#full well knowing i would get fucked over even worse if i claimed one

[bironism]

bironically, my unremarkable career in law has already toed the line of infamy. my ex-employer, a literal millionaire, paid for an interview with him to be published on my birthday and had the last two questions tailored to make a directly inderect jab at me (that is, a jab that points at me but doesn't name me, starting out true and ending false, the sort of thing that can't be classified as libel as it doesn't unmistakably point in my direction without insider knowledge). it's a 10-questions format, so it's quite obvious which questions deviated from the previous interview rosters. it's a 10-questions marketing gimmick meant to define the interviewee's business ethic for potential clients. the business ethic here being a vengeful cunt.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Prewar!Cooper Howard has a breeding kink because he loves being a dad. He and Barb married and started trying for kids later in life than most folks around them, so much of the sex they had, especially early on, was focused on getting Barb pregnant. If he'd had his way, they would have had a whole litter of children, but hey, sometimes life doesn't work out the way you want. Still, there's the fun of trying, and there was a lot of trying. After the divorce, he's shocked when he meets someone else, and even more shocked when he feels those same urges with you. He's been trained to try and knock one in basically every time, he jokes.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

He's also incredibly possessive, and it drives him wild to think about getting to see you all swollen and filled out with his child. Particularly with you being younger that him; the ugly part of his brain is barking at him to stake a more permanent claim on you every time a guy your age so much as looks your way. Personally, he thinks he's too old to have more kids, but between his secret urges, your forgetfulness when it comes to your pill, and your twin high sex drives, well...sometimes accidents happen.

He'd be over the moon, once he knew you were happy as well (he would also worry about the news potentially being hurtful to Barb, but that'd be an issue for tomorrow). Showing you off in public, knowing that other people see how gorgeous you are and know you fully belong to him, it really gets him going, and you certainly take notice of how amorous he is when you're out together (combined with how vigorously he fucks you when you get home). Thinks you're insanely sexy pregnant and likes to watch you ride him with a big belly. You'd both better be a lot more careful about your contraception after the first baby if you don't want another, because getting to see you that way only makes his kink worse.

The Ghoul has a breeding kink because he's incredibly possessive. It's been literal centuries since he's come across anything in this world that he cares for enough to want to claim it, and you're officially claimed. He wants everyone, including you, to know that you belong to him and only him. Other ghouls can smell him on you much more strongly if he cums inside you, and he enjoys the way filling you full scratches his most primal itch. It's just an added benefit that he's almost positive he can't actually get you pregnant, but...there are records of ghouls reproducing with other ghouls. Haven't stranger things happened?

The little thrill he gets at the idea is just nature trying to take over.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

You'd be hard-up to get him to admit it, but he wants you to need him. He wants an excuse to baby you and pamper you and force you to let him do things for you without the vulnerability of admitting that he wants to do those things for you anyway because he's deeply in love with you.

You complain that your feet hurt during your journey for the day? He'll carry you everywhere you want to go from now until the end of time, if that's what you want. Stomach and appetite troubles? Name whatever you want, he'll find it for you, no matter how many caps he has to pay. Tired? "Of course you're tired, sweetheart. Let's stop for today. Here, sit down. Do you need some water? Eat this, you need some calories. Let me rub your legs and feet for you." It is endless and sort of surreal for you to adjust to.

Speaking of journeys, I think he also secretly wants to settle down a bit. He does already after he meets and falls for you, seeing how much the constant trekking back and forth across the irradiated desert takes out of you, and he definitely would want to do so expeditiously if you were pregnant. It's not like secure places don't exist in this world. He can keep you, and anyone else who may come along, safe just fine.

He'd be afraid to fuck you if you were pregnant, worried that he'll hurt you or make you sick or make something bad happen with the pregnancy. But if you reassure him, maybe beg a little, he'll do his best to make sure your urges are satisfied. Sit on his face and let him slide his tongue through your insanely sensitive folds, lie back and let him fuck you with those agile fingers while he jerks himself off. You'll miss being properly penetrated, badly, but you won't go without.

He wants an excuse to be even more protective of you than usual. Give him a reason to literally pluck men's eyes out for daring to so much as look at you, a reason to never let you out of his sight ever again. If you thought he was ready to commit violence to keep you safe before, you haven't seen anything yet.

I can't imagine it would be easy to have a big family in the Wasteland, but reminding him how much he loves being a dad would certainly have the thought on his mind.

[chapel-of-rizztual]

This has me thinking about Swiss going into heat on stage. He tried so hard to ignore it, tried so hard to act like he was fine and nothing was wrong. But about halfway through the set it hits him all at once making his knees buckle. 

He can smell Mountain. It makes it so much worse. The earth ghoul always worked up a sweat behind those drums but today it was particularly bad, the rich earthly scent flooding his senses and clouded his mind like thick fog. 

He looks back at Mountain, leaning against the mic stand for support, hoping to catch Mountain’s eyes from under both their masks. Mountain isn’t paying attention to him, too busy focusing on playing, which he should be too, but he’s distracted by Mountain, watching his strong arms come down on each drum, with strong hits.  He groans, unable to help himself, wondering what they’d feel like hitting somewhere else. 

He feels himself collapse with need, grinding against the mic stand as his knees hit the floor. Mountain’s looking at him, he can feel his eyes burning into the back of his head, can feel the disapproving stare from under the mask, but he can’t stop himself now. The pressure on his cock is too good, too much, and nothing in the world could get him to stop now. There’s slick soaking through his trousers, running down his thighs, he knows Mountain can see it, know he can smell it as he watched Mountain scent the air, sees him gritting his teeth with a growl, bringing his arms down on the drums even harder. 

He’s moaning under the mask, thankfully the loud music help cover it up, but he knows that Mountain is close enough to hear him. He can’t stop rocking on his feet, pushing his cock into the cold metal of the mic stand. 

There’s a tapping onto his mind connection, like someone is poking at his brain and if he was in the right state of mind he’d ignore it, focus on his work, but right now he’s lost the ability to think. He opens his mind and let’s the wavelength in. 

"if you're gunna act like a bitch in heat,  I'm gunna breed you like one.” 

Mountain’s deep voice booms in his brain, echoing around, even over the loud music

Swiss falls forward with a loud moan, he almost falls face first into the floor, but he doesn’t care about that. His brain is gone, turned to mush and leaking out his ears. His arches his back, pushing his ass out and high in the air, presenting himself for Mountain. If his tail was unglamoured it would be hitched up high over his hip, the perfect position to be mounted and bred. 

He can’t see Mountain from this position, and he’s glad for it. But he can still hear him, sneering at him in his mind. 

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d let me come over there, Mount you like the bitch you are.” He hears the drum miss a single beat before resuming it’s otherwise perfect playing. “You want that? Want to be mounted and fucked right in front of everyone? Show them all how well you take such a big cock, how well your greedy little hole just swallows it? How well you take a knot? Wanna show them what a good little breeding bitch you really are?” 

Swiss moansloud enough that Phantomlooks behind him with a looks of shock on his face. Swiss doesn’t care though, just arches his back even more for Mountain, feeling a rush of slick leaking out of him, and running down his thighs.

He feels Mountain in his head again, poking around, and it makes him whine before Mountain has even had the chance to say anything. 

“And once I was done using you, breeding you, I’ll turn you around and make you show the audience, show them your little hole all stretched out and full of me. Show them how I claim you, and every single one of them will know who you belong too.” 

Swiss blacks out a little as he cums, feeling his cock pulsating hotly in his jeans as he feels himself coat the inside of them and make them warm and wet and sticky.  He whines, long and low in his throat, before getting back up on very wobbly feet, trying to act like that didn’t just happen.he grimaces, his jeans sticking to him in an uncomfortable way, damp and sticky. 

He has to sing in a second, his part of the backing vocals coming up. He looks back at Mountain, only to find the earth ghoul looking directly back at him. He watches as Mountain runs his tongue along his fangs, palming at the very obvious erection in his jeans, all while never missing a beat. He feels his cock begin to kick and fatten back up at the wild look in Mountain’s eyes, and he knows right then and there that he’s in for a long night. 

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Octavia Is Sidelined So Much In Favor Of Stolitz

Despite being used as an example of how Stolas is really a good person and father, I do notice overtime her importance in the series has dwindled. Seriously, despite how the narrative wants us to think she is the treasured jewel of his life the execution would have you say that her father is more distracted by his boy toy due to how Vivziepoop has overemphasized the Stolitz ship.

Take for example is "Seeing Stars" where he neglects his daughter and breaks his promise to see the event he promised years ago, because he's so wrapped up in his divorce and even goes to insult her mother in front of her (even though he's said in the past he's tried to shield his daughter from the ugly parts of his and Stella's relationship). However, now that he's divorcing he doesn't hesitate to be as ugly with Stella as possible which shows how really good of a father he is. Also when she goes missing despite saying that Blitzo's dick isn't enough to quell Stolas's anger when it's his daughter is involved... well it actually goes like that, because both Blitzo and Stolas can't help but flirt and be flustered around each other this whole episode. Instead of focusing on his daughter, he again is on Blitzo's dick and even worse his daughter has to forgive him for neglecting her.

Most egregious one of the them is at the end of "Western Energy" where we have the emphasis on how this affects Stolas and Blitzo's relationships especially those texts talking about their fall about Ozzie's. However, we never get focus on how Octavia felt after her father fucking almost bit the dust, because in the next episode that Stolas is in he's okay and again you would think he would be injured a bit more to show how serious Striker is. But nope due to Vivziepoop remembering he's a powerful demon, he recovers in a day and we don't see Octavia at least be escorted to the hospital to see him because again Octavia is only there when she's a tool to make him look better and not her own character.

And now we get to the music video of "Just Look My Way" where Octavia's mentions in it are scrubbed in favor of Blitzo which again shows how the narrative is favoring his boy toy over his own fucking daughter who is supposed to be the center of his world and not this person he's given up so much for. Seriously, it's why if Octavia appears again I will not take the narrative seriously because we know that despite all claims that her father will get distracted from being a parent and ogle over Blitzo because he's a selfish pos and yet Octavia will be the one who has to learn to tolerate his bs because he's got the author's favoritism.

I really at the first thought that Stolas relationship with his daughter was sweet, but then I realize like so many else it really lost it's potential once you realize that Octavia is just a prop to artificially make it seem like Stolas is a good father when in actuality he's selfishly putting her needs above hers in a situation he caused. And it's a result of the fact that the writers are just using her as a writing tool and not a full character. She isn't needed until it affects Stolas and even then the Stolitz ship zaps everything around it so that any attention that Octavia is taken away. In a way, Octavia's fears were justified her father would run off and leave her because the writers are.

[lolitaa-17]

Meaningless?

Toji x reader drabble angst lol.

"Well what are we?"

That question, how Toji hated it. He was never the type to do labels, ever since his ex wife had passed.

"How many times did I tell you to stop asking me that dumbass question y/n?"

He got up from the bed leaving you there alone.

"Well it would be nice to know? You act like you love-"

"Get out." He huffed while putting his clothes back on. He hated that too. He hated that word. Love. He felt as if he wasn't capable of loving ever since his ex wife had died.

You couldn't stop the tears from falling, it had been a very emotional week and this was definitely one way to end it.

"Well then stop fucking calling my phone!" You slapped his chest before walking out of his room.

You walked pass his son who was around 12, he definitely knew the troubled situation you had been put in with his dad.

"Y/n..." you stopped your tracks as you heard Megumi mutter your name. You wiped your tears quickly and put up a smile.

"Hmm?" you asked him keeping an eye out to see if his dad had been coming.

"I'm sorry, for my dad he's still-" He tries to apologize for his dad.

"You don't need to apologize for him, I still like you don't worry" you mess his hair up.

"What about my dad? Do you still love him? I don't want you to leave."

Oh how this had made the situation worse, you loved children. Seeing Megumi going through this at such a young age broke your heart even more.

"I don't know, but I really have to leave-"

"Please don't y/n, it gets lonely here." you could see the tears threatening to fall from the young boys eyes.

You kneeled down to his level and gave him a big hug while crying even harder. "I'm sorry." you whispered in his ear before getting back up to leave.

-

Toji pov

He noticed how your footsteps abruptly stopped, And how the front door hadn't open yet.

Megumi had probably stopped you. So he quietly walked out to see what you two had possibly been whispering about.

"What about my dad? Do you still love him? I don't want you to leave."

Those words ached his heart, but it hurt even more listening to your response.

"I don't know."

Seeing the moment you two had shared lit something up within Toji, he never was home. Always busy with work, but you were more than happy to watch Megumi whenever Toji asked. He didn't realize how much of an impact you were to Megumi.

Seeing the vacant look on his sons face once you walked out, it had changed something in Megumi. When he turned to look at his father. It was a cold expressionless look on his face.

No words were exchanged but he could tell that Megumi was the least of happy right now.

-

"Eat your food Megumi, how many days has it been since you've actually eaten." Toji placed the plate of food in front of his face.

"I don't need a Nanny. I'm old enough to watch myself after school you know that right." Megumi muttered while playing with his food.

"Well what's with the sudden switch up? When y/n-"

"Y/n wasn't a nanny." Megumi cut him off.

Toji furrowed his brows, this attitude that was suddenly being brought out of Megumi.

"She actually cared about me, about us." And with that Megumi got up and left the full plate and walked over to his room where he had always been locking himself up ever since you left.

-

Your pov

You cried, drank and slept late.

That was your schedule after work, everyday the same thing. Toji made you feel so loved, yet he claimed he doesn't feel anything towards you.

It was your final straw with him, you had blocked his number and all of his socials. Maybe it was childish, but he's made you feel like this one too many times.

-

Tojis pov

He hated to admit that he had to move on from his diseased wife, and making you feel that way because of his feeling wasn't right. He loved you. He would do anything. He just can't, it feels wrong to betray his ex wife.

But even Megumi, his own son. He was ready to move on. Megumi loves you just as much as Toji loves you.

*knock*

He enters his sons room. He heard the small sniffles coming from Megumi. It shattered Toji's heart. "What's wrong Megumi, talk to me please."

"Leave me alone." Megumi scoffed.

"Megumi just tell me please." Toji sighed sitting on Megumi's bed.

"She made me feel how Mama made me feel, and you just push her away when all she was doing was treating us like real family." Megumi kept his gaze away from Toji.

He clenched his jaw. Stopping himself from wanting to cry. All he could do is get up and leave Megumi's room into his own.

He dialed and dialed but straight to voicemail. He couldn't help but slam his phone against the floor leaving it shattered. The tears slowly start fall.

He took advantage, you would always tell him you were done with his bullshit but you never actually really wanted to leave him. Excpet this time, blocking him on everything you possibly had.

Toji wasn't one to give up though. He grabbed his car keys and made his way out the door.

-

Your pov

It was thunder storming. You had the windows open, the small yellow tinted lights on, and a big glass of wine in hand.

You knew this cycle of drinking had to stop soon, it wasn't healthy nor cheap. But it was a way to escape from that feeling that lingers onto you every time you leave Toji's house crying.

A loud knock echoed your apartment.

You open your door to see Toji soaked in water and gasping for air. His face was written in such a saddened look. You weren't really used to it.

"What are you doing here?" You slurred your words as you put the wine bottle down on a counter next to you.

"Are you drunk?" Toji asked.

"Toji...what are you doing here."

"You're coming with me." He grabbed your wrist.

"You are not taking me anywhere, because whatever was going on with us is over. So goodbye Toji."

"No it's not y/n...Because i fucking need you." Toji's voice cracked as his tears were threatening to fall again seeing the type of state he left you in.

"We need you, Megumi needs you more than anything."

"And I want you to stay there, with me and Megumi for the rest of our lives. Because I love you and I want you to be the one to care for us and love us."

"Toji I-"

"Fuck y/n...I'll even put a fucking ring onto your finger and marry you!" He cries out leaning in to embrace you.

-

"Y/n!" Megumi jumps onto you and his dad when he saw you in the room. It was the morning after Toji's confession. You went with him hoping things he said were actually meaningful.

"I missed you so much." he hugged you tightly.

"I missed you wayyy more." You laugh and hug him even tighter.

