dgaf, she loves all of them and she wouldn’t mind. SHE set them up to meet in EGB on Egon’s birthday, I swear. If she was jealous she’d constantly drag him away from them to spend time with her instead, but she doesn’t bc she doesn’t mind. They are grown adults and they can share perfectly fine. Stop putting them against each other. Pictures related.

2. “Peter doesn’t care about his job or his friends and really only wants to gain fame and a girlfriend” I WILL KILL YOU!!! But like that is FACTUALLY not true. In the show we see him having MULTIPLE opportunities to leave ghostbusting behind and go on to do something more fun, but he ALWAYS turns them down like it’s obvious (ex: “Banshee Bake a Cherry Pie?”). Plus, he cares more about his friends and his job than about any girl, AND he cares more about them than his infamous movie counterpart!! Movie Peter turned down work when he had a date. RGB Peter? Yea, he whined for like 2 seconds but then went anyway and forgot about it like immediately. I mean hell, in EGB HE was the one who after TWO MINUTES back in the Firehouse went “wow guys, we stopped early with this, maybe we should reconsider and become Ghostbusters again?” HE LOVES THIS JOB AND THESE PEOPLE!!

3. Not a fan of when ppl separate the guys into 2&2 ships, just let them be poly. All of their dynamics are written with the same depth, they all care about each other and have sweet moments, like come on. It esp irks me when ppl only care about Egon/Peter, idk, smth smth picking only the two conventionally attractive white men to ship and talk about from such a close-knitted group is an odd decision to me 🤷

4. Hate when ppl ignore / exclude Janine from the group. She’s just as much a member of this family as the guys are, and they love her, leave my goat alone. But also don’t like when they ship her with other guys besides Egon. Maybe it’s cuz I see her as a lesbian, maybe not, idk. Not my thing.

5. Idk don’t like when ppl can’t separate the movies from the show? Saying RGB guys left Egon alone like the movie ones did is plain wrong. They didn’t. It was a mutual decision to split up and they were all miserable and clearly missed each other. In Afterlife (as much as I like it) it barely seems like the guys gaf about Egon dying at all, but in RGB? Boy oh boy, they are the happiest people ever when they meet. Separate them!!

6. PPL NEED TO LOCK IN FOR EGB!!! If you like RGB but never saw EGB you don’t see the most heartbreaking tragic part of their relationship and how it affected all of them, ESPECIALLY Egon. As I said before, EGB literally has everything ppl wanted from the sequel movies PLUS it’s actually good.

But overall my fandom experience was positive (cuz the fandom is dead) yay!!!

[superblysubpar]

series masterlist | part two ->

📻 tracks: 01 - 07

6,246 words // my blog is 18+ // please see the masterlist for warnings - this chapter contains mentions of alcohol, weed, vomit, nausea, and brief mentions of homophobia and cheating

There’s something grotesquely satisfying about the sound her converse make as they cross the tiled floor of a kitchen fit for a house on Cornwallis street. Meaning, one that isn’t chipped, dulled, or old and wise beyond its years like the tile in her kitchen.

Though oddly satisfying, she has absolutely no desire to know what sort of substances have combined to make the sticky floor so, well, sticky, instead choosing to focus solely on the nice way her head sort of vibrates and how maybe if she’s really really nice, Steve will run his hand through her hair.

She hums to herself at the thought as she leans against the counter littered with crinkled solo cups and a punch well past its prime, the wood resting against her hip thumps from the base of the music coming from the dimly lit living room. Bananarama fades into Kim Wilde and her lips twitch, the words of Kids in America leave her mouth under her breath as she starts to make the drink she was sent upstairs for.

📻“…I sit here alone and I wonder why. Friday night and everyone’s moving. I can feel the heat but it’s soothing, heading down.”

It’s interesting that she’s liked almost every song since arriving upstairs, and she wonders who snagged the stereo long enough to change the mix and make such excellent selections when a voice she’s positive rivals angels singing startles her from behind.

“Oh thank god, you passed.”