"Wait here!" Megumi ran out the room shutting the door leaving you and Toji alone again.

"I'm sorry...for everything I put you through." Toji hugged you tightly and kissed your head.

"I love you...fiance." He whispers the last part.

"I love you too." He kisses you more passionately and meaningfully than usual.

"Here is breakfast in bed!" Megumi brings in a big bowl of cereal and a cup of orange juice.

"Only for y/n though because you don't really deserve one yet dad." He places the bowl of cereal next to you and lays down Between you and Toji.

You laughed at his savage side comment, while Toji scoffed.

"I love you though, both of you." Megumi murmured.

[sonotpattismith]

lord knows it would be the first time | just say when (chapter six)

chapter five.

playlist | masterlist

song inspo for chapter: please please please let me get what I want by the smiths

chapter specific warnings: mentions of depression, hopelessness/worthlessness, suggestive content

warnings: this story contains explicit mentions of depression and suicide. if these are topic that are triggering for you, please refrain from reading. I will be putting a warning on the chapters that may be particularly triggering. please enjoy otherwise xo <3

The situation was looking grave. Well, they’d certainly seen worse in terms of mission prognoses, but the real problem, aside from the curse that had outsmarted Megumi and Nobara one too many times, was this thing was making him start to sweat about making it to Zumi on time that night. Of course, he knew they’d make it out alive, but fuck, this thing was wasting his time. He had known it would be cutting it short when he and Kugisaki were sent on a last minute mission just an hour outside of Tokyo, but he quickly assured Gojo, who offered to ask Nanami to come stay with Zumi that night instead, that they’d have everything taken care of in time. 

That was five hours and three curses ago though, and the duo was now staring down the final curse that had been haunting this chilling funeral home for the past few weeks. Multiple morticians and directors had been claiming that the corpses had been… whispering to them during their late hours. Little did they know, it wasn’t the corpses that had suddenly gained consciousness, but instead the curses that had manifested in the wake of the mourning family member’s of said corpses. 

The first couple had manifested together, being the weaker of the bunch. They weeped mockingly at the pair, likely imitating the loved ones that had created them. Megumi hadn’t even had the chance to summon any of his shikigami before Nobara sliced evenly through the trio of monsters. She landed on her knees with a thud, groaning softly at the impact. The boy, after confirming they had truly been finished off, sped over to help her up, to which she brushed him off with a claim that this was mere child’s play. 

And to that effect, she was right, because what came after definitely made up for the previous lack of challenge. It was located in the morgue. As soon as they’d kicked the door open, it grotesquely squeezed its way out of one of the freezers. Its face, what could be made out from it at least, was painted stark white, dramatic blush littered its supposed cheeks. It was mimicking the makeup a mortician would typically apply to a corpse to make it appear presentable for it’s funeral, but seeing it so unnaturally on the uncanny face of this curse was almost nauseating. 

Above all else, it reeked. The stench had gotten so putrid once its full form had exited the freezer that the pair had a hard time keeping their lunches down. 

 “God— I can barely concentrate with that smell!” Nobara shrieked as they caught their breaths, backs pressed against a wall and invisible to the curse. Truth be told, they were both exhausted already. The creature was relentless— the mocking cries of the previous curses was only amplified in this one. It rang in their ears, pulsating in their ear drums until they were forced to clamp their hands over them in an attempt to stop the ambush. 

Despite the upturned gravity of the situation, Megumi’s shaky hand slid his phone from his pocket to check the time, a drop of blood falling from the cut on his brow bone and splattering across his screen. 

“Shit.” He cursed as he slid his phone back into his pocket and stood up, squaring his shoulders. It was getting late, and he knew it would be a drive to get back to Tokyo as well. This needed to end now. He looked down at the red head who was already stumbling back up to her feet. Nodding toward her, he formulated a plan while keeping a careful eye on the curse that was inching closer and closer toward them. “Kugisaki, if I distract it while Demon Dog gets a piece of it, can you take care of it?”

By take care of it, she knew he meant her resonance. She nodded affirmatively, and he was already summoning his dog. Kneeling down to place a hand on his head, Megumi instructed it to tear a piece off for me, and he ran ahead of the animal who was growling viciously behind him at the grotesque curse. 

With the running start, he hopped on the sturdy, tall enough trash bin leaned against the wall before expertly flipping mid-air, landing a forceful kick against the curse’s oddly painted cheek. Of course, he didn’t expect the kick to do much other than distract it from the animal that was stealthily charging at it. So, it was expected when the thing grappled at his abdomen as if he was a mere rag doll and screeched its cursed wallow into his face. 

Between the aggressive tightening against his ribs, the stench that was now unbearable with such proximity, and the hot blood that began to drip slowly from his ears, Megumi felt as though all his senses were ablaze— violated. This was all part of the strategy though, so he couldn’t fight it off just yet. He’d allow the thing to keep its focus on him until Demon Dog retrieved what he was called for. Maybe it wasn’t the safest option he could have chosen to fight this thing, but Nobara’s resonance would certainly be the quickest way. That’s all he needed— to get out of here on time.

Through the undeniable pain ringing in his weeping ear drums, he thought he heard Nobara call out to him. The boy was too focused on not retching as bits of spit and what he presumed to be flesh hurled from the curse’s mouth and onto him. A growl sounded below him, and on cue, there was a grotesque squelching as Demon Dog tore off a chunk of— finger? Toe? Okay, an appendage off the thing. 

It dropped Megumi in an instant, the impact on the concrete floor pushing up the bile he had been holding in. Rolling over, he spilled the contents of his stomach at the creature’s now mangled feet. There was no time to waste gagging as his body was instinctually doing to rid itself of the rest of its waste. In one, quick and dizzying motion, he staggered up to his feet and retrieved the grimy body part from his dog’s awaiting mouth. With a quick hand to his now matted fur, he released the dog just before the curse could get its hands on him. 

“Kugisaki!” Megumi hollered, prompting the girl to slide out from her spot behind the wall, her hand already outstretched for the item the mangled boy was hurling her way. He wasn’t able to see if she caught it or not, because the peculiarly large hand that had been attempting to come down on his dog landed on him instead. The air whipped through his raven locks as his body was flung across the hall, and his back slammed forcefully against the unforgiving concrete wall. His head lolled to the side in a daze as he watched the curse bludgeon toward him once again. He had to move, he had to get up. The pain shooting through his ribs and back wouldn’t allow for any such movement though. 

Hazily, his hands came up to summon his rabbits— anything that would distract the damn thing until the air came back to his lungs and he could help Kugisaki. 

Please, he thought to himself— to any higher being that would listen— please just let me get out in time. For a moment, he thought about the unfairness of fate, how it had a way of ripping each moment of ease and tranquility from his grip mercilessly. He thought about how he’d never been selfish in his life, never asking for a thing that wasn’t for the betterment of someone else. God, please, just give me this one thing. His fingers trembled against one another. Let me make it to her, please. 

Before he could complete the motion, the red head’s piercing voice sliced through the moaning and squelching of the beast.

“Resonance!” 

The injured boy barely had enough time to shield his eyes from the pieces of flesh— if you could even call it that— that flew toward him, splattering the walls and floor around him. The pain in his abdomen radiated with each harsh rise and fall of his chest. The shrieking had ceased, and he allowed his hands to fall limply to his sides. 

“Is it gone?” Megumi called out hazily, slipping a bit as he rose up weakly to his feet. Kugisaki was hunched over with her hands on her knees, dry heaving due to the stench of the damned thing now spread across the entire hallway. 

“Jesus, it’s gonna take like twenty rinse and repeats to get that stench out of my hair.” She groaned indignantly before making her way over to the wavering boy. 

He could recall her telling him how busted up he appeared. Ijichi, who had been awaiting them outside the facility, anxiously called Shoko upon seeing the state of the boy stumbling out of the building. The ticking time on the car’s display taunted him as he stared at it with bleary eyes the entire drive back to the school. At one point, he even gritted out a demand for Ijichi to speed it up a little, but the supervisor assumed his pain was getting the best of him. 

Shoko was in the middle of placing a final stitch on the deep cut that had been made on his eyebrow. 

“Sit still, Fushiguro,” the healer muttered in frustration. His bouncing leg was making it increasingly difficult for her to do her job. She had already done what she could with the injury to his ribs, which were thankfully not fractured, but thoroughly bruised. “You’re almost done.”

As soon as her needle equipped fingers left his face, he was hopping off of the table to grab his discarded top. Urgent hands on his shoulder halted his movements. 

“Slow down!” Shoko scolded, softly dragging him back to place the small bandage over his fresh stitches. “You can’t run around like that so fast. They're not broken, but your ribs still need a chance to rest. And so do you. The painkillers haven’t kicked in yet either.”

“I have somewhere to be.” Megumi explained dryly, scowling irritably as she lifted his dirty shirt once again to inspect the bruising skin. The woman glanced knowingly up at him. She was the only other person, other than Nanami (who refused to partake in the gossip Gojo so desperately wanted to spill) that knew about Zumi. So, naturally, she had already received an earful from the man about the ‘blinding waves of young love’ that has been supposedly budding between the two. 

“I’m sure she’d prefer you in one piece as well.” She muttered under her breath before slipping the soiled, latex gloves from her hands. 

Now, Megumi knew his eardrums had taken more than a bit of a beating that night, but he was sure he heard exactly what she’d just uttered. His dark eyes shot up to her in shock, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. How did Shoko know about Zumi as well? He thought it had just been him and Nanami. At least in the case of the blond sorcerer, there was a reason for his knowledge of the secret girl. Why did Shoko know? 

Pretending to busy herself with cleaning up the aftermath of his care, she quipped casually over her shoulder. 

“I thought you had somewhere to be, Fushiguro.”

The pain searing into his abdomen went ignored as Megumi raced to his dorm to scrub the remnants of the curse off of himself and change into clean clothes. He didn’t bother to dry his sopping hair before flying out the door. A soft groan slipped past his lips as he collapsed against the unforgiving seat of the train. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, and he wasn’t racing against the clock, the events of the night slammed him like a truck. Exhausted— he was exhausted, but he was almost there. 

Amidst his almost nap with his head leaned back against the hard seat, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He peaked one eye open to read the message before him. 

Gojo: hey kid, I’m gonna call Nanami to come. I heard you got your ass beat. Send pics! 🥳🥳🥳

His tired eyes widened at the message, and he quickly sat up to type up a quick, desperate response. 

         Megumi: I’m already on the way. 

         When he didn’t get a response, he sent another message. 

          Megumi: I’m five minutes away. I feel fine.

Maybe his ETA was a bit of an exaggeration, but he’d be damned if he had endured this hellish night for nothing. It ended up being twelve minutes later that Megumi finally made it to Gojo’s door, attempting to knock as firmly as he could on the door. 

“Woah,” The white haired man whistled as he glanced over the state of the boy before him. Though he was clearly trying to appear nonchalant, the slight hunch in his usually pristine posture, redness in his tired eyes, and rapid panting in his chest were all telltale signs that Megumi Fushiguro had seen better days. “Did it at least buy you dinner first?”

The boy huffed indignantly before pushing past his sensei. His eyes squinted shut as the impact of Gojo’s shoulder radiated down his chest and into his injured ribs. He fixed his face quickly, looking around the seemingly empty apartment. The door shut with a click behind him. 

“Did you see Shoko?” The blindfolded man questioned, though he already knew the answer. The woman had texted him about the boy’s state just twenty minutes prior. 

“Yeah. Like I said, I’m fine.” Megumi stated dryly as he turned back to look at Gojo. “Where’s Zumi?” The girl was usually waiting for him in the living room when he arrived, or at the very least she would bound out from her room upon hearing his arrival. 

The small smirk on Gojo’s face seemed to go unnoticed by the distracted boy. “She already fell asleep.” He informed. A very, very small part of him felt bad that his little prodigy rushed all the way over here in such a state, only to have not made it in time to see the object of his attraction. A much larger part of him though couldn’t have found the situation more amusing. He could swear he saw Megumi deflate just a hair. “Which you should probably be doing too. Take my bed if you want.” 

Fushiguro, dejected in every sense of the word, sighed with furrowed brows as he slumped down on the couch. He shook his head. 

“I’m fine.” He claimed for the third time that night. 

“Suit yourself.” Gojo shrugged, picking up his bag from beside the door. His covered eyes lingered on the shadow user for a tad longer than they normally would, as if assessing if he was really okay enough for him to leave. A small smile graced his lips. His pride would take him out before any injury could. “My room is open.” 

The reminder fell on deaf ears, because the boy was already slumped against the couch, his eyes drifting shut against his will. The soft click of the door stirred him. He looked around abruptly before settling against the plush cushions once again. His gaze drifted to Zumi’s bedroom door dejectedly. Would she wake up before Gojo got back? Would it be selfish of him to knock on her door, or inconspicuously knock something over out here so she’d wake up? He grumbled at his own selfish thoughts and instead opted to lay down across the heavenly soft sofa, a moan of relief slipping past his lips that he blamed on whatever medication Shoko had given him, he allowed himself to succumb to his exhaustion. 

It was dark outside when Zumi woke from her impromptu nap. The moonlight against her window settled across her room like a blanket, enveloping her in tranquility. The book, which she had been desperately rushing to finish before Megumi arrived, lay forgotten beside her with only a chapter or two remaining. With the recollection of her expected visitor, she sat up frantically in bed and scrambled for her phone. It was tangled within the sheets and fell to her carpeted floor with a soft thud at her frantic movements. Hopping down from the solace of her warm bed, she snatched the device up and checked the time. 

        2:38 AM

“What?” She muttered breathlessly, running a hand through her messy hair. With a haphazard glance in her mirror, she attempted to adjust the tank top across her frame so it didn’t appear so skimpy. After a minute of this, she opted to throw a crewneck on instead. Her fingers, which were still tingling with the remnants of sleep, rubbed aggressively at her tired, puffy eyes. 

Zumi grumbled a quiet fuck this before grabbing her discarded book (she was fully prepared to berate him for his depressing choice in literature again) and swinging the door of her room open, ignoring the onslaught of nerves that filled her at the thought of what was awaiting behind it. A soft sigh fell from her lips at the sight before her. 

The very boy she had been anticipating seeing all week had shown up after all, sprawled carelessly across the large sofa. Despite his clearly unconscious state, his brows were still set in their almost permanent furrow, as if perpetually displeased by the world. One arm hung loosely off the side of the couch, the other placed softly against his chest. The awkward position his neck was in was giving her a cramp just looking at it. Sparing one last glance at him, she placed the book silently against the arm of the couch before she retreated to her room to retrieve a pillow. 

Now as she stood, hovering over his comatose figure on the couch with a plush pillow clutched in her hands, she was unsure of her next move. If he woke up to her ministrations, would he be weirded out that she had placed her hands on him so casually in his sleep? Not wanting him to continue the remainder of his night sleep in such discomfort, she bit the bullet and kneeled down beside the couch. Her breath hitched as she carefully slid her finger under his head to angle it up and slide the pillow under. The soft, still damp locked of his raven hair felt like silk under the pads of her fingers, and she had to resist the urge to drag the digits down the nape of his neck. The pounding of her heart could be felt in her throat as she gently placed his head back down against the pillow. 

With bated breath, she watched as the furrow of his brow softened just a hair, and he sighed almost silently. A fond smile spread across her lips at the sight. Looking around the living room, she grabbed a fluffy, cream colored blanket from atop the ottoman and draped it across his sleeping form. As she assessed her handiwork, she noticed the new bandage that graced his brow bone. There was a small, barely noticeable patch of blood beginning to seep through it. She instinctively leaned forward to brush her fingers against it. Megumi hissed softly in his sleep, causing her to retract her hand quickly as if she’d just placed it into a blazing fire. That aggressive furrow was smacked right back onto his face, and he attempted to turn over on the couch. A sharp, guttural groan left him at this movement. 

“Megumi?” Zumi called out, now concerned as his forehead broke out into a cold sweat. His hand subconsciously clutched at his abdomen, and, without much thought, she peeled the freshly placed blanket back and lifted both the hoodie and tshirt that he had layered on. A sharp gasp shook her as her eyes fell upon the large expanse of blue-black, bruising skin that traversed up the right side of his ribs and across his back. The moment her frigid hand met the skin left hot by the bruise, he shot up like a corpse in a shitty, 80s zombie movie. 

Zumi shrieked as his hand shot out to clutch her wrist anxiously. He yanked her down in time with his tired eyes batting frantically open. Upon seeing the familiar, long white locks cascading around him and the timid, wide blue eyes, Megumi’s fight or flight slowly deactivated. Holding herself up with a hand on his chest to prevent her from embarrassingly falling straight on him, she stared incredulously down at him. His breathing was still evening out from the scare, and his Adam’s apple bobbed with a tight swallow.

“Zumi,” he murmured in an almost drunken haze, his navy eyes scanning her startled expression. Having been ripped out of REM sleep so abruptly, he barely had time to gather his thoughts. All he knew was that the girl he had been waiting all week to speak to was right before him, moonlight casting an ethereal glow over her soft features. There was only one thing he had rehearsed to say to her when he saw her again, so it spilled from his lips in spite of the ridiculous circumstances they were currently under. “Did— Did you like the book?” 

“You fucking idiot, what happened to you?” She angrily whispered, moving to push his shirt further up his chest to get a better look. He wanted to swat her hands away, tell her he was fine as he’d been repeating all night, but as her delicate touch trailed up his chest and shoulders, he couldn’t find the willpower in him. Instead, he leaned forward and allowed her to pull the layers over his head. A chill ran down his spine as she grazed over the portion of the bruising that extended toward his back. 

“Nothing’s broken.” He stated simply, staring down intently at his blanket covered lap as she inspected him from behind. His back arched uncomfortably as she unknowingly pressed too firmly on a particularly dark spot, and a hiss escaped him. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry, Megs.” She gasped. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder she jumped up from the couch to rummage through the kitchen cabinets. Seemingly retrieving what she had been searching for, she plopped down behind him once again with her legs crossed. “Here, this might help. It’s a heating patch.”

There was a rustling of the wrapper that sounded unbearably loud in contrast to the silent apartment. After a moment, he felt a sticky cloth being placed against the more abused part of his back. She rubbed over the fabric softly as if she could make it work faster by pure will alone. It only took a moment for the chemical reaction to start, and flashes of heat began to penetrate his sore muscles. Unable to keep upright any longer, he fell back limply, his head falling haphazardly against her lap. To her surprise, he made no move to shift from the position. 

She hesitantly brought her hand down to brush the hairs away from where they stuck against the sweat on his forehead. Indulgently, she allowed the tips of her nails to graze softly against his scalp on its way back. 

Selfish— he was being so selfish, he thought as he leaned into her touch. Had he been more conscious, he would have been more embarrassed of the soft moan that fell from his lips at the feeling. Luckily, she didn’t mention it. Instead, a warm smile befell her at his boyish reaction, and it encouraged her to pick up her hand and repeat the motion, slower this time around so he could savor it. 

“Why didn’t you stay home, Megumi?” Zumi asked softly. His head’s soft push against her hand was the only indication she had that he was still awake. Fushiguro had never experienced a touch so delicate— so intimate— solely for his own pleasure. The soft scrapes of her fingernails against his scalp were setting him ablaze in ways that would likely scare her if she could take a glimpse into his mind. “Why did you come over here like this?”

“You were supposed to tell me what you thought about the book.” He mumbled mindlessly, growing sleepier against her soft touch. Still, he popped his eyes open to look up at her. “Did you hate it?”

Zumi laughed softly at his irrelevant concern and shook her head. 

“Well,” She began, a slight blush covering her cheeks as he stared expectantly at her. “I… didn’t finish it. I fell asleep.” 

Somehow in the midst of his countless injuries and unwavering exhaustion, he still managed to roll his eyes in a very Fushiguro fashion. 

“Finish it.” He demanded softly, his eyes fluttering shut once again as he adjusted the blanket over his bare chest. The warmth of the patch she’d placed on his back was helping ease the tension in his muscles, even if just a fraction. Between the sudden relief, and her absentminded hand threaded through his hair, Megumi could feel himself slipping away once again. “I’m gonna… close my eyes for a second.”

She waited until his breathing had evened out, which didn’t take long at all, before removing her hand from his hair to retrieve the book beside her. With his soft breaths beneath her, she fell back into the damned book that prompted more questions than it did answers, and raised more concerns than it comforted— much like the complicated boy sleeping soundly against her. 

This time around, it didn’t take her as long to finish the remaining two chapters of the book. In between paragraphs, she would anxiously glance down at him as if he was going to pop up and ask if she was done yet. But as she turned the last page, he was still sound asleep. Sighing softly, she placed the book down on the arm of the couch and settled against the cushion. Her fingers once again found themselves tucked into his soft locks of hair, and she too fell asleep. 

When she awoke again, it was due to a familiar moan of pain falling from Megumi’s lips. The sound made her shoot awake deliriously, taking in her surroundings with a start. The source of the offending noise was also stirring awake, likely from the pain shooting across his back. With her eyes barely open, her hands shot out to feel around for the heating patch, finding it had already lost its previous warmth. 

“I’ll get you another patch.” Zumi mumbled sleepily as she carefully stood up, allowing his head to fall back against the cushion. On her trek to the kitchen, she didn’t see how he staggered up from the couch to follow her. It wasn’t until she turned around, fresh patch in hand, that she was faced with the sight of him just inches away. The sudden appearance made her jump back in shock. 

Now that he wasn’t hidden under the covers, his chest was completely bare to her. What she hadn’t noticed before when she carelessly threw his clothes off of him was how toned Megumi was. Sure, she had suspected he was packing some punch under all those baggy clothes given the nature of his job, but Jesus. He wasn’t completely bulked by any means, but he was lean and defined all the way from his broad shoulders, to his slim waist, and tense arms. Daring to peer down farther, she was graced by the sight of his delicate yet firm abs. Her cheeks flushed as she followed the prominent veins of his abdomen as they cascaded down into the waistband of his black sweatpants. 

Fuck, did it suddenly get really hot in this apartment or is this heating patch radiating from the packaging? 

Quickly averting her gaze from the direction it had been unintentionally going down, she placed a hand on his firm shoulder to turn him around. Hopping up on the counter to have a better view, she carefully peeled the old patch off his skin. Glancing at the time on the microwave, she noted that three hours had already passed since they’d fallen asleep. 

Megumi turned back around once she finished smoothing the fresh patch onto his back. Truthfully, he already was feeling significantly better following the peaceful nap he had been able to take, but the warmth did feel nice against his bruised ribs. He hummed softly, moving to stand between her legs. The sudden boldness was unlike him. His movements were always calculated, almost over thought, but he assumed the opioid coursing through his blood wasn’t just calming his pain. 

“Did you finish the book like I told you to?” He questioned softly, unconsciously leaning in just a hair closer to her. 

She hummed in response, nodding so softly he wouldn’t have seen it had he not had such a laser focus on her at the moment. Zumi was worried that if she opened her mouth to speak, all that would come out was a squeak. 

“And?” He prompted.

“It was ass.” 

His head fell against her shoulder in defeat, a soft chuckle delicately shaking his shoulders. Zumi’s eyes widened just a hair at his uncharacteristic behavior. 

“Straight dog shit.” She laughed, aware of the way her heart was ready to beat out of her chest at his proximity. As her laughter died down, her eyes skimmed his abused back, and she reached a hand back to touch it softly. “So, are you gonna tell me what fucked you up so bad?” 

He was silent against her. So, she tried a different way. 

“Can you give me one?” Zumi asked quietly, almost uncharacteristically shy as her fingers trailed up his back and to his shoulder, unaware of the fire she was fanning within him. “One Megumi thought?”

It was slow— so slow how he lifted his head from her shoulder to stare into her eyes. She tried to swallow back her rapid, shallow breaths. In an instant, his hand came up to grip her cheeks in a motion she’d performed on him countless times now. His fingers were delicate but firm against her jaw as they squished at the fat of her face. There was a calculated gaze in his dark eyes, one that she’d be lying if she said didn’t intimidate her just a bit. 

“How about you give me one for once.” Megumi suggested lowly, searching her face for a moment. “Hm? One thought from the mind of Azumi.”

Her breath hitched as he leaned in impossibly closer, his other hand clenched in a fist and holding himself up on the counter beside her hip. There were so many thoughts running through Zumi’s head right now— none that she would dare say out loud to him though. She’d never been put in a position like this before, where something she wanted so badly was right there in front of her. All she would have to do was take it. She’d never felt anything like this before— this heat that was pooling in her stomach and threatening to burst out of her chest. She wanted him to swallow her whole. Still, he was expecting his answer. 

“Maybe you can start with the woman that comes to your house for appointments.” The sun was just beginning to peek up from the horizon, casting a low light on his harrowing face as he stared into her soul. How could she do it? Expect him to spill his heart out to her all the time when he knew virtually nothing about her. He wasn’t trying to pry the information out of her with malicious intent. No, he just wanted to know her, to understand her for a change instead of being constantly left in the dark. “Or maybe…” he mumbled, his eyes flickering up to the medicine cabinet above her before falling back on her wide eyes. “With the pills in your cabinet.”

She gasped softly, brows furrowing at his meticulous tearing down of her walls. Her lip trembled just a hair, and his eyes quickly fell to them. It was almost instinctual, her urge to smack him back and tell him she was fine. There were enough people in her life tiptoeing around her, afraid that she might break if they expose her to too much of the harsh world around her. Megumi couldn’t end up like Satoru— shielding her from his world and cocooning her in glass enclosing under the false pretenses of safety. 

“What does it matter to you, Fushiguro?” It was an attempt to sound firm, to protect her secrets from him, but it was a game he too was a master at. He saw right through it. His fingers flexed ever so slightly against her cheeks. 

“I just want to understand you. I don’t… I won’t see you any differently.” 

Her azul eyes searched him, as if assessing for danger, but found nothing but raw sincerity and curiosity. Would it be worth it for her to test the waters? To see how he’d take it? After all, he’d been the only one to take a chance on her, give her a chance at life and experiences. She wanted to hold onto that and hold onto him. 

“I was… raised in the shadow of my brother.” Zumi whispered, unsure of how far she was willing to take this story. He stayed silent, willing her to continue. “I was always told how my life would look like— what it didn’t have to look like because of him. He freed those in the clan from the obligations of upholding the name, but they’d been doing it their entire lives. Of course they were fine waiting on him the rest of their lives if it meant not having to concern themselves with the politics of it all or… put their lives on the line again.”

“But you wanted a choice.” Megumi assumed. Zumi nodded softly, her leg settling comfortably around the sides of his hips. 

“It’s privileged.” She automatically shut her own feelings down. “But I have lived my entire life as just Satoru’s achilles heel.” Tears threatened to spring from her eyes, making her turn her gaze down and away from him as best she could with her face still gripped between his fingers. “I don’t blame him— I never have. He’s just done the best he can all his life, but… even when he took me from the clan, he still saw me as just that—”

“His weak point.” He finished for her. His thumb reached up to swipe the stray tear that fell down her smushed up cheek. 

“I just couldn’t do it anymore— living with no idea of how my life would end up, if it’d even be worth—” She stopped herself. Maybe that’s where she should draw the line for now. Judging by his now tensed shoulders, Zumi assumed he had caught enough of what she was inferring. He didn’t need to know everything. “So yeah, Satoru’s gotten me some help. That’s… that’s what all that was.” 

The air around them was thick with the implications of her words. Megumi pondered on them silently. She didn’t know if it’d be worth… seeing how her life played out? He wanted to sit in her words, to absorb how she must have felt all these years— how lonely it must have been— how worthless she must have felt. There was no purpose in her life, no light at the end of the tunnel. He wanted to fault Gojo for it. He thought it would be easier to blame him for sheltering her away from her potential than to face the fact that the world they were apart of truly could be at risk because of her. Megumi wished he didn’t understand his sensei— but he did. 

Painfully aware of how she was staring apprehensively at him, trying to gauge his reaction to her dark words, he looked up at her. 

“So… do you think it was the pills or the mental health yoga that did it for you?” 

It was silent, and he feared she wouldn’t have found his dry attempt at a joke as amusing as he would. All he wanted was to prove to her that things didn’t have to change between them, that he wouldn’t subject her to the same treatment her brother had. It was quiet for a beat longer before her boisterous laughter filled the air around them. A breath of relief escaped him, and he found himself smiling along with her, the hand on her jaw pulling her that much closer. He wanted to see her smile up close, to feel the vibrations of her laughter against him. As his nose grazed her, he wondered briefly if he was treading on ice that was all too thin— because her laughter slowly died out. 

“Give me another one?” Megumi prompted, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Another Zumi thought?” 

She wished he’d release the grip he had on her just so she could think straight at all, but it had been there for damn near ten minutes now without any signs of dropping. His breath fanned against her cheeks shakily as she reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. It was meant to push him back just a bit, but she couldn’t— opting to grip onto the deliciously defined muscle of his arm instead. 

“I was thinking of how much it scared me to see you bruised up like that.” She whispered breathlessly, trailing her hand down to his chest— god she just couldn’t help herself. Her hand was small and cold against his hard chest, and for the second time that night, Megumi was struck by the intimacy of her touch. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before— someone wanting to explore him like this, to study and map him out. Leaning into her touch, a soft groan bubbled in the back of his throat. 

“Another one.” He gasped, the hand that had been idle on the counter reaching up to tentatively grip her waist, sliding up the fabric of her sweater oh so subtly. The shaky breath that escaped her nearly drove him insane, making the fingers that had found her waist squeeze down on the soft flesh.

“I’m thinking about how nervous you’re making me right now.” 

This made him pause, and the hand that was gripping his pectoral drifted down to the ridges of his abs. They were quivering under her fingertips. The sensitivity he had to her touch was making her mind reel, wondering what he’d do if she continued her timid exploration across his body. He quickly moved his hips away from her just an inch lest she feel the consequences her wandering hands were wreaking on him. 

So close now, she could see the flecks of near black in his navy eyes as they stared half-lidded at her. His fingers tightened once more on her cheeks before he leaned in to her, prepared for once in his life to take something just for himself. 

But outside the apartment door, they heard a bag fall to the ground— keys rustling. For the first time in what felt like ages, his hand fell from her face. Their gazes shot across each other's faces in panic. Megumi, in record timing for someone with severely bruised ribs, flew across the kitchen and hopped over the back of the couch. In one quick motion, he pulled his hoodie back over his head, yanking it down slightly to cover his groin and shoving his discarded tshirt under the couch. Zumi hopped down from the counter and opened the fridge, pretending to stare thoughtfully into it as the door creaked open. Honestly, she was hoping the cool air of the fridge would do anything to calm her burning cheeks. 

“You all are up early.” Satoru remarked as he locked the door behind him. Pulling out a carton of strawberry milk as to not look suspicious, Zumi felt brave enough to face her brother with a tired smile. 

“You’re back early.” She stated simply, shakily stabbing the straw into her milk. Though he still donned his typical, black blindfold, Zumi knew her brother well enough to tell he was squinting at her from behind his cover. A tiny, amused smile tugged at his lips.

“Ended up being a grade two, easy peasy.” The man waved off, pulling the covers from his eyes upon noticing the dim lighting in the apartment. He looked around for a moment, gaze landing on Megumi, who had since been silent on the couch, trying to calm his racing heart and think of anything else that would get his blood rushing anywhere else in his body. “Feeling better, Fushiguro?”

The boy simply nodded with a soft hum. 

“Just… staring at the wall?” Gojo pressed, noticing that the television was off. The pair mentally cursed at themselves for forgetting that detail. 

“I… I just woke up.” Megumi explained, staring off to watch the sun rising outside the balcony window. Gone was his previous, wonder struck and dumbfounded gaze, and in its place was his familiar, flatline expression. Zumi thought it was impressive, yet a little concerning how fast he was able to switch it up. 

“Right,” Satoru drawled, picking up his bag and making his way to his room. He’d likely only sleep a short two or three hours before waking up to get his day started once again. His sister never understood how he could function at such a rate. “Feel free to crash on the couch until you’re… feeling better.” With a subtle wink to his sister, who paled slightly at the gesture, the man retreated for the morning. 