Robin spins to find the prettiest girl she’s ever seen, truly, honest to god, she thinks it might be a privilege just to get to look at you. She’s only ever had glimpses, brushes with heaven as you wandered down horrendously lit high school hallways and past her at movie theaters or main street, never giving her your full attention as you are now.

There’s this way you smile at her, like you already know her, and that combined with the slip dress and leather jacket you have on is making it really really hard to think a thought other than: wow.

“Wh-“ Her voice fucking cracks, like one of the pubescent twerps that cling to her and Steve and she hates how hot her cheeks are, no doubt the freckles that reside there are now stark against pink skin as she clears her throat. “Sorry, are you…were you talking to me?”

Well, shit, now you’re laughing and it’s the greatest sound she’s ever heard. Right up there with Nena, The Beatles, and Joni crooning out of her speakers when she’s lying on her floor and absorbing their magic. She doesn’t even care that the laugh is more at her than with her, though the way you do it has her thinking it’s actually the latter for once.

“Yeah,” you take a step closer, your hand extended, along with your name offered up. “I’m your new co-worker, or well, you’re mine.”

Robin shakes your hand and tries to remember all the advice Steve has ever told her, most importantly: to breathe. Which is a mistake:

You smell so fucking good.

“Oh my god, I love this color,” your fingers intertwine with Robin’s. They curl underneath hers to hold up her hand for a closer look and you gasp, all cute and perfect and charming, “It sparkles.”

You’re inspecting her nail polish, so dark purple it’s almost black, and Robin clears her throat again.

“Ye-yeah. So, um, what did I…you said I…passed?”

“Oh!” you laugh again, rolling your eyes, “Sorry, I’m always doing that. It’s like I can’t keep up with my own thoughts sometimes, you know? Anyways, yes. You passed.”

“I…what?”

You actually let go of her hand just to press both of yours to her cheeks and she thinks she’s entered some sort of other dimension. Which is, well, not unlikely in Hawkins. Though this situation she finds herself in doesn’t feel all too typical of what normally occurs when that happens. There’s usually more lightening and adrenaline pumping through her veins and everyone is wet-

“You’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”

So, maybe? Because she’s sure it might be lightening and there’s definitely something pumping and she’s not wet in the sense that- ookkaay, really panicking now, because, hello? There are a lot of people around and again, this is Hawkins - her neighbors went to school with her parents in this very same town. The prom king works in the mayor’s office.

“I’m…what? You what?” Robin stutters out.

“Every single person Keith has hired has been so horrendously horrible and not a drop of good taste in music in their souls and I just can’t fucking stand to work with someone who will hate my music or I’ll hate theirs another day. And you,” you squeeze her cheeks and you smile that smile again, “My beautiful little angel, passed the test.”

So, yeah, cool, the world is probably ending because as you called her an angel she could smell strawberries on your breath. It somehow works with the brown sugar and coconut she can smell on your skin and she prays it lingers on her own as your hands drop and you point to the items in her hands.

“I watched you pour that. Lemonade and whiskey? Is it good?”

“I… d’ya wanna try it?” Robin offers it up to you, happy to finally find some sort of motor skills working.

Your fingers bump hers again as you take the cup and sip from it.

“I’m…I’m Robin, by the way,” she offers as you swallow.

Your smile dazzles her, so much so, she’s sure she’s got spots in her vision. Your tongue licks out over a plush bottom lip to catch stray lemonade.

“Yeah, I know,” you tease, “Oh hold on…you’ve got…”

Your hand reaches up as you take a step closer, then closer. The tips of your high heels tap the white toe of her converse as your fingers reach up to her face. You’re so close she could count each eyelash if she wanted to, can see blue sparkle and shimmer on your eyelids, can now tell the source of the smell of strawberry is not from your breath, but your glossy lips. They part as your fingers gingerly brush against her cheek, lemonade and whiskey mixing with the strawberry and having a very dizzying affect.

And then you hold your fingers up to her mouth and say:

“Eyelash. Make a wish.”

Robin blinks at you, her stomach the new home to what quite literally might be a billion butterflies.

Your eyebrows raise expectantly, beautiful eyes meeting her gaze before they dart down to her mouth when she blows the eyelash off of your finger tips.