It was comically timed, the way the pair’s gazes shot to meet each other as soon as the door shut. Their eyes both held a similar, unspoken understanding— Satoru was most definitely onto their asses.         

What they didn’t know though, was that the man in question had heard the tail end of their conversation as he was making his way up the hallway. So, maybe he dropped his bag a little too roughly on the ground and jingled his keys a little louder than necessary before entering the apartment that morning. He was a considerate brother, after all.

chapter seven.

[yuncheoligans]

Game Night

Lee Jihoon x Reader

Summary: It's your turn to host game night, but your friend has a suggestion on what to play.

W/C: 1420

Rating: MDNI (Highly Suggestive, Metions of stripping, and drinking.)

a/n: Happy Birthday to my absolute best friend on the entire planet @nebulousbrainsoup I can't wait to spend it with you and basically this summer!!! We're going to have the time of our lives!! Thank you for always always being there and being my voice of reason when I need it. I love you so so so so so so so much!! another year around we go!!

also big BIG MASSIVE thank you to @kwanisms for giving me this perfect banner, and for also helping with the idea and being super supportive while I was writing this.

When my friends invited me over for a game night I expected something more like Monopoly, Mario Kart, Mario Party, Trivial Pursuit. Candy Land, or maybe even Sorry would've been better than this. Somehow Joshua wanted to show me what they did for this week's episode of Going Seventeen, but he wanted to add a twist.

“Oh come on you know Strip Poker.” Joshua said as my face warmed up. “Of course, I know Strip Poker you fool!” I said and hit his shoulder. “It's just like that but Rock Paper Scissors cards. And strip poker!” He smiled. “Why would I want to play that with you idiots?” I deadpanned at the man. “Because it'll be fun, having the attention of all of us-”

That is the exact opposite of what I want, Three very attractive idols staring at me while we bet clothing??? No. “Sorry, I'm late.” Jihoon announced coming in from outside.

Fuck.

Make that 4 attractive idols staring at me while we bet clothing.

“Ah, Jihoon-ah, you’re just in time my friend.” Joshua smiled and sent a wink my way. I grabbed the closest bottle of wine to me and made my way to the couch, if I had to be stuck here, no way was I going to be sober doing it. “y/n?” Jihoon asked. “Are you playing?” “I thought our dear could join in the fun tonight.” Joshua said. “So you normally play strip poker with your friends?” I asked eying Joshua. Chan did a spit-take. “We’re doing what?” he asked. “Oh no this is a special occasion brought to you by the one and only, Xu Minghao.” Joshua smiled. “Don’t give me all the credit, I said it as a joke.” Hao hit him. “And who better to be our fifth for the night than our dear friend y/n?” I was nudged by the oldest in the room.

Of course, this was a plan, of course it was all Joshua’s doing, that horny bastard, the only way it could be worse would be if Jeonghan was here, those two would cheat while the rest of us would be entirely naked, meanwhile they’ve only lost a sock. Does anyone want to remind me why I’m even here? Why I agreed to this?

“You don’t have to play if you’re really that uncomfortable.” Jihoon looked at me, a slight concern in his eyes. “What and miss Jisoo in his tighty whities? No way, he’s losing today.” “Okay well rules are the same as always, we won’t make you go full nude, but if you keep playing and losing, you’ll have to take a shot once you run out of clothing.” Joshua clapped his hands and handed the cards to Jihoon. “You’re going down pretty boy.” I smiled at Joshua. “Bring it on.”

Fuck Lee Chan for looking like a schoolboy! Fuck Xu Minghao for wearing that fucking tank top, Fuck Hong Jisoo for his smug fucking face, and fuck Lee Jihoon for looking so goddamn tasty in those stupid suspenders. Here I am, with no shirt, no socks, just a bra, shorts, and underwear still on. Chan, our poor baby, just keeps losing he’s down to his boxers at this point. Hao decided his indoor sunglasses count so he’s faring better than anyone mostly still clothed, and that punk Joshua just has his shirt off, claiming he would’ve taken it off anyway he was getting hot.

Jihoon’s arm flexed as he poured a shot, it’s unfair! I’m stuck here! I’m being tortured! I’m stuck with my 4 hot friends playing strip poker, and I don’t even get to see them not wearing anything! How am I the one losing!!! Well….I guess Chan is worse off than I am. He’s fine! “How many more rounds are we playing?” I huffed “Scared those shorts are coming off next?” Chan raised his eyebrow. “No! But it’s getting late, and I’m getting cold.” I stated, suddenly there was a warm jacket around me. “Jihoon-ah! That’s cheating!” Joshua protested. “They’re cold.” he brushed off the elder. “Fine, final round? All or nothing?” Joshua raised an eyebrow and looked at the others. “What all? I don’t have an all I’m down to my underwear.” Chan protested. “Aww, cute little Channie.” Joshua smiled. “Okay, all or nothing, the losers take 2 shots and lose the rest of their clothing, minus the underwear.” “Deal” we all said in unison. The cards are dealt, we look, the room is silent….Minghao flips his card first, Scissors, Chan next, also Scissors…. “Well boys looks like you are gonna be losing those clothes-” I started, flipping over the rock card. “Not so fast Y/n” Joshua chuckled and produced the paper card. “YOU’RE A GOD DAMN LIAR AND A CHEAT HONG JISOO!!!” I yelled at the male across from me. “I’m just lucky I guess.” he shrugged the smirk never falling off his face. “Come on. I won.” he made a look behind me I didn’t quite catch.

I shimmied the shorts off myself and gave them a dramatic spin, I had worn a nicer set than usual today without knowing the consequences of my own actions. The blue set was adorned with lace, and accompanied by the same shade and lace for the bottoms, but in the form of hipsters instead of traditional underwear. “Yeah yeah, you’ve had your look now get out.” I chuckled and threw my thumb at the door signalling the men to get lost. “I can’t believe you dragged Jihoon into this too.” “I don’t think he minded much.” Joshua winked and helped Minghao put on his long coat. “I’ll help you clean up y/n” Jihoon smiled at me calmly. There was a quiet darkness in his eyes. Something bubbling behind that sweet smile and gentle nature. “You don’t have to Ji, it’s okay.” I threw my shirt back on to cover up. “This is the last time I host game night at my place.” I mumbled as the others began leaving. “Goodnight y/n!” Chan called out as the Uber arrived to pick them up, Minghao still red in the face after having lost to Joshua at strip poker. I waved to them from the window.

“Did you have fun tonight?” Jihoon asked coming up behind me, making his presence known, his hand on the small of my back. The ever-present partner stance he took in private. “Until Jisoo very clearly cheated I did yeah.” I rolled my eyes and turned around to pick up the various beer cans strewn about the floor from the times we would throw them at said male. “I’m never letting him come up with the ideas again.” I chuckled to myself. “What makes you so sure this was Joshua’s idea?” Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “Strip Poker? Come on he clearly came up with it.” “Maybe…with a little suggestion.” he shrugged. “And who else would suggest such a thing besides Jeonghan?” “It may have been mentioned in passing when we were working on a song.” he tried playing nonchalantly. “Lee Jihoon are you trying to tell me that strip poker was your idea?” “Oh don’t act so surprised doll.” he smirked and tied off the trash bag. “I’d been looking for an excuse for them to see something they could never have.” “You sneaky little mastermind! You wanted me to strip in front of your friends?” I looked at the man who had started spending more time with me than in his studio. “I said I wanted to keep us private, but that doesn’t mean I won’t find ways to show you off.” “A warning would’ve been nice!” I slapped his arm away from me slightly. “You don’t mean that you love surprises.” he moved behind me, his hands on my waist. “Besides, you know how worked up I get having to play pretend all day.”

This side of Jihoon was dangerous, the side that came out when he had been pent up, he had overworked himself and wanted to let go and have fun, he loved the feeling of when you let go and basically crawl into his lap. Just having you encompass him, he just loves having you to himself after showing others what they can’t have.

“Now it’s time for the real fun?” he raised an eyebrow. “Uuujiiii,” I whined out at the man and he effortlessly picked me up carrying me away to the bedroom.

He truly is a mastermind when it comes to games and game night.

[yuzukult]

yours, but not yours 06 || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours 06 pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: 6.7k (1k per month i disappeared lol) warnings: profanity, mentions of sex a/n: ... hopefully y'all didn't forget me,, if this chapter is mediocre i am so sorry i'm trying my best here T_T i had to rewrite the chapter a couple times & ended up going with a different route (which may be slightly unexpected) but the series isn't over yet !! this is the calm before the storm ok

There’s nothing worse than being proven wrong.

It’s like when you’re a toddler, your mom tells you to not eat the spicy slice of pork belly, knowing very well that you wouldn’t be able to handle it but you still beg her anyways. Then when you’d finally get a bite, your face contorts into a pained one, desperately wishing that water would be more relieving to the tongue as it is to a house fire. Or like when your high school best friend told you to maybe not get involved with the guy who has quite the reputation, but your constant urge to break the rules practically drowns you, so you go for him anyway. Then, when he left you crying outside on his porch, beseeching him to come back after you clearly saw him cheating on you with that other pretty girl in your Art class with that cool hot pink dyed strip of hair, you’re yet proven wrong again, only to be running to your best friend’s house after you regained your senses.

This is probably another one of those times. And truthfully, maybe you’ve evolved, but there’s this part of you that wishes you’re wrong.

Seungcheol is definitely nothing close to what you’d ever expect to be your type. He’s not the traditional kind of guy—office job, either living alone and saving for a house or lives in a house he owns, has a car, wears business casual clothes on the weekdays, maybe even into different types of beers, occasionally plays a gaming console—instead, he’s a mechanic with a motorcycle and likes to flirt with you whenever he gets the chance. He favors the torn up and stained attire, despite having money (which… you’d only find out not too long ago) but he does love alcohol. Whiskey being on the top of his list; beer is more of an option for social events, he mentions it the one night he stayed late in the garage when you came down with two bottles in hand. “I had leftovers. They were gonna go bad if I left it any longer,” you said as you handed over the Miller Lite. He popped the cap off on the edge of the workstation, swapping it with you after, then opening his own in the same way. “Let’s not put it to waste.”

And here you are, two days after the event, groggily putting laundry into the washer with your head full of—you guessed it!—Choi Seungcheol.

The last encounter was left with you exiting his childhood bedroom with disheveled hair, wet panties, and awkwardly adjusting the fabric of your dress. No phone call to follow up, no text—nothing. Fucking radio silence.

How does someone fucking rail you into the mattress, whisper the dirtiest things in your ear, then claim you as their own and suddenly just go off the grid right after? You didn’t see him for the rest of the night, and when you went back to Rowoon, he didn't interrogate you on your relationship with Seungcheol after he shut him up. The whole thing was eating you up inside to the point that you were fucking wishing that Rowoon would ask, just to have a soundboard for this dilemma.

Was that the finale of it all? Is this the end of You & Seungcheol: The Not-So Love Story? He hasn’t even been back to the garage yet, and it’s got you pondering why he didn’t even bother to send a fucking text. A text! It’s not that hard to send a text.

But maybe this is what that whole “karma” thing people keep talking about—what goes around comes around, right?

You groan. Slamming the door shut, you pull out the dispenser drawer of thr washing machine aggressively. Just like when he pushed you against the wall that night, knee shoving your legs apart as he looked at your lips with furrowed brows. You couldn’t help but grip onto his biceps—he was so thick in that shirt, hugging every curve of his body in waves you didn’t know would leave you breathless from the sight. How is he so hot when he’s angry? He didn’t even have a right to be, you weren’t his (even though he continuously thrusted his hips into yours, heated breath against your neck with the word, “mine,” constantly falling off his tongue effortlessly), but god he was good at convincing you that you were.

You shake your head. Fuck! This is frustrating. Not sexually frustrating, (you’re lying, that’s definitely part of it), but frustrating in the fact that you don’t know where this leaves you. Are you still fighting? Do you make up? What… now? And why the fuck do you keep finding yourself asking the same goddamn fucking question with him?

Nearly overflowing the compartment for the detergent, you quickly grab a wet rag to wipe off the excess that spills as you mutter a couple curses underneath your breath. 

He’s got you in a chokehold; how is it that a guy who wasn’t even on your fucking radar suddenly the only one you can think about? Even when you’re vacuuming your living room, you don’t even recall grabbing it from the closet. All you have infiltrated your mind is Choi Seungcheol. 

Honestly, you’re a dick.

For one, you’re finally coming to your senses that disregarding Seungcheol’s feelings isn’t fair. He’s been nothing but helpful the entire time you’ve known him; last month, he replaced your windshield wipers when he noticed the rubber was tearing off. He ended up pulling out the weeds from the front of your house after the awkward attempt to water them, and not to mention, he came up to your home when he heard a screech (you’re afraid of cockroaches, and you didn’t admit it even after Seungcheol killed it with a flip flop). 

But who really is the dick here? He hasn’t called you, texted you, or anything really. Quite literally have given you the post-nut clarity you needed, only for him to ghost you.

To fucking ghost you! The guy who said he’s head over heels for you, swooning all your friends into believing he’s your boyfriend, and well—also pretending to be your boyfriend, even when he knows what the consequences for it are. 

Then again, who cares… right? He’s just some buff mechanic, a fuckboy, and a tenant.

(You almost used the “tenant” excuse to text him, but you hold yourself back and don’t. Only because when the 25th rolls around, you actually have to ask him for rent.)

As you’re making your bed, throwing the sheets up to float down and align with the mattress, your phone rings.

At first, you think it’s your mom, so you let it ring for a little. She has the tendency to never pick up the phone, and although you never have the audacity to ignore her call, you let it ring a couple times out of pure pettiness.

That is, until you realize it’s actually Seungcheol’s name on the lockscreen.

“Hey,” he greets; it’s a mixture of uncertainty and excitement, probably because he knows what he did wrong in terms of leaving you hanging but he misses hearing your voice. “Um, how are you?”

“Not great.”

“Oh? What’s wrong?”

You roll your eyes, despite him not being able to see the action right now, he could feel the burn through the phone. “Actually, don’t answer that. I know, I—”

“What happened?” You snap, pacing in your bedroom. “You fucking told me that you were anything but a fuckboy, and the moment that I let myself be vulnerable, you just leave me hanging? What the fuck was that? Am I just wasting my time with you, Seungcheol?”

It stings.

Of course, everything with you stings. In both a good and a bad way, the words you say always seem to ache, tighten, and sting his chest, all from a variety of emotions you spew out so transparently. You’re so real and raw in the way that if he fully commits to you, that’s it—he’s done. There’s no going back to the lifestyle he had before, no fucking around and dicking around.

And as scary as that is for him, hearing that it’s with you, he’s okay with it.

But he’s now in the position where he doesn’t know how to make that happen. Not after all the current events.

“I got caught up,” he says, unable to even believe himself despite it being completely true. The night of the event, you found yourself scrambling out of his bedroom after sex and his dad called about some emergency with the company—Seungcheol has been in Malaysia since. “I really wanted to call and text—really, I just… didn’t know what to say.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Anything would’ve sufficed. I don’t know where that leaves us now. I’m trying, Seungcheol, I admit I was a jerk for disregarding your feelings and never taking you seriously. But when you pull a stunt like this, it doesn’t really make me believe that you’re not just setting me up.”

He stays silent for a moment; you could almost hear the ringing in your ears from the quietude, and you wonder what’s going through his mind. 

“Seungcheol?”

“Yeah,” he says breathily. “Yeah, I—I’m still here.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Can you—Can you take off? Just the Friday. Can I get you on a plane on Thursday night, and you come meet me for the weekend? My treat.”

Choi Seungcheol never really lived an average life.

It all really started when his mom met his dad back in college; this innocent, bowl-cut boy with the thickest glasses of the century, eyesight nearing partial blindness had a crush on the prettiest girl in his economics class. His reputation was practically nonexistent other than for the fact that he looked nerdy, and hers was being… almost every positive adjective in the book. He’d gather the courage to ask her out, expecting a rejection, only for her to turn his way, those chocolate irises sparkling underneath the hallway lights while she said the word that was opposite to his predictions. Yes.

She stuck with him through all of college—even though she had a line of suitors waiting for her, she was always in love with the reputable nerdy boy. Despite what people thought of him, Seungcheol’s dad never failed to make sure she felt loved and supported through the entirety of their relationship. Even when he had these big goals to build a company from the ground up, he kept her as his priority and that never changed.

It’s a love story for the ages, one that his mom reiterated as she tucked Seungcheol into bed during his youth, but he didn’t quite resonate with it because how could someone like his dad be the one to make his mother swoon in that way? The man who sat at the end of the dining table, reading glasses at the tip of his nose even after getting lasik to rid himself of those stocky lenses, physically there but not… present.

Even now, as he’s sitting beside his father at his hotel room’s dining table, he still doesn’t feel him.

But to be fair, can anyone find comfort in a room full of stone tiles, high ceilings, and a chandelier that probably costs more than the average car times eighty?

“Tell your brother that he’s coming tomorrow,” he says, eyes never leaving the screen of his iPad. His father has since graduated from a newspaper to a tablet. “He has a presentation Friday, and he needs to rehearse everything he says. Can’t believe he fucked up the last one.”

Seungcheol sucks his cheeks. He clicks send on the message meant for his brother, feeling more and more like an assistant than someone who was next in line for the throne of the company. “Aight. Sent. Why am I here, by the way? You just so happened to drag me here? I thought there was a company emergency.”

He finally puts down his tablet. “There is. I’m dying.”

Seungcheol’s heart drops. “You’re… dying?” 

“Well, not that I’m sick—god forbid, but you never know when I’ll die.”

That pretty much explains the origin of the majority of Seungcheol’s traumatic childhood.

“Dad, I don’t think it works like that,” he retorts with the quirk of his brow. “I thought it was a literal emergency. I left—”

“What? The garage? Come on, don’t act like I don’t know. I keep tabs on all my children—like right now, your brother is at his girlfriend’s house. The one he has yet to introduce to us, and in fact, I don’t think I like her.”

Seungcheol’s face contorts in confusion. He knows his dad like the back of his hand; if he didn’t know about the garage, Seungcheol would’ve been surprised. It’s almost an expectation that he would track both Seungcheol and his brother, and truthfully, it wouldn’t be totally out of character if he was tracking Seungcheol’s mother either. 

“You’re always pressuring us to get married and run the company—isn’t him having a girlfriend just him going the right route? I’un get it. Isn’t that enough?”

Maybe that’s why Seungcheol only had flings; the girls weren’t ever disappointed in sex, and they never stuck around enough to figure out that he carried so much baggage. The wealth in his pockets might’ve been the reason for the hearts in their eyes (and his dick), but if they knew the weight of expectations from his parents that came with it, they’d run in a heartbeat. He didn’t want to bring anyone close enough that they’d meet his family, have to deal with the burdens he did, and it’s mostly why he’s been hesitant about telling you… everything. Even when he wanted to.

“I wanted him to date that girl, the one whose father owns KS Bank.”

Of course, everything loops back into business.

“Well,” Seungcheol begins, getting up from his seat. “He’s happy. Regardless if his girlfriend is a stripper or her dad owns KS Bank. If you want both of us to run the company, we should at least come home to a companion that we love and care for, shouldn’t we?”

His dad returns to his iPad, adjusting his glasses once again. “It’s not beneficial for the family business.”

Deja Vu hits—that same feeling he got when Namjoon swung at him returns, except the courier this time is his own father.

But just as he reacted with Namjoon, he remains cool. 

Seungcheol probably rehearsed it a million times in front of the mirror, all the possible things he could say to refute his father’s beliefs. If his brother wasn’t in love with the girl he’s supposed to marry, sure, her status would definitely benefit the company, but… would he even want to help out anymore? Isn’t his happiness the priority?

Nonetheless, he knows that fighting back isn’t worth it. 

Instead, he figures channeling that energy toward you would be more productive.

Although, with the last encounter the two of you had, it’s a bit doubtful he’d be able to achieve anything from being miles apart. For one, asking you to come see him when he had absolutely no plan whatsoever on what would happen when you arrive is… bold. Not to mention, you rejected his offer, saying something along the lines of, “that’s not how asking for forgiveness works,” and “things don’t get resolved on some ‘vacation high,’ Choi Seungcheol.”

And by all means, you’re 100% right.

This is an entirely new territory for him—he’s never actually had to ask or beg for forgiveness before because quite frankly, he never cared to. Burning bridges wasn’t a new concept for him, it was something he frequents. His mom never seemed disappointed, so he never felt the need to be apologetic, even if he felt the guilt, the words never emitted. Or when his father made that signature displeased ‘tsk’, Seungcheol had always been below the expectation that forgiveness wasn’t even worth chasing after. 

But you—this experience with you, is a whole other thing.

That guilt gnaws on his insides brutally; he could physically see the impact that you have on him from his disheveled hair, bags underneath his eyes, and the sullen look on his face. Do you hate him? Do you want nothing to do with him? Did he ruin all his chances with you?

He’s never really had a serious relationship before—well, rephrase, Seungcheol has only ever had one serious relationship. “The Classic Couple,” was what they were called; they were the pair that the wealthiest parents would arrange for their children. The only thing wrong with them was that they didn’t work—or well, Seungcheol couldn’t make it work.

With a click of his tongue, reality settles in. If he really wants this, truly feels like there could potentially be more with you, then he has to make it work. This isn’t like the woman before you, you’re… you. Whether or not it lasts forever or just a couple months, he likes you—shouldn’t that be enough? Especially when you’re finally opening the door and hearing him out, stepping out of your own comfort zone? 

“I’m gonna head back home then, since it seems like I’m not needed here,” Seungcheol says, grabbing his phones with a soft ‘thanks’ to the staff as they clear the plates. “I’m sure you two can handle things from here. If there really is an emergency—”

“You should’ve stayed with that girl,” Seungcheol’s dad interrupts, infamously cutting him off as usual. “The girl you dated a couple years ago. Margaret.”

“Maeri,” Seungcheol corrects. “Her name’s Maeri.”

And for the first time, his father’s lips curl into a smile. “So, you remember her.”

“Well, we dated for a while.”

“Shouldn’t have lost her,” he says, inhaling deeply. “I think I can reach out to her father and make an agreement. I’m sure she’d be happy to have you again. I ran into her at the banquet and when I brought up your name, her face lit up.”

Seungcheol stares at his father in disbelief. “Again, I feel like we should have more control over who we end up with, not you. I’m more than happy to try assisting you with whatever it is you need but I should be the one who chooses who I want to be with.”

“And? You chose her before, you can choose her again.”

Seungcheol quits this time, reminding himself again that he needs to preserve his energy for you.

There are a mixture of emotions that are flowing inside of you, eagerness and confusion, unsure of which to display. Do you showcase your excitement and elation or do you express the frustration and annoyance? Normally, it doesn’t really matter which you decide to promote; it’s only because this time, your reaction will result in what happens next.

Seungcheol sits on the hood of your car; in a leather clad jacket that hugs his arms so tightly, you’re almost tempted to spill an insult from between your lips on how he should get a size up (even though you most definitely can’t even stop staring), hair slicked back, and baggy black jeans, it’s the signature look of practically every label that Namjoon had given him. Seungcheol doesn’t say a word—instead, he watches you attentively, trying his best to determine what the expression on your face depicts. 

He can’t quite tell what you’re thinking. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, finally shattering the silence. “Get off my car.” You don’t really mean that, you like him here, and the fact that he’s back, still himself with that smirk on his face, only comforts your heart.

“Come on, baby,” he calls out, ignoring your sharp words with his fingers barely grasping onto yours, tugging you in close. The pet name that’s disgusting from a stranger is somehow sweet when it slips off his tongue, luring you in like some hypnosis spell. “You don’t miss me?”

Of fucking course you do—if it’s one thing that you admit, it’s that you were wrong about him. He’s not what those labels people whispered through the grapevine, completely different from an unattached, apathetic guy who doesn’t want anything that lasts longer than a night. 

But you’re not gonna let him know that. At least, not that easily.

“No,” you retort through your gritted teeth, almost as if it’ll filter the insincerity of that response. “What’s there to miss?”

His hand slips into yours, interlocking your fingers before pulling you nearer. “Everything. Was it quiet down here? Were you lonely? Did it feel weird not to see my motorcycle out front? Or the garage open? What about my company? I know you hate the way I chew on gum, but I’m sure you missed hearing it in the background.”

You chew the inside of your cheek.

He’s so cute, and you feel like an idiot for being another girl that ends up on the list of falling for his irresistible charms. 

“I felt like a one-night stand, Seungcheol,” you confess, his full government name slipping off your tongue with bitterness that hits his ears. He couldn’t get a pet name out of you, but his nickname is enough and his smirk is wiped from his face within seconds. “We fucked then you suddenly pick up a phone call then I just—I never hear from you again.”

“I admit that it didn’t help my case,” he sighs, pushing himself off your car. You’ve got your arms crossed against your chest, a shield to protect yourself from him. “And I can fully explain.”

He starts off with his dad—this cold, distant man somehow ended up with a woman that’s the opposite. Underneath that hard facade, he’s a father who wants his two sons to run his business, only that neither of them inherited the drive to push the company the way that he does himself. 

“… That night that I left, I didn’t come back to the party ‘cause my dad made it seem like the company was goin’ under,” he discloses, deciding that now, he isn’t going to hide anything from you anymore. “I thought I had to go into this big board meeting with my brother and sign off to sell shares of our company ‘cause my dad fucked up or something.”

You roll your lips. There’s a bit of regret for making him feel bad, but it doesn’t discount how he made you feel either. “And then?”

“It was some stupid trap,” he groans, shaking his head. “He’s really good at doing that ‘we’re blood,’ guilt scheme. But uh, listen… I don’t expect you to forgive me or for this to fix up overnight.”

“Then what do you expect?”

“Honestly, um,” and for a moment, he pauses before chuckling. “I really contemplated asking you to be my fake girlfriend. My dad has this thing where he’s constantly trying to set me up with other women—”

The fronts of your brows shift together.

“—but,” Seungcheol adds, hoping you pause your thoughts from going in a direction where you’d stray from him. “To me, there’s just you.”

You blink blankly. “And what does that mean for us then? Where do we go from here?”

He slowly eases his arms to wrap around your waist, hesitant in his movements to confirm that you’re okay with his touch, only to then feel the anxiety lift from his shoulders when the weight of your arms replaces it. “We can… fix us. If you can push aside all the prenotions you’ve had of me, view me as someone that could be your boyfriend, then I want this if you do.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks; Seungcheol always manages to make your heart skip in its beats and cause that churning in the pit of your stomach. “Okay… but—” his smile fades the moment the second word appears, “—but we have work to do. You can’t exactly say we started off on the right foot.”

That stupid grin pulls on his lips once again as he settles back down onto the hood of your car, legs parting for you to sit yourself in his thigh, arms never leaving your frame. “I agree, pretty. I’m ready to do this when you are.”

And with a soft kiss planted on your nose, the comfort and warmth it brings makes you feel like this… is right.

Seungcheol admits that within the last month, his life has been pretty mundane in comparison to what he’s used to.

For one, he hasn’t received a call from his parents. Maybe they’re way too occupied to be concerned about him or that there wasn’t enough going on for him to tag along for, but all he knows is that it’s been radio silent on their end. Plus, the garage has been rather busy lately—he credits you for the increase in foot traffic, recalling how you rolled your eyes and snatched his phone from his hands on a Saturday night lounging on your couch, muttering “how are you supposed to get any business if you don’t advertise yourself?” Truthfully, he’s been banking on word-of-mouth from your neighbors that found out he does car maintenance, but this newfound array of customers isn’t so bad.

He likes the simplicity of this—in the mornings, he’d get to the garage early in the morning and park his motorcycle right by your steps. Pushing the overhead door with a rumble, he’d brush his hands off from the dirt residue left on the rubber at the bottom before placing his hands on his waist to take a good look at his shop—yes, his shop. He’d gotten so accustomed with calling it a literal garage that he forgets that it’s really a shop. Brew a pot of coffee, turn on the little TV he got for waiting customers (really, it’s for himself) before he got to business.

Then, around 6PM, you’d be back from work, dragging your legs up the steps into your home and he’s behind shortly after closing up. He enjoys how domestic everything with you is—cooking dinner together, eating dinner together, and then washing the dishes with one person scrubbing and the other rinsing before settling onto the couch to watch something on TV. Last night, you suggested, “King the Land,” which he normally isn’t a fan of watching K-Dramas, but with you, he finds anything entertaining.

Although the old version of himself wouldn’t ever confess this but… he likes being a boyfriend.

Maybe it’s just specifically that he likes being your boyfriend, considering in his last relationship, he didn’t favor that title as much. But now, he finds himself getting a little giddy inside when you introduce him in that way, almost like little kids get when their crush approaches them.

There’s something about the way you’ve given him a spot in your dresser for him to leave his spare clothes in case he unexpectedly stays the night, and how there’s a toothbrush residing in the cup beside yours, or even the fact that you’ve bought another set of slippers that’s just for him… it makes him feel more at home than at his own home. Seungcheol didn’t sleepover during his wave of late night escapades, but with you, he finds that the left side of the bed unspokenly assigned to him is something he didn’t know he craved for.

Seungcheol loves it. He loves all of it. And truthfully, if he didn’t catch himself before spilling it, he would’ve said he loves you, too.

Today is slightly different than usual, deciding that he would leave the estate earlier (and weirdly enough, living under the same roof as his parents didn’t tempt them from bugging him recently, but they did live on the opposite side of the home) so he could stop by the local coffee shop and grab you a cold brew.

You’re so pretty when you look surprised to see him outside your front door thay morning.

“Hey gorgeous,” he greets, that cheesy smile never leaving his face. You grimace at the term of endearment, but your expression juxtaposes how you feel inside. “I thought you’d like a change of pace and enjoy something from the cafe instead.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, grabbing the drink from his hands. “Vanilla?”

“Three pumps. Just how you like it, baby.”

You’re still so awkward when he says things like that—it used to be so easy to roll your eyes and push him away when he’d do it in such a sleazy way. But now, knowing the genuinity behind the words, he leaves you flustered. Even if he’s annoying and it’s the grossest thing he’s ever said.

“I have about six appointments today,” Seungcheol reaches over to open the lid of his black coffee, the steam rising from the paper cup. “You said you had a doctor’s appointment? So you’ll be back earlier?”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, zipping up your backpack. “I’ll grab lunch for us?” And shortly after, he watches you drive away to work before getting back to the garage so he could greet his next client.

If this is what it’s like to be part of the working class, Seungcheol could get used to this.

He acknowledges that ever since the two of you had resolved your issues, he got a bit carried away. Investing in his makeshift shop has become a whole ordeal, only because the constant drilling, clanging, and unnecessary constructing noises from the equipment installers weren’t exactly what he thought was going to come out of it for the first two weeks—but the realization that he could grow his business from the new customers made him excited. For the first time, Seungcheol felt like he was doing something he was proud of.

So yes, driving or walking by this garage in the middle of a city suburb underneath a house with a whole jacking up station for cars looks futile, but the abnormally high ceilings of your garage should be taken advantage of.

He likes this—beneath a car, pushing aside the plastic tray from this 2018 Honda Accord after unscrewing it and unplugging the drain plug before it falls into a bucket he uses as an oil receptacle. This is nice. This is calming. There’s no hollering from board members, no backhanded compliments from his father, and no attempts on pressuring him into doing things he doesn’t want to do like date a girl whose father has a monopoly on owning property the next town over.

Seungcheol just wants to watch a gallon of old oil release from a crankcase and into a bucket.

And honestly, he thinks his thoughts have spoken too soon when he notices a Rolls Royce Boat Tail pull into your driveway.

He hasn’t met everyone in your life, but one thing he knows for sure is that even the wealthiest people you know (Namjoon and Yubin) don’t flaunt their money in front of you. The rest of your friends are middle class, average working people, and the only way someone is driving to your home with a $28 million car is if they’re part of his life.