A sigh leaves your body, and then the sound of your throat being cleared right after, as you take a step back when your name is called from the other room - all rowdy and testosterone filled and not at all how your name should be called. Not if she had anything to do with it, anyways.

“I’ll see you on Monday?” Your smile hesitant and voice a little full of what Robin is wishfully thinking is hope.

Robin nods, unsure her voice will work anymore.

“Thanks for the drink…can’t wait to see your mixology skills in the daylight, Buckley” you sing as you twirl away with a glimmer in your eyes and a smirk on your lips before you shout into the next room, “You hollered, dear?”

Your dress swishes just below your ass as you walk away, and that’s when she decides that all that karma and shit people are talking about is true and she is in another dimension and it just might be heaven.

She fumbles with the door handle to the basement, and each limb feels heavier and heavier the further she sinks into the basement.

Eddie’s head dangles off of the edge of the couch to see who it is, brown waves cascading to almost the floor while an unlit cigarette is held tightly between his lips.

“Good lord, took you long enough.” He rolls his eyes as she removes the cigarette from his mouth and pockets it.

A clatter comes from her left then, balls scattering across green felt, then the other’s voice exaggerates, “Are you shitting me? You were gone for an hour and you didn’t bring down my drink.”

Robin continues to walk towards the chair she had been trying to absorb into before heading upstairs, fingers tingling and eyes wide.

Eddie sits up, narrowed eyes and a tense jaw, ever the protector on alert from the state she’s returning in after being around the douchebags that make up most of Hawkins.

“Why are you so quiet? What happened?”

Robin’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“Oh my god, she’s broken,” Steve jokes, though his eyes convey his actual worry. He’s always fucking worried.

Eddie hops off of the couch with ease and the grace of a fresh baby deer and quickly makes his way to directly in front of her. His hands rest on his knees as he squats to get on her level.

“Hey,” his tone serious until she looks into his eyes. His lips twist in that way she knows means he’s about to say something stupid. “Did something cute walk by upstairs?”

Steve rolls his eyes and leans down towards the pool table again, muttering under his breath, “Forgets my drink because of a girl she’s never going to talk to-“

“For your information shitbird,” Robin’s voice discovered again through spite, “I did talk to her, and I didn’t forget your drink, she took it, and yes, she is very cute, more than cute, she’s-“

Eddie claps his hands in front of her to get her attention again, making her mouth clamp shut and her shoulders rise.

“Who?”

Robin says your name and the boys exchange a look.

The look.

The one that they always share when she gets a new crush and it’s obviously a bad idea and they’re seeing into their futures. Seeing their looming fate of pulling a red-rim eyed and sniffly nosed Robin out of her bed and removing the needle from the Nat King Cole record on its twentieth rotation before force feeding her milkshakes till she’s sick, but closer to her normal, pre-crush state.

Again.

“Robs…” Steve starts.

“Listen, I know, okay,” she interrupts. “But, like, I swear she was flirting. I couldn’t have been imagining it. I couldn’t have been.”

Eddie sits back onto the frayed couch, leaning forward and rummaging around in his metal lunchbox as he says, “Explain.”

She tells them everything.

Eddie’s now blowing smoke towards the ceiling and letting a low whistle out with a small chuckle.

Steve’s standing in the bitchiest stance she’s seen from him yet. A cocked hip and arms crossed and a frown on his face.

“She…I taught her that! That eyelash thing is my move!”

“I know!” Robin yells excitedly.

But her face falls when Steve’s features pinch.

“Robin…”

He hesitates and she sighs, collapsing back into her chair.

“Spit it out, dingus.”

Steve sits on the edge of the pool table and runs a hand through his hair. He looks at her with those stupid, sad, Steve eyes that make her unable to hate him even if she wanted to.

“She likes guys,” he says it simply, apologetically, and quietly.

Robin’s stomach rolls, the butterflies long gone at the thought of you in the back of his car doing stuff she’d never get to do with you, even if you did like girls. Thoughts of you kissing half the guys in Hawkins clouding her vision - that’s why the room is getting so blurry, no other reasons.

“Right…” she says, limply, and just as quiet.

Girls like you don’t like girls like Robin, it’s as simple as that.

“I’ll…maybe she changed her mind? That happens. Or maybe…maybe…” Steve hesitates then stands, “Drink? Something with a cherry?”

“Make it twenty.”

A thumb swipes over her forehead she can feel sweating under its touch, tender and soothing.

“Why…” her voice too hoarse to keep going plus the taste of cherries left in the sun for too long - sour and something that lingers and is distinctly bad - on her breath makes her stomach churn.

She forces her eyelids open to see a blue swoosh and a too white for them being used so much sneaker in front of her eyes.

The blue swoosh swooshes and her stomach spins, so her eyes squeeze shut.

She moans.

“Yeah,” he brushes a curl behind her ear as she realizes the hard floor underneath her is extremely cold and did she mention hard. “I’m gonna need some clarification on that why. Why are you on the floor in my bathroom? Or is it a more rhetorical and philosophical why like the ones you were asking me last night?”

Flashes of a moment in this very room, her hair clinging to her damp cheeks as she asked Steve why girls couldn’t like girls and he looked at her so heartbroken and then caught her hair as she heaved something bright red into the toilet the top of her head is now pressed to the base of.

She squints open her eyes again, looking up at the boy now looking out his bathroom door, through his room, and at his window with a small smile on his face.

“How are you using words like rhetorical and philosophical correctly this early after last night?”

Steve turns his attention back to her, he shrugs his shoulders.

“Guess those college courses really know what they’re doing, huh? Plus, I only had two,” he holds up his fingers just in case she forgot what that number means, “Cherrybombs. You had about seven I think.”

But then she hears the voice, the one that’s just beyond Steve’s open bedroom window in her own room, singing about sailors loving a girl named Brandy almost as much as they love the sea.

“Ohh,” she laughs, scrunching her eyes closed and turning her forehead into the makeshift towel pillow he must have thrown under her head at some point. “That’s why. Your girlfriend’s home for the Summer finally.”

“Quit it. You know she’s not my-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just your best friend. Just as platonic as me,” she starts to sit up.

“Exactly-“

“The girl you confessed you liked in a bathroom a little bit like this.”

Steve frowns at her, but then quickly looks at the window, the song almost over.

“I gotta go, but you can stay here and take a nap on my bed, get cleaned up, and then head home. We’re gonna…”

He trails off when she nods, swollen eyes hidden behind the heels of her palms and her voice comes out too hoarse and emotional for her liking.

“Right, right, I forgot about your tradition. I’ll get out of your perfectly styled hair. Looks good today.”

“Robin…” Steve hesitates. He looks at his window, then back at her with a smile, though a bit forced, his tone doesn’t leave room for argument, “You’re staying. It’ll be fine. A pool day is just what you need, plus, maybe you can get some advice from someone who isn’t me. But I gotta go, I did this whole…”

She waves him off, but grabs his wrist as he starts to get up, offering a quiet but genuine, “Thanks Steve.”

He kisses the top of her head and then grimaces, “Please shower, you smell like whiskey and cherries, and not in a good way.”

📻“I wouldn’t if I were you, I know what she can do. She’s deadly, man, she could really rip your world apart.”

Steve’s soul mate, the very much not platonic one (though that seems to be only clear to everyone but the two of them), slides her sunglasses up onto her head and looks at Robin. Eyes wide and eyebrows high on her forehead.

“She what?!”

Robin just finished the eyelash story. Again. She’s sensing a pattern with the reactions to it.

“I know,” Robin groans, her fingers drift lazily in the pool, doing nothing to cool her heated skin at the thought of your fingers touching her cheek. “It was…”

“Swoonable?” The love of Steve’s life grins in a way that’s all knowing and smitten herself and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve sighs from the other side of her.

“Yeah,” Robin clears her throat, adjusting her legs and wincing as they squeak against the inflatable tube, “That’s one word for it.”

Robin frowns and looks up at the lilac tree near the end of the pool pessimistically. “But it doesn’t matter, because she likes guys.”