“Choi Seungcheol,” the person calls out; the door is shut behind him with a thud, Louis Vuitton sunglasses sitting comfortably on his nose with his long brunette hair combed away from his face. He dresses in a flamboyant shirt, the first couple buttons unraveled, and in sandals that cost four times your car. “I heard you do mods over here.”

Seungcheol comes out from the garage, brows furrowing when he realizes who makes an attendance at his shop. Juxtaposing in a stained white tank and the upper half of his overalls tied around his waist, for a moment, he felt like the two of them were part of two different worlds. “Yoon Jeonghan–do you really think you want to mod your car? Do you even know what that means?”

Jeonghan takes off his shades and slides it into his shirt pocket. “Absolutely not, I heard some guy mention it in a movie once,” he grins cheekily. “So, I heard you got a new place.”

“Well, I’m renting a garage.”

Jeonghan blinks blankly. “What’s renting?”

Seungcheol chuckles, walking back to his station as Jeonghan follows in suit. “It’s when you pay someone to use their space,” he grabs a rolling chair from behind a desk and gestures to Jeonghan for him to sit down. “What’s up? What are you doing here? You didn’t come here to get a lesson on renting.”

“I’m more surprised that you don’t own this place,” Jeonghan stares at the chair skeptically before glancing over at Seungcheol who points to it again. “And… not owning any new furniture.”

“It’s an autoshop, Hannie.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t afford clean chairs.”

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol rolls his eyes, grabbing a rag to wipe the opening for any residual oil. “You come here to lecture me about my place or are you here with an actual reason?”

His friend sighs, finally deciding to plop onto the old swivel chair. “I know you briefly told me that you’re ready to move on from your parents…”

Seungcheol scrunches up his face, grabbing a cylindrical tool from off his cart as he eyes Jeonghan carefully. “Something like that, yeah.”

“And rumor has it, your dad hasn’t been happy about your brother and his new girlfriend.”

“I wouldn’t say new, but my dad has been acting new about her.”

“Well, he’s been making moves to target you instead.”

The tool wraps around the oil filter, and with a bit of strength, it loosens as more oil spills from the sides, flowing into the bucket in unison with Jeonghan’s news.

“He’s targeting me? Stop being so ominous and go straight to the point.”

“Maeri’s back,” Jeonghan finally spills, and Seungcheol pauses in his movements. “Your dad met up with hers the other day—I have this bad feeling he’s gonna try to set something up.”

Out of all the people that Seungcheol has met through his parents and from their “community” (aka the rich people cult), Jeonghan is the only person he trusts. Although Jeonghan will never cut ties from his generational wealth, his loyalty as friend and unconditional support for Seungcheol has always been admirable.

“I mean, he hasn’t called me and—”

“Hey! I’m back! I brought—” you stop in the middle of your driveway, staring at the car you could never afford in your lifetime before looking at Jeonghan and Seungcheol. “I—Oh, uh, hey.”

Jeonghan grins mischievously, stealing a glimpse of Seungcheol then back at you. “Hey, I’m Jeonghan. Seungcheol’s friend.”

You mimic his smile, and something in Seungcheol eats him up whole because he’s quick to speak before you do. “Jeonghan meet—” he says your name, then for a brief pause, he calls you by a label so confidently, he even surprises himself. “—my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. He hears Pomp and Circumstance play inside of his head, the image of him receiving his diploma at the podium while in a cap and grown flashes before his eyes. Choi Seungcheol has finally graduated from the school of fuckboys, reaching that point in his life where he looks at the prettiest girl who manages to make his stomach tie into knots and call him his—truly his. 

“Wow,” Jeonghan clicks his tongue. “Your girlfriend? Insane. I thought you said you weren’t gonna settle.”

He shrugs with that smirk on his face. “Wasn’t. But when you meet a girl like her, who are you to say no?”

Your cheeks heat up as you place the bag of food on the coffee table. “It’s uh… nice to meet you. I didn’t know Seungcheol had friends other than the girls he met at the club.”

Seungcheol shoots a glare but Jeonghan snickers. “I like you already,” he compliments, hand sliding into the pockets of his shorts. “I actually came to convince Seungcheol to attend a fundraiser that my mom is hosting this weekend,” the look Jeonghan gives his friend for a brief moment is suspicious, but the next inquiry gives it away. “… You should come too! Be his date.” 

“Oh, um—”

“I’m not sure about that, Hannie,” Seungcheol interrupts, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t think she’d want to see that part of our lives.”

Jeonghan quirks a brow. “And why not? She’s dating you, right? I’m sure she can answer for herself, and I’m sure she wants to see that side of you and your family.”

Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan divert their attention to you.

“You know, you didn’t have to say yes to Jeonghan,” Seungcheol’s standing outside of your bedroom door, leaning against the wall while waiting patiently for you to get dressed. “It’s a whole thing if we go—it ain’t like going to a work party.”

“Well, he—he made a, ugh,” you grunt, and he could hear you shifting inside with a struggle. “He made a point, if I’m dating you, I’m dating all of you.”

“Baby, why are you getting ready in private again? You’re acting like I haven't seen all of you.”

“I’m just—gah,” you knock your foot into the bed frame and wince. “I feel awkward.”

Truthfully, ever since the two of you had made it official, things haven’t… escalated, ironically. The nights he sleeps over are all pure and innocent; he’d nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, shower you with kisses, and wrap his arms around you to pull you close, resting your head on his chest. 

But that was it.

Nothing more.

He hasn’t asked for it or initiated it, mostly because he’s slightly afraid you’d take it the wrong way but quite frankly, he’s been holding himself quite a bit. From when you come out the shower, the thin oversized shirt that hangs from your body is no match for your nipples protruding through the thin fabric, how you bend over to grab something and your sleeping shorts barely covering any skin, and there was even a time where you’d reach over his lap to grab something, breasts brushing against his thighs and ass up, he was wrestling with his sweatpants to hide his raging boner.

Trying to be a respectful gentleman, he keeps his distance. Normally, he’d be bold in his attempts to sway you—just as he did several times, including that night in his bedroom back at home, but now that you’re his girlfriend, it… feels inappropriate?

Weirdly enough?

A part of him is afraid you’d leave, especially when he’s got you now, but he admits that those cold showers aren’t doing any favors for him anymore.

“…Hey,” you call out again, this time it halts his train of thoughts with the door swinging open. Clutching onto the fabric of your dress in the front, his eyes immediately focus on your cleavage. Fuck. “The zipper is kind of low. Can you help me?”

He swallows that brick inside of his throat when you turn around.

Pushing your hair aside, you give him a view of your entire back. The zipper latch is right where your ass curves, and with a sharp inhale, he places a hand on your waist before pulling it up. It feels brutally slow, not to mention when he reaches up higher, he realizes where he expects your bra—there isn’t one. The smoothness of your skin is exposed and his dick twitches in his pants.

“Uh, um. I’m done,” he steps back, clearing his throat. “Ready?”

He feels like a vacuum sucked the air out of his lungs.

To him, you’re gorgeous all hours of the day. But something about today, in that tight fitting dress that hugs the outline of your body so well, and the makeup you applied only amplifies your beauty. He can’t help himself when he’s sneaking glances at your chest then back up to your eyes to the point he needed to get the fuck out of the house before he oversteps a boundary.

“Wow, uh, you look great!” Way to act natural. “Let’s uh, let’s head out.”

“Mkay,” you make your way before him to the front door, rummaging through the closet for your heels, and he turns away when your ass sticks out while you slip on your shoes. “Can you start the car?”

It’s going to be a long night.

← last chapter | next chapter →

[viiisenyas]

I really liked your analysis on Rhaenyra and Laenor's dynamic for ep 6. Do you think that you could do one for ep 7? c:

Oh boy, you are trying to give me an aneurysm lol. Listen, I have a lot to say about this. So get some tea and have a seat, anon.

Let's start with the funeral.

Rhaenyra was looking for Laenor when she pulled Jacaerys aside, that much is certain, and I am painfully aware that they were both mourning their losses, as Jacaerys so tactfully put it /s

In response to Baela and Rhaena losing their mother:

[Jacaerys:] I have an equal claim to sympathy. We should be at Harrenhal, mourning Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin.

Little fucking bastard.

If Rhaenyra and Laena were truly as close as some show watchers believe, do we truly think that Jacaerys would be so comfortable saying that openly? I think not.

Not to mention, that whole conversation between Rhaenyra and Jacaerys earns some iconic questionable looks from Alicent and Criston.

Moving on before I get off topic.

A few minutes later in the episode, you can actually hear Seasmoke crying out, which kind of alerts Daemon and Aemond that something is amiss, then the camera cuts to this.

A very distraught Laenor standing in the water (likely where his sister was buried) which brings up the question: If Rhaenyra was intent on keeping up appearances, why did she spend the last few minutes openly eye-fucking Daemon? Why didn't she continue her search for her husband who was prone to drinking? If they had such a close friendship as some of the fandom believes, her first thought would have been to ensure that he was all right. But... she didn't.

And it doesn't help the situation that Corlys has an outburst towards Ser Qarl to retrieve Laenor, but even when that does draw in attention, Rhaenyra doesn't even bother asking what happened. Instead, she continues eye-fucking Daemon while he's talking to Viserys.

And after Daemon leaves the balcony, she walks straight towards her children to send them to bed, and proceeds to follow Daemon. She didn't even bother waiting for Laenor to come back up and ask if he was okay or even offer him an ounce of comfort, which earns this look from Otto.

She... is a horrible and selfish friend.

Moving on, let's break down the conversation she had with Daemon about Laenor.

It begins with this:

[Rhaenyra]: Laenor has been restless for years, but now, he will be useless. Or worse. I know better than anyone that our marriage is a farce. But I at least make the effort to maintain appearances.

Did she? Clearly not, if Otto, Criston, and Alicent were all giving her the bombastic side eye. And that's not even mentioning the visible bastards she brought to Laena's funeral. Her lack of empathy towards Laenor was blatant during that entire funeral, and believe me, everyone fucking noticed.

[Rhaenyra:] We did try to conceive a child. We performed our duty as best we could. But to no avail.

Again, clearly not. Especially if we take into account the canonical age of Jacaerys and compare it to the date they wed. (Yes I am referencing book canon, but it still drives my point)

Rhaenyra and Laenor wed in 114 AC, and Jacaerys was born the same year.

I could understand if the boy was born like two, maybe three years after the wedding, but nope. In my opinion, I would have assumed that "performing your duty" would have meant being monogamous for at least a year to get it over with, but I digress. What's done is done.

And here is where we get to the root of the issue, and where she tells on herself a little bit.

[Rhaenyra:] There was no joy in it. I found that elsewhere. It felt good to be desired.

Well of course there wouldn't be any joy in it, he's a gay man, and you knew this when you agreed to marry him (mind you, when she had the full pick of the litter - a privilege that nobody else was granted.) However, there were several fucking ways that they could have attempted to conceive a child - hell, even Margaery had solutions to the situation with Renly. But clearly Rhaenyra wasn't as intelligent as she thought she was.

Now, glossing over the blatant disrespect towards her grieving husband and his dead sister by sleeping with Laena's widower, let's get to the aftermath of the shitshow between her and Alicent.

After she sends the children out to have a private word with Laenor the conversation goes like this:

[Laenor:] I should have been there. [Rhaenyra, begrudgingly:] Those should be our house words.

If you pay attention to Laenor's face after she says that, he looks like he doesn't want to deal with this, yet he stays, and proceeds to provide an explanation.

[Laenor:] I have fought dreadful enemies, but I could not defend my dear sister, far from home and in agony. I could not defend you... [Rhaenyra:] Sit down.

To me, this feels like he's attempting to gauge a semblance of understanding from Rhaenyra as to why he wasn't present during the climax of this episode. And believe it or not, it is VALID. As I have said in the previous analysis of episode 6, those children were NOT his obligation, and he was grieving his own flesh and blood.

However, Rhaenyra continued to act indifferent and dismissive to his loss, and proceeded to bring up her bastards as if that was the bigger problem. Not once did she ask how he was feeling this entire episode, which again, made me believe that they were never truly friends. (I'd wager IF they were, that friendship quickly crumbled after Joffrey Lonmouth was murdered, and I think it's safe to assume that Rhaenyra has behaved similarly to how she is behaving now.)

[Laenor:] I have failed you, Rhaenyra. Our marriage... I tried. Our boys... I do love them. Deeply. But I have not, mayhaps... loved them enough.

Now as Laenor is speaking, you can see the apathy she has so plainly displayed on her face while he is quite literally pleading with her yet again, so much that he has resorted to self-deprecating language in spite of the fact that he stayed by her side for ten straight years, playing his part as a loving husband and father, possibly being berated by other lords and ladies at court. He is not afforded the same protections that Rhaenyra has, and mind you, he was alone.

Laenor's entire family had been away from King's Landing, so he had to navigate this by himself, all while getting comments against his ability to sire children, and against his sexuality as so wonderfully displayed by Alicent. /s

[Alicent, Episode 6:] Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. Soon or late you'll have one that looks like you. [Alicent, Episode 7:] Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys' father? Perhaps he will have something to say in the matter... Entertaining his squires, I'll wager.

I fully believe if the Queen was comfortable saying this so openly, everyone else was more than comfortable with saying things like this to his face, too.

Now, back to the point, Rhaenyra continues the conversation with this:

[Rhaenyra:] I had hoped to bear your children. The few times we lay together. Things might've been different. [Laenor:] I hate the gods for making me as they did. [Rhaenyra:] I do not.

Hm. Are you sure about that, Rhaenyra? Because your dialogue with him in the previous episode had quite a few microaggressions against his homosexuality. But I digress.

[Rhaenyra:] You are an honourable man with a good heart. It's a rare thing.

Yet, she called him useless behind his back about twenty minutes ago, which tells me that she's being disingenuous, and Laenor seemed to catch it, too because he makes this face right after she says it.

[Laenor:] We made an arrangement all those years ago to do our duty, and yet explore happiness. [Rhaenyra:] *chuckles* [Laenor:] But there are times I think when these things cannot mutually exist.

Now I found that a bit interesting. She starts laughing at the little contract they drew up ten years ago. Now sure, this can be taken as a bit of levity, or it can be taken as her actually laughing at him in a condescending way. Pick your poison. However, given everything I've presented above, my opinion leans towards the latter.

Sure we can argue that he did smile with her, but is that a genuine smile, or is that a "I hope she's taking me seriously," smile? I'll let you decide.

Now to address his next statement, he was absolutely correct, and I'll wager that he probably had been thinking about this for a very long time. Maybe I'm reading into it, but his expression grows serious after he says it.

[Laenor:] Ser Qarl will return soon to the fighting in the Stepstones. But I recommit myself to you. And to strengthening our house as we prepare you for your ascension. I will raise our sons to be princes of the realm. You deserve better than what I have been. You deserve a husband. (emphasis mine)

And this is the final frame we have of Laenor before his death is staged. His entire expression is pleading.

This right here was a final cry for recognition in his longstanding efforts. His last words to her really drove the point home that he does want to try, despite the fact that he has been all along. Perhaps it's just me, but Laenor seems like he is actually on his last leg if he is going so far as to put himself down in an attempt to receive some semblance of acknowledgement from Rhaenyra in hopes that she wouldn't cast him aside like she has done these last few years.

[smol-and-scared]

G/t Analysis: Gods Among Mice

Before I begin, I want to say two things:

This post is not meant to disparage anyone or question their value as people, all of this is exploration of linguistics, its cultural implications and potential narratives that could arise from them.

It is not a statement of fact or a claim I’m making.

Also… Let’s put aside the “Step on me Goddess” bullshit that has unfortunately plagued much of the g/t community’s DMs (It deserves to be called out, but not what this is about)

I will be using ‘God’ as a gender-neutral term here.

The God-like power of Size💪

Throughout history, Gods have often been depicted as being physically massive. This makes sense, as physical power is the most easily understood form of power. Likewise, a creature's size is one of the most universally recognized sign of one's physical power. So it's a good way to instantly depict the strength of a God. And these depictions have had a weird memetic side effect: The idea that 'massive size' makes a creature 'God-like'.

This does have a bit of psychological merit. If mountain-sized Giants actually existed, (without our arch-nemesis: 🔥the fucking square-cube law🔥) their full size and strength would be so hard for humans to understand that their power is basically arbitrary. At which point it becomes indistinguishable from Godhood. Also, our primitive lizard-brains evolved to fear much larger creatures. And fearing your gods is a major part of many religions.

Because of this there are dozens upon dozens of G/t fics, comics, etc; where the larger party is compared to or (metaphorically) referred to as, a God. In the case of actual giants and characters growing larger, this makes complete sense and is usually well-suited to the narrative.

But in my eternal quest for more angst™ I’ve recently started to question it’s use in Human/tiny stories. It feels kinda… lazy? I mean, not in the context of the story, many fantastic fics do it. But it just feels like it was copied over from the giant fics and never fully questioned or explored.

Okay, but what if: 🤏 smol.

Now obviously, all of this depends on the exact size difference, scenario and world-building of the story. But I still think it applies to a huge amount of fics who play up the Human/tiny size difference as ‘God-like’.

I personally think If a tiny views their resident human as a God-like figure (with all of the fear and awe that entails) …then they are optimistically delusional.

Because Gods are, in most cultures, special.

I have yet to see a fic where the Tiny is struck by the simple and harrowing realization that the humans they view as unstoppable, God-like entities are... in fact, painfully average.

It’s one thing to live in terror of the massive entity that could kill you in an instant. It’s an entirely further step to realize that there are dozens, if not hundreds of them between you and the nearest human-free environment.

And what if the Tiny realizes that their human isn’t even average? Imagine their horror when they realize that the person who is so big and powerful that they can barely even grasp it… is some 4’ 3” (~130cm) little stick? And the average human could snap ‘their human’ in half like a stale fuckin’ Cheeto.

Objectively, the Tiny knew this. They knew that the human they live with was small and weak compared to the others. But they never had an opportunity to actually understand it. And nothing gets that message across like seeing the 'God' of their tiny little world casually picked up and playfully carried on someone’s shoulder.

And It still gets worse...

Depending on the setting, the Tiny may not know or feel connected to any kind of civilization (A borrower colony, a scavenger camp, etc). This is especially true if Tinies are rare and/or oppressed.

And if that Tiny were to realize how average their 'God-like' human was? It would break them in the most pitiful way.

Because that ‘God’ isn’t a god. They’re average. They have a job. They have hobbies and friends. Things that this Tiny could never even dream of having. And that’s normal. That’s expected. They get to live, instead of just survive. Because they’re a person and that’s what people do.

And if their ‘God’ is just a person-

“Then…what does that make me?”

In conclusion:

I believe a character referring to someone as a God/Goddess implies that the speaker is a ‘person’ and they are looking at something greater. It’s ‘Normal’ looking up at ‘Godhood'.

But given the right story, plus a healthy amount of fear and awe. I think many Tinies would start to understand how small they are. And that they’ve been looking up at ‘Normal’ the whole time.

[smaller-comfort]

Hello! I have a question about snecrons. Namely their love/mating darts. Before first use, how does someone know what their dart will do to a partner? Genetics do seem to play a big role so they'd have a guess I assume, but do they visit a doctor/biomancer who will tell them more specifically? How accurate are these predictions? How often does the first time lead to...surprises? Are there any cultural hangups around a "first time"? How many raunchy comedies are based on this set up 🤣?

Ahaha oh god. Well, as with anything necron/snecron, it varies and you can play it however you want. These ideas are free to a good home for people to play with as they like, I'm not a cop, you can do whatever you want forever, etc.

This got too long, it's going under a cut.

I don't necessarily think the effects would vary enormously across populations, but there are always going to be outliers. (I want to compare it to, like...weed strains, but I don't actually know anything about weed strains.) A trip to the biomancer for testing is probably standard for snecrontyr with status/access when they hit puberty. These tests would be quite accurate and probably part of routine healthcare, since they'd really just be taking a sample of the mucous secretions in the dart sac. Irregularities can be leading indicators for certain kinds of cancer.

There's a significant genetic component, but environmental and other developmental factors are also going to have an effect on things. (Thanks to @ocelly for that idea; excess cortisol in childhood -> paralytic/sedating effects as a sort of defensive measure.) It's normal for someone's dart composition to change over time because of things like age, diet, overall health, exposure to weird radiation, etc. But if you don't have access to regular healthcare (commoners, soldiers), then you're not able to monitor any changes. So 'surprises' are actually probably more likely well into adulthood, rather than the first time you dart someone.

Particularly because, well. Nearly every horny adolescent stabs themselves with their own dart at least once. It's not actually common for it to happen accidentally- engaging the muscles that eject the dart also lifts the tongue out of the way and opens the mouth, sort of like how humans can't sneeze with their eyes open. And, in fact, "I just sneezed really hard" is the standard flimsy excuse used by teenagers for generations. (Imagining some exhausted cryptek tutor with a classroom full of glassy-eyed, giggly students, "Allergy season? I do not get paid enough for this, all of you go away.")

But. Just because you have a printout listing all the chemical compounds in your dart, it doesn't mean you actually know how your partner is going to respond to it. Allergies happen. Particular sensitivities- or insensitivities- to specific euphorics or hormones happen. Overdose or illness can burn out the chemical receptors for some dart compounds, making normally pleasant sensations excruciating. (Overdosing would be rare- usually a single partner can't, even if they have multiple darts. But it's possible with multiple partners, and it happens with alarming frequency as a result of hazing at military academies.) (Does this make Setekh even worse? Sure does!)

There's a brisk business in drugs/augments that would claim to alter the effects of a dart; 'guaranteed to make your partner desperate to submit!' etc etc. Some of them would even work; odds are if it comes from a reputable biomancer, the effects are legit. There would be a lot of homeopathic remedy equivalents out there, though. (Biomancers would also fuck around with their own dart composition on the regular as a way to one-up each other at the annual biomancer conclave orgy. Does this potentially make Szeras even worse? God, I hope so.)

Wacky dart effects come up all the time in snecrontyr media, be it comedy, drama, or porn. The young lord discovering he's allergic to some component in his higher ranking partner's dart is a common romantic comedy subplot. (The subjects of these comedy subplots would always be either merchant caste or very low level/vitriform nobility. Comedy and hijinks where the subject is an overlord/nemesor or phaeron would probably get censored.) Advice columnists frequently have to field questions like "my lover just got back from the war and now when they dart me it Feels Different pls halp". Necrontyr Cinderella: it's a dart, not a glass slipper, that gets left behind.

Also re: first times, fun snail fact! They don't actually start producing love darts until after they've mated once. So virgin snails can't stab their partners. I feel weird and slightly uncomfortable applying this idea to snecrontyr, honestly. (I know, I know, that's really where I'm drawing the line? Go figure.) But it would fit in with all the other regressive social/sexual politics in play, so feel free to take it and run with it, with my blessing; deflowering narratives would be extremely popular in necrontyr porn either way.

Since using the darts is supposed to be about exerting dominance, there would probably be some performance anxiety around darting someone else for the first time. (Slapstick comedy routines around having bad aim? There's got to be some kind of "they couldn't hit the broadside of a barn" equivalent aphorism involving love darts.) And there would always be this tension around the fact that getting darted usually makes sex more enjoyable, but it's not something you're supposed to want, because it would mean you're being subordinate to your partner. "What if they both use the darts" blasphemous perversion, straight to jail. Unless you're a commoner, because who even cares about what they do, they're already barely better than Unclean to begin with.

("Straight to jail" really only happens in Ithakas, where fun has been outlawed for generations. Everywhere else is fine with it, it's just seen as a bit deviant.)

[goodluckclove]

Migration Patterns - Second Prologue

What's after the last prologue? Another prologue? How experimental.

I enjoyed writing this even though it hurt a bit. It's a great intro to a young Ollie so you can all see how painfully down bad she is for Scott despite him literally being born connected romantically to another human being.

She'll tell you that everyone had a crush on Scott at some point but that is factually untrue. It was just her. She likes weird guys.

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Prologue

Ollie Goose Bergeron moved carefully up the path to the Kaufner house. Her natural gait and speed in the forearm crutches was negated by navigating yard clippings damp from that afternoon’s rain. It was frustrating – though not as much as falling on her ass would be now of all times. Nevertheless, by the time she made her way to ring the front doorbell Ollie was guilty and annoyed as well as very out of breath.

The door opened. Tenzin Onyilogwu appeared, smelling of paint thinner, a can of energy drink in one hand and a frown already firmly planted on her face. She stared at Ollie for a too-long while of tense silence.

“Is Scott home?” Ollie asked.

More silence. A slight twitch in Tenzin’s brow. “No,” she said.

“Fuck, Ten, I can see his skateboard by the stairs.”

Tenzin looked over her shoulder at the worn, old-school deck board propped up against the small side table behind them. She sighed.

“He’s, uh…” She began vaguely.

Ollie shifted her weight to rest more against one crutch and gestured dismissively. “He’s pissed, I know. I’m here to apologize.”

After checking whatever Tenzin felt she needed to check, she slipped outside and closed the door behind her. She took a seat on the bench on the porch and, quietly grateful to get off her feet, Ollie followed.

She brushed a few curls of golden-brown out of her eyes, heaved one braced foot over the opposite knee, and rubbed her fingers into the muscles just below her knee. She regarded Tenzin warily, searching her best friend’s demeanor for any sign of how hard Ollie would have to apologize.

It was impossible as ever. For someone who presumed themselves to be neurotypical Tenzin was near impossible to read most of the time.

“Was there a fight at band practice, or something?” Tenzin asked after some more uncertain silence.

Ollie sat up. “He didn’t tell you?”

“He stormed in and went straight to his room. Didn’t even close the front door,” Tenzin sipped her drink and fiddled with the can. “Was someone out of tune? I still can’t figure out the type of thing to really upset a musician.”

Driving here Ollie was dreading having to defend herself to Tenzin. Realizing that she’d have to explain herself first was way worse. She scanned the yard ahead of them and tried to make out the lawnmower tracks in the grass as a way to focus and build up nerve.

“I gave some – constructive feedback…” Even acting as her own legal representation Ollie couldn’t say that with full sincerity. “I made a little joke about the new song he pitched.”

She purposely avoided eye contact as she said that, but that wasn’t enough to avoid the low suck of breath Tenzin drew in from beside her.

“It doesn’t – I don’t even think that -” Ollie groaned and tried again. “He’s brilliant. He’s a brilliant artist, everybody knows that.”

“Hm.”

“But three months out of the year, every year, the only songs he wants to write are about sad birds. I mean –” she scoffed, glaring in disbelief at the dead air ahead of them. “Two-thirds of the year we’re a rock band –”

Tenzin cut in quietly. “I don’t think that’s the genre he claims to use.”

“Avant-Pop Cabaret, whatever. But from October to December every year we suddenly only make songs for – fucking – emo birdwatchers? What the fuck?”

Her anger felt good. It felt normal. Of course, she was expressing it by the sibling least likely to encourage such intense emotions. In Tenzin’s presence the fire in Ollie’s chest quickly lost oxygen and fizzled out to pathetic smoke. Ollie slumped her shoulders and leaned back against the chair.

“No wonder he’s upset,” Tenzin observed. “You know how sensitive he gets about his bird songs.”

“He’s seventeen. Why are these the songs he suddenly can’t take criticism on?”

Tenzin met her eyes, unsmiling. “You know why,” she said.

After some more pestering Tenzin allowed Ollie to come inside and make amends. Ollie was already arguing with Scott ahead of time while working her way up the stairs. She was declaring to the imaginary Scott in her head all the effort she put just to value his feelings. Driving her grandpa’s car up the stupid hill that lead to his house. Walking up stairs.

He literally had no reason not to forgive her immediately.

She didn’t bother preparing. She didn’t even stop to knock. Ollie opened Scott’s bedroom door and braced herself for conflict.

His bedroom was small and warm. The only light came from the dirty glass of the window and the tangles of string lights, and the air smelled odd from the combination of two, ill-paired scented candles.

Scott Skylark Kaufner was sitting up in bed with the covers pooled around him. He was shirtless, which she supposed she should’ve expected.

Ollie tried very hard to hold onto her indigence. What mattered was resolving this conflict as quickly as possible, not charting the new, soft dusting of dark hair across Scott’s bare chest. She was here to either apologize or insist she was right – either way, her goal was not to gaze as the soft-sharp intensity of her childhood friend’s mostly-nude body.

His expression was sullen. After a moment, he pulled back the covers in bed beside him. Ollie swallowed hard in a way she hoped wasn’t noticeable.

“You’re at least wearing boxers right?” She attempted.

Scott furrowed his brow. “Yeah,” he murmured.

Ollie nodded and went to plop on the side of Scott’s large bed. She slipped off the crutches and leaned them against the closest bookshelf, then took a soft breath and slid under the blankets.

They laid beside each other. Ollie kept just enough distance from him so that all she felt was the outer radius of heat from his body. She reminded herself of the stakes of their relationship. It felt like she was doing that a lot lately.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I know,” Scott rubbed his eyes and shifted onto his side to stare at her. “I overreacted.”

That got a weak smirk out of Ollie. “You and I tend to do that, don’t we?”

“Is Aggie okay? I know she doesn’t like it when I yell.”

Ollie thought back to the glare their saxophonist gave her. So many adults in town thought Agaric was so sweet, just a natural teddy bear. If that was the case it was definitely never something Ollie got to see.

“She’s getting really – uh,” Ollie scooted a little closer and lowered her voice. “I’m kind of worried. While I was taking her home she said she skipped another level in her close combat classes. I think one of these days you and I are going to butt heads and she’s going to legitimately kick my ass.”

She saw Scott start to smile, but shift at the last second to appear disapproving. “Maybe she’ll beat me up first,” he claimed, balling up the covers under his chin.

“Oh yeah,” Ollie scoffed. “You? Sure. Definitely.”

It was always a sight to see Scott’s features warm suddenly in satisfaction or amusement. It was a subtle narrowing in the eye and crinkling in the corners of his lips that completely changed the way he looked. The cat-like warmth had the capability to be so sweet that some in town gently questioned whether he was misguided in identifying as a man, even just for now.

That was never Ollie. She knew Scott to have an innate sense of his own masculinity in a way that Ollie never had and never will. And she loved him for it.

“I only tease you because you’re amazing,” she said, feeling her voice soften and inwardly chiding herself for it.

Scott cringed, then smiled sheepishly.

“I mean, come on,” she pulled the covers away from Scott’s face to get a better look at his eyes, “even at your most self-indulgent you’re fucking incredible. That’s why no one else tells you when you’re being self-indulgent.”

He hid back in the blankets. This was breaking the sacred covenant of having such a close relationship with someone like Scott Kaufner. You’re welcome to make music with him on a potentially indefinite basis on the condition that you don’t point out his skills. It’s perfectly fine to call him handsome or dashing, but get any more specific than that and he’ll get uncomfortable quick.

Ollie got closer to the blanket covering his face. “Hey,” she said.

“It’s not my self, Ollie.”

“I know, Skylark,” she frowned, forlorn, only because she knew he couldn’t see. “I mean – I don’t – but I get what you mean.”

After some time Scott felt more comfortable coming out of hiding. Their faces were closer now. Ollie did not intend to get as close as she was just then.

“Maybe...Maybe you’re just stressed,” she attempted, mostly just to fill the air. “I mean we graduate soon. A lot of stuff is changing. I know a lot of us are on edge thinking about – I don’t know. What we’re leaving behind.”

Scott’s eyes widened slightly. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

Something twisted in Ollie’s chest. A flicker of several sensations at once. The worry in Scott’s expression was heart wrenching and incredibly confusing.

What if she was? What if she was going someplace far away – and she was leaving tonight? Would Scott try and stop her? Would he make some grand gesture in an attempt to convince her to stay?

A short debate on how to respond felt far longer in her mind. Finally she found herself defeated. Ollie exhaled softly and flashed Scott a reassuring smile.

“Nah, Skylark, I’m not leaving.”