Steve smiles softly, sadly, at her, at least his pity filled eyes are hidden under dark Ray Bans.

“But…what if…” the thought trails off from un-platonic soul mate’s lips before her bottom one tugs between her teeth and she sits up in her tube more, water dripping and clinging to her skin exposed in the red bikini she has on that’s honestly criminal.

Steve shifts in his own tube, then stares at the sky.

Poor guy.

The temptress Steve’s now clearly avoiding looking at shrugs her shoulders.

“What if she likes both?”

Robin squints at her before she asks, “What?”

“What if she likes guys and girls. That’s a thing.”

“It is?” Steve asks at the same time Robin asks, “You really think so?”

“Oh my gosh, we really need to get you two out of Hawkins,” she says with a laugh.

Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve’s face falls, and she’s fairly certain the love of his life doesn’t either.

The sunglasses slide back over her eyes as she looks at Robin, speaking quietly, “Seriously, come visit me in New York. We’ll go out.” Then a bit louder as she lays her head back on the pool float, “But, for now, I say don’t rule her out. Steve and I can come over during a break or something and help you figure it out. It’ll be great, okay?”

Robin squeezes her hand.

She hopes Steve’s future wife is right.

📻“I wanna shine like the sun. I wanna be the one that you want to see. I wanna knit you a sweater, wanna write you a love letter. I wanna make you feel better, I wanna make you feel free.”

Honey and vanilla float through the air, each scent mixing with brown sugar and something coconutty every so often - seventy six seconds kind of often, not that she’s counting - whenever the fan blows just right.

It’s dizzying, the smells mingling with the sound of your voice singing quietly along to a variety of records. Only broken up occasionally by a soft curse word and a thump, or a bubbly “Welcome into Holland’s! Let me know if I can help you find anything - I know right? It’s the “Don’t Bee Cruel” Robin cooked up today. You should absolutely go get one, I’ve had like twenty.”

You’ve had two.

But each time your shoulders relaxed on your first sip, your hand squeezed her upper arm in excitement.

“Holy shit, Robs.”

Robs.

She honestly hasn’t let anyone ever call her that except Steve, but she doesn’t hate it when it’s coming out of your lips. One’s that are glossy and pink and smell like strawberries again.

You lean on the counter as she works on making you a third drink, talking excitedly in an overly caffeinated craze, “God, this is gonna be so awesome. If you make a themed drink each week around our sales and you’re pretty creative right? Took art classes a bunch? We could paint on the windows or I’ve been trying to get Keith to let me get some different lighting and paint on the ceiling tiles…hold on-“

Robin’s hand stalls with the drink she’s handing over in what she’s already determined to be your favorite mug - lavender colored, as big as a cereal bowl, with little daisies painted on it.

But your hand grabs her other one across the wood countertop with a gasp.

“You got rid of the purple?!”

Her cheeks warm at your touch, the way your fingers curl around hers and the way your lips pout, jutted out and begging to be kissed.

“Oh, um, yeah. I usually change them every few days. I’m sort of obsessed with matching them to my clothes or my mood or just because I chip them so much as like a super bad nervous habit so I…”

She trails off, remembering to breathe and to also not spit every thought out, because most people don’t care and have already tuned out, but you’re still listening, eyes watching her.

“So you…?” You ask, still holding her hand.

“Change them. A lot,” Robin finishes, lamely.

But you just nod, inspecting the new color. They’re blue, but not bright blue, almost gray. Melancholy. Yearning. Hungover again. Crabby, like a storm cloud hanging over her head.

Your finger brushes over a nail as you take the mug from her other hand, your brows furrowed together and head tilting quizzically as you ask, “You’re sad?”

Shit.

“Um,” Robin flexes her hands as she lets it slip from yours and shrugs, “I guess maybe I was when I painted them? I had on Joni Mitchell, maybe that rubbed off on my color decision.”

Smooth, Buckley.

A smile before you take a sip, like you get it, then a hum that’s searching, thinking, leaving your pursed lips. Foam rests on your top one as you ask, “What would you paint them now?”

“Pink,” she says it softly, without thinking, staring at your mouth. “I have one that’s not pink pink, a little shimmer in it, like flecks of red or gold or something.”