For good measure she reached forward underneath the covers and touched Scott’s hand. She only meant to barely interlace their fingers, but much to his character Scott locked their hands together and squeezed tightly.

Ollie laughed under her breath. She had to, there was just no other option.

“I’ll stay around for as long as you want,” she said.

[alexihollis]

Park at Night (Pt. 2)

Part 1

Ajax sat in jail for three months. Three months turned out to be more than enough time for Rembrandt to let go of the anger that had coursed through her when she watched the cops drag Ajax away. She just wanted Ajax back.

Rembrandt visited her a few times. It took a while to work up the courage for that first visit. Then she felt like an asshole it took her so long when Ajax kept stumbling over her words uncharacteristically and accidentally admitted she was worried Rembrandt was dead.

"The other women keep saying a Warrior is dead. I thought- But it's Cleon, huh? Is Swan doing okay?" Ajax asked, soft in the way she only ever was - in hushed tones with Rembrandt as the only listening ear.

Swan was not doing well, actually. But for a very different reason.

"Cleon survived. The cops got Fox," Rembrandt said. Flat. Monotone.

Ajax's face shuttered. "No."

"Threw her off the platform at Union Square." Rembrandt barely felt the words leave her mouth. Ajax's eyes flashed dangerously.

They moved on from the topic.

By the time Ajax got home, Swan was almost back to normal. Talking a bit more, eating, sleeping - all thanks to Mercy who seemed to be some magical Swan whisperer, able to get through to Swan even when Cleon couldn't. Cowgirl's bite mark was no longer visible, no matter what she claimed. The cuts and bruises they all earned that night scarred and faded. It was almost like that night never happened.

No one touched the door at the end of the hall in Cleon and Swan's apartment (Cleon, Swan, and Mercy's now, Rembrandt supposed, but it felt weird to still say three names). Rembrandt liked to pretend it didn't exist. Like there had never been a third bedroom.

Ajax's first night home was the best sleep Rembrandt got in months, curling tightly into her girlfriend and pretending to not notice the lost weight and muscle mass or the new pallor to her skin. It didn't matter. She would gain back the weight, the muscle, and the long days on the boardwalk would bring her color back to its full glory. Then it would be like it never happened.

They could forget that night ever happened.

They could.

Then a week after Ajax got home shit hit the fan. Because Cowgirl still wasn't over getting bitten.

"I don't care what Masai says," she said over a bite of lo mein, straight out the carton, the Warriors draped throughout Cleon and Swan's living room as they gave the latest update. Rembrandt was barely paying attention, sitting at the kitchen counter doodling in her sketchbook. "I don't trust the Bizzies and I'm not going to join them on any bonding shit the Riffs want to try. No."

"Why don't we trust the Bizzies?" Ajax asked.

"Because one of them bit me!" Cowgirl yelled through a now full mouth.

"Oh, for the love of," Swan muttered under her breath, rubbing at her eyes exhaustedly.

"Girl, they tried to kill us, can we get over the biting thing?" Cochise asked.

"No!" was Cowgirl's adamant response.

"What do you mean the Bizzies tried to kill you." Ajax's voice was flat. Dark. Rembrandt looked up from her sketchbook and saw Ajax staring straight at her from across the room.

Cleon and Swan clocked the dark look immediately.

"Let's get back on-" Cleon tried.

But Cochise was already talking, "After the park, we got separated. Swan and Mercy went one way, Cowgirl, Fo- The rest of us went another. We beat them to Union Square, the Bizzies picked us up, we went back to their loft with them - yes, Swan, I know it was stupid, shut up - and then they tried to attack us. With knives, so it could have been worse. Rembrandt got us out, though, through the fire escape."

"Huh." Was all Ajax had to say.

It said a lot. Cochise clocked in.

"What, Rembrandt didn't mention having to save our asses?" Cowgirl asked even as Cochise tried to kick her from across the coffee table. "What the- Cochise, fucking stop that!"

"Nope." Ajax popped the p as she continued to stare at Rembrandt. "That part got left out."

Fuck.

"It isn't that big of a deal," Rembrandt said as she followed Ajax down the street. It had been almost two hours since the tense realization. Cleon had moved them through the rest of the meeting, they finished dinner, even hung out for a little while, even as everyone could feel the tension between Ajax and Rembrandt. When it was time to leave, Ajax didn't follow Cowgirl and Cochise across the street to the apartment they all shared. No, she took a sharp left instead and Rembrandt followed after her.

"Sure," Ajax said. Tense and angry in a way that made Rembrandt antsy.

"Seriously," Rembrandt tried again as they reached the quiet boardwalk. "Cowgirl's dramatic."

"Yep." Ajax kept walking.

Rembrandt stopped.

"This is ridiculous!" She shouted at Ajax's back. "It was months ago!"

"Not for me!" Ajax wheeled around to glare at Rembrandt. "I just found out! Because my own girlfriend didn't think to tell me!"

"It wasn't important!"

"You almost getting killed isn't important?!"

"I'm fine!"

"You could have died!" Ajax screamed. "Because of a stupid fucking decision!" Then, quieter, almost to herself, "What kind of braindead decision even was that?"

And that hurt. That hurt a lot. Despite herself, Rembrandt felt her eyes stinging.

Because a lot of people thought she was dumb. Ditzy.

"That's high math for Rembrandt."

"That's a lot for Rembrandt to remember."

No one ever meant anything by it, they didn't mean to hurt her feelings, so she always shrugged it off, but Ajax-

Ajax never said shit like that. She got mad at people who said those things, even got mad at Rembrandt herself for it once or twice.

So, yeah. It hurt.

"I'm not stupid," Rembrandt said, angry at herself for the choked way she spoke, fists curled at her sides. "I was the only one who tried to get them to stay at the station! I did my best and I did a fucking good job!"

Rembrandt almost missed the way Ajax's eyes widened, but she caught the quickest glimpse as she turned around, ready to race off in the other direction. Let Ajax cool down or something, she couldn't deal with this tonight.

Except a hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her.

"That's not what I meant." The words tripped out of Ajax's mouth. "You aren't stupid. You know I don't think that and I know it wasn't your idea. Pretty boys ain't exactly your thing."

Confused, Rembrandt turned back around, looking up slightly at Ajax. Who just seemed miserable.

"I'm the stupid one," Ajax explained. "I'm angry at myself. I should have been there. If I hadn't gotten in that fight, I would have been. And Swan and Mercy and we could have just jumped on the train to Coney and," she laughed, a low humorless sound, "Fuck. Maybe we would have beat the cops to Union Square. Maybe Fox would still be around." She let go of Rembrandt's wrist, hands clasping on the top of her head as she walked a few steps away, taking deep breaths. She shook her head. "You could have died and it would have been my fault and I'm sorry."

"None of that is your fault," Rembrandt said.

Ajax didn't say anything, just stared out into the darkness of the ocean.

"Ajax," Rembrandt moved closer, getting back back into her space. "I'm not going to pretend I loved that you picked that fight, but- You couldn't have known what was going to happen after."

"You needed me," Ajax said. "You needed me and I wasn't there."

Rembrandt swallowed thickly because there wasn't much to say to that. She could still remember being on the platform, outnumbered, wishing she at least had Ajax to argue with her for reason, then being trapped in that loft, terrified to be stuck in such a close-quarters fight without her.

"It won't happen again," Ajax said. "I promise. Never again."

And Rembrandt didn't exactly believe her. Ajax was fire and fight and never backing down and Rembrandt loved that all about her. She understood what Ajax meant, though. What she was trying to say.

So Rembrandt wrapped a hand around the back of Ajax's neck and pulled her down, kissing her gently. She pulled away a moment later.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

[imjustdreamingig]

Run Away

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were never a shy person, until it came to talking to the boy you liked.

A/N: Well, this is my first time writing something like this so... please be nice. I was kinda tired of only seeing shy!reader stuff so I decided to base this on my personality. So yeah, kind of based on a true story. What reader does in this story I've actually done in real life which is mortifying. Anyways!!! This is just edited by me so lmk how I can improve and if I should write a part 2??? Maybe?? Idk. Enjoy!

PS: Robin and Steve work together, nothing monstery has happened, they're all in the same grade. It's a bunch of dumb teenagers together battling high school.

Warnings: sfw, cursing, fluff? people being dumb?? idk what else tbh

You've never considered yourself to be a shy person. In fact, you were very much so extroverted, never finding qualms in chatting to your classmates or asking you're teacher questions in class that some may think are stupid. You didn't care.

Aside from being a little nervous back in elementary school, that trait had dissolved as you got older, and it definitely wasn't present at the moment during your senior year at Hawkins High.

However. As much as you liked to claim to be unbothered with public speaking and your ability to make friends easily, there was one thing that you couldn't just quite get over, no matter how hard you tried. And quite frankly, it was getting old and ridiculous.

"Fuck, Robin he's coming down the hall," you exclaimed, "move, move, move, move!"

You didn't bother checking if she was behind you, already knowing she would be as you practically ran to your second period class. It was the first day of the new semester anyways, you could use the excuse of wanting to get good seats to justify your cowardice to yourself later tonight.

"Jesus Christ," you heard Robin mutter as she finally caught up to you, "You know I have asthma, I cannot keep doing this every time you so much catch a glimpse of Steve."

You slowed down your pace, your heart not feeling as though it would burst out of your chest anymore. You still sported a slight flush on your face from the thought of the almost encounter you had with the jock.

"I know, I know, this is getting so stupid. I promise next time I'll talk to him, I swear," you said as you sighed forlornly.

Robin turned to you with an unimpressed stare. "That's what you said last time, and the time before that, and the time before that, and yet here we are," she waved her hands dramatically.

Here's your problem. An issue that is a complete juxtaposition of your usual personality. The moment you've ever realized you have a crush on someone, you would run away from them anytime you saw them. Literally. You would full on sprint away in the opposite direction.

You've never really understood why this happens, only knowing that the second you saw your current crush, you're usual non existent nerves would make a prevalent appearance. You'd freeze and your eyes would widen as your brain chose the flight response when confronted with a potential dangerous situation.

"Look dingus, I love you and I think you're awesome and all that, blah blah blah, but this has got to stop," Robin stated as you both took your seats in your English class. "You're embarrassing me just as much as you're embarrassing yourself and our social status cannot take that much more of a beating."

You knew she was joking but just grunted in response, having buried your face in the crook of your elbow, not even bothering to open up your notebook. You heard Robin sigh and could tell she was rolling her eyes at you.

"You know..." Robin started, "I could always just...talk to him for you? Give him you're number or something during our shift at-"

Your raised your head immediately, almost giving yourself whiplash. "Robs, no way. We've talked about this before! I just - this situation is already awkward as it is, that would just make it worse."

"Hey, I'm just trying to help, but if you wanna suffer some more that's totally your choice." Robin says as she shrugs her shoulders. "Besides, with all that running your doing, at least you're getting some cardio in."

You let out as surprised squawk. "Robin come on! Not funny!" She doesn't reply, merely continuing to laugh at you. All you did was just groan in response again, settling your head in your arms once more.

A few weeks ago, you had been walking to your locker whilst attempting to shove a bunch of textbooks into your bag at the same time. Obviously, everything fell and it just so happened that Steve was nearby and helped you out.

"Oh my God, you don't have to, it's totally fine," you'd stammered, just the tiniest bit embarrassed of dropping your books in the middle of the crowded hallway.

"Don't sweat it, it happens to the best of us." Steve chuckled as he handed you your notebook.

And then it happened. The event that you frequently replay over and over in your mind, the event that kickstarted the affections you had for the boy.

Once everything was stored safely in your bag, Steve stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. He then turned his attention to you and simply offered you his hand to help you up.

You stared into his big, brown eyes, completely dumbfounded. Here he was, an average man doing the absolute bare minimum and yet you still found yourself practically falling at his feet, your heart feeling as thought it was going to beat out of your chest.

"I- uh, I mean, thanks for the hand Steve," you stammered as you tentatively took his hand and pulled yourself off the floor. You cringed when you felt that it was sort of shaking and kind of clammy, hoping Steve wouldn't notice. "Both literally and figuratively."

You wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow you up after you blurted out those words. To your surprise, Steve let out a laugh, a genuine laugh. His eyes sort of crinkled and you could see the slight indent of a dimple. As if the man needed to get any more attractive in your eyes.

"It's no problem at all," he reassured you. "I'll be seeing you." He gave a quick wave and then turned in the direction of the cafeteria. Your hands tightened on the straps of your backpack as you watched him walk away, admiring the view.

Oh ew, you suddenly thought to yourself, now that was just pathetic.

Ever since that moment, you couldn't give yourself that last push you needed to talk to him. Even after the multitude of pep talks you give yourself in the mirror, including the ones from Robin, you still always ran away whenever you saw him.

You'd be a fool to think he didn't notice it and prayed he didn't mistake it for you hating him or something.

The sound of the bell signaling the start of class pulled you from your misery, forcing you to pay attention to your teacher so you didn't face the consequences of falling behind so early in the term.

Amidst your groveling, you'd failed to notice a particular brunet enter the class and take a seat at a desk a few rows behind you. Who knows what your reaction would have been if you did. Robin just kept her mouth shut, simply winking in Steve's direction when she caught his eye.

"Alright class, settle down and listen up," your teacher began. "I know it's the first day of the semester, but I wanted to introduce an assignment before anything else to make sure you have enough time to complete it and do an excellent job."

The entire class let out a collective groan, yourself included. How could she already be giving out assignments when she hasn't even properly introduced herself?

You turned to Robin, brows furrowed in annoyance. "I think she's got her agenda mixed up, she's introducing things in the wrong order."

"Fuck this, I should've taken Eddie's warning more seriously. Now I understand why everyone hates her," Robin gripped, running a hand through her cropped hair, already looking a little stressed.

You nodded in agreement and added, "I think I get why people hate English so much too."

Robin laughed. "But you'll still love it anyways, won't you?" she chided. Before you had a chance to reply, your teacher began speaking again.

"Settle down, please! If you listen, you'd hear that this not due until the last month of the semester and you'll be working in partners," she stated, "so not only will you have plenty of time to work on it, but you'll also have some help." You and Robin glanced at each other, hopefully smiles tugging at both of your faces.

"Your partners will be assigned by me," the whole class collectively groaned again, "which is what I'll be doing as we get through attendance. I'll explain the criteria before moving on."

"Yep, I think I hate this class at least a little bit now," you complained to Robin, already making a mental checklist of what school stuff you should at least start on later in the afternoon.

"-ohn Gilmore, Phoebe Burton, partners. Steve Harrington, Y/N Y/L/N, partners. Billy Holden, Rob-"

You froze for a second, as if you were glitching. Steve was in... this class? There was no way, you would have absolutely noticed him. But as you snuck a glance behind you, sure enough there he was, sitting in his chair, mindlessly twirling a pencil through his fingers. To your surprise, he was actually looking back at you too and- wait hold up, was he smirking?

You immediately spun back around, hand lurching to grip onto the sides of your desk. You then blinked a couple of time, praying your face wasn't as red as you felt like it was.

"Nope, nope, absolutely not. No thank you," you said as you shook your head from side to side. "Miss, this is a joke right?" you inquired out loud.

You were eventually going to talk to Steve, you were sure of it. The day was coming where you could have some sort of a conversation with him without running away, you could feel it. The moment was almost here.

Today, however, was absolutely not that day.

Just when you were about to complain to you teacher out loud again, you feel a presence behind you.

"Oh come on, you're already dismissing me as a terrible English partner? I'm wounded, seriously." The voice was laced in amusement. You did not need to turn around to know who it belonged to.

Before you could even think of a response, Robin turns to you, clearly finding your horror to the situation hilarious, and says, "Well, I think you're going to hate this class a little bit too."

Well fuck.

[celestiamour]

I have a request can you do a lucy pevensie x reader where reader gets injured during a battle and Lucy takes care of reader (reader and Lucy are dating)

ft. lucy pevensie x gn! reader — the chronicles of narnia

╰₊✧ caring for you after you get injured┊0.5k words

setting: voyage of the dawn treader contains: established relationship, swearing, mentions of battles & descriptions of wounds, mentions of human trafficking, one