“Pretty,” you murmur.

Robin hums and then looks away, clearing her throat as she gestures to your mouth, “You have, um-“

You laugh, embarrassed, before you swipe at your lips and then tilt your head up for her to examine, “Did I get it?”

“It…” Robin begs her hand not to shake as it lifts, thumb swiping over the corner of your lips and lingering as she says even softer, “There.”

A sigh leaves you, not unlike the one you let slip at the party on Friday night, and for a brief and magical moment, Robin’s fingers are still curled under your jaw, her thumb against your lip and both of you aren’t breathing she’s pretty sure, and she’s not looking at your eyes because she’s still looking at your lips, but if she happened to glance up, she’d find you looking at hers too.

But a customer calls for help, and the moment is over.

Robin is sure your face looks disappointed to go.

She’s sure she can’t be crazy.

That she’s not imagining this.

Which is what she’s telling Steve over a milkshake and turkey burger.

She smacks his fingers as they reach across the table.

“Quit it. Onion rings are for friends who offer advice.”

Ever the athlete, Steve sees her defense and sets a play in action. Waiting for his opening in the scuffle, his other hand yanks one free seamlessly.

He grins as he bites into it, speaking around the too hot onion and fried dough lolling around in his mouth, “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout. I gab you advise.”

Her nose scrunches.

“Close your mouth, heathen.” She swirls her whipped cream down further into the untouched shake. “And ‘just do it’ isn’t advice, it’s a shitty sneaker slogan.” Steve rolls his eyes as she takes a breath, only getting started, “And might I add, pretty hypocritical when it’s coming from the man who quite literally won’t do it.”

“Oh,” Steve swallows, he slurps a giant sip of cold coke before he smacks his lips together. “I assure you, I’m doing it all the time.”

The idiot literally winks. Robin’s eyes narrow.

“How are we friends?”

Steve snaps and points at her.

“That’s it. That’s the advice.”

Robin blinks at Steve, who goes to take a bite of his own burger, like that’s all he’s going to say on the matter.

She throws a straw wrapper at his nose.

“Don’t act like I know what that means! And don’t you dare speak with burger in your mouth.”

Steve rolls his eyes and licks ketchup from his finger and makes a big show of chewing then swallowing.

“Do you even know if you like…” he trails off when two idiots in letterman jackets walk by, then sit right behind them, so he turns his head to the ceiling and finishes, far quieter, “Froot Loops? The cereal?”

Robin’s turn to roll her eyes. “What?”

“I love cereal,” Steve places a hand on his chest, still speaking in a hushed tone, “But it took me awhile to find the right kind of cereal. I had to shop around.”

“You know I can’t really shop for cereal in Hawkins, dingus.”

“Right, but you already know what kind of cereal you like. Fruity.”

Robin rolls her eyes again. Steve keeps going.

“The question is, there’s a whole lot of fruit related cereals out there. Pebbles. Loops. That crunchy granola kind with the chunks of fruit in it.”

“Please tell me you’re arriving at a point here soon?”

“This new…brand,” Steve winces, squinting his eyes as he tries to round to home plate with this metaphor, “Could be a kind of fruity cereal you don’t even like. Sure the box’s got pretty colors and a snazzy logo, but do you really like the taste of it?”

“Did you just say snazzy?”

Steve holds his burger up to his lips and shrugs.

But she think on what he’s getting at, and it’s a shock to her, truly it is, when what he’s saying sinks in and makes one hundred percent sense.

“I need to…find out more…about this…cereal?” Robin asks, softly, clarifying.

Steve nods, takes another large bite of his burger and shoves it in his cheek, “Take it out of the bag and really look at it, taste it, figure out what kind of bowl it looks best in-“

“I got it.”

Steve nods to her plate.

“I get an onion ring now, right?”

📻“Isn’t she lovely? Isn’t she wonderful?”

Turns out, getting to know if she actually likes this cereal is easy. Easy like her Steve cereal. Easy like Eddie O’s.

You’re excited to tell her about your favorite foods and colors, pet peeves and subjects you struggled with in school. Your dreams for your future and everything in between.

The problem is, Robin is not the only one who wants to take cereal you off the shelf to bring home.

A fact she already knew, but ever present and creating a growing gaping giant canyon between her and you. The name of said canyon?

She’s Not Into Girls, Buckley, And You’re Only Going To Get Hurt - Get Out While You Can, Fairly Unscathed.

It’s a working title.

But the thing is, no matter how large the canyon becomes, there’s you, building up the rock and making a path to cross it. Though wobbly, and thin, and signs urging her to make sure she’s prepared for the tumultuous journey - it’s crossable. It’s there.

One minute you’re laughing with a guy who’s got swoopy Steve Harrington like hair, squeezing a manly bicep and batting your lashes, and the next, you’re grabbing Robin’s cheeks or booping her nose telling her how obsessed you are with her. The more days she spends with you, the words “what if she likes both” float through her brain, lay anchor and remain solidly at the forefront of her thoughts.

She could work with liking both.

At least she thought she could, until this morning.

Robin never showed up to Scoops early. Largely in part because of the Steve Harrington of it all - until she started to find him not so bad and realized she could laugh and goof off with the idiot who stole her first real crush. But even when her and Steve started to get along, Scoops Ahoy filled her with a mountain of dread, knowing she’d have to face another day of mundane tasks, sickly sweet ice cream that somehow smelled horrendous on her clothes and hair after a shift, rude customers and unpaying sampling tweens.

But Holland’s was different. There was you, of course, but there was also the promise of music that didn’t suck and remind her of pirates. Coffee and pastries. Calm customers who wandered the aisles and hummed along to songs they knew but couldn’t quite recall the lyrics. People who lingered in the coffee shop and read their newspapers or books despite it being Summer.

She liked the quiet of the start of the mornings here too.

You weren’t a morning person like her, and she enjoyed watching you blink tired eyes at her as she wandered in and the way your smile was sweet but sleepy. Sometimes you’d yawn and your shirt would lift a little as you stretched. Her favorite part was when she’d slide a steaming mug over to you and you’d start to come to life after a few sips. The way you’d always close your eyes as the record player’s scratch would crackle out of the speakers, the soft thud of the needle meeting vinyl, and then quiet instruments and music would fill the store. And by the end of your drink, the record’d be just finishing and you’d put on something much more upbeat, you’d start chatting with her, and-

Okay, so maybe like ninety percent of the reason she comes early is because of you.

This morning however, the shop windows are still dark and you’re nowhere to be found. Robin frowns at her reflection in the door as she searches her backpack for her key she’s never needed to use.

The metal tumblers click as it unlocks, the faint chime trills as she pushes open the door. She flicks on light switches as she passes to the back of the store where her coffee counter rests.

Every step of turning on machines, measuring out scoops of freshly ground coffee for the first pot of drip, putting away clean dishes left to dry the day before are all interrupted after a few seconds by glances up at the front door.

Each tick of the clock pushing closer and closer to eight only makes her frown deepen, until she sees you hurriedly walking up the sidewalk. Her shoulders relaxing as you enter until she sees the look on your face.

You’re brushing under your eyes, keeping your head down as you drop your things behind your desk at the front of the store.

“Sorry,” your voice is hoarse and you clear it and fumble with the cash register and continue, “I’m late.”

“I won’t tell,” Robin tries to joke but your sleepy smile is less sleep and more on the verge of ‘I’m just trying not to cry right now’, so she starts making you a drink immediately.

“Ha-ha,” you sniffle and start on all of your morning tasks but without turning on a record.

Robin feels like this is an emergency now, because while she doesn’t know you completely, she knows that for someone like you to not turn on music, things have got to be pretty bad. You seem like the kind of person that falls into an album like her when she’s sad - and the only time she can’t do that is when her feelings are too big, too strong, that not even the shared pain or understanding struggling artists lend with their lyrics and art is enough.

She holds your favorite mug in her hands full of cocoa and marshmallow and cinnamon and she hesitates as she rounds her counter, watching you frown at a clipboard. But she takes another step then another until she’s in front of you and sliding it across handmade posters and signs taped to the wood tabletop encouraging guitar lessons, new releases, and a sign up for a battle of the bands at the Summer carnival.

“Everything okay?” She asks softly.

Your face is still tilted down towards the mug, but she watches your chin wobble as you let out a shaky exhale.

When you look up, your normally bright eyes are muted in their color, glassy as you point to the mug and don’t answer her question but instead say, “This smells so fucking good.”

Robin smiles, lingering next to the counter as she lets her fingers trail over some of the used vinyl up front because it’s on sale, eyes on her converse that are littered with doodles as they shuffle her weight, unable to sit still while she wonders who’s made you so upset and how can she fix it.

“I…” you cut yourself off as you swallow a big sip, eyelids fluttering as you lean forward on the counter, hands cradling the mug. You keep your gaze on it as you shake your head back and forth slowly, contemplating something. Finally you look up at her and she swears all the air leaves her lungs when she asks, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Robin just shakes her head no, gaze returning to the records, spinning one of her rings around on her finger as you keep talking.

“I don’t either, well, I did, when we met at that party I did.” You come over to where she is, abandoning the coffee so you can flip through the stack next to her. Your shoulder brushes hers with every movement through the stack and Robin takes a deep calming breath as you continue softly, “He was an asshole. Still is.”

You spin around, crossing your arms as you lean against the table and mutter, “God he was a good kisser though. Good lips. Better hands, you know how it is and I just…”

She’s gonna throw up, right here on the vinyl.

Your fingers rub at your temple as you laugh, coldly, “I fall for it every time. Every time I break up with a guy and I go on some other dates and he comes crawling back, begging for another chance, and I give it to him and then it all blows up in my face. Every single time.”

Your voice wavers and your chin ducks to your chest, the strap of your baby blue sun dress slips down your shoulder as you sigh then confess, “I caught him cheating. Again. Making out with Grace Roberts. Right out in the open at the diner. I…” you laugh and lean your head on her shoulder as you admit, “I dumped a strawberry milkshake on his head.”

“Good,” she says, miraculously able to speak with no air in her lungs, “Though a guy who’s stupid enough to lose you deserves something far nastier and harder to get out than a shake in my opinion.”

Your head lifts as she says it, laughing and mumbling in agreement, “Mm, like gravy. With chunks of meat in it.”

“Exactly,” she says softly, now looking into your eyes.

The conversation is so wildly unromantic, but there’s this energy between you two. Bodies turned opposite directions, facing different walls, yet your heads are turned towards each other, both of you waiting for something tight between you to snap.

Robin doesn’t even think as her fingers slip up your shoulder and fix your strap, pads of them buzzing as they brush along your skin. Her breath hitches as she watches goosebumps rise to the surface in their wake. Your eyelashes flutter together, your chest seems to move up and down with extended time between each rise and fall, like it’s taking more of your focus and energy to take deeper breaths.

The tick of the clock feels like it’s counting down to something she doesn’t know what. You look at her hand still on your shoulder and swallow, loud enough between the lack of distance between your faces. Voice soft because it can be as you murmur, “Your nails look like a Stevie Wonder album cover.”

Robin glances down at the burnt orange with red sparkles as the thundering of her heart makes her feel like she might pass out. She painted them last night, after her shift with you where you sang loudly along to Stevie and twirled around the shop and sang into her whisk at one point.

She flexes her hand against your strap and let’s it fall, her knuckles trailing down, grazing your arm as she pulls out some of her Steve Harrington charm lessons from a scrambled egg of a brain and asks, “Yeah? Which one?”

You shiver at the question, following her fingers before your gaze lands on her mouth. Your lips part as your head tilts while you think. She watches your hand twitch next to hers now resting next to it on the box of records as you say, “The one with…”

Robin thinks she’s dreaming as you trail off and lean closer, eyes still on her lips as you whisper, “Isn’t She Lovely…”

Then, in the time it takes her to blink, it’s all over. There’s a chime above the door, you jump at the noise and stand up too straight, creating distance between the two of you like none of it ever happened.

But it did happen.

What if she likes both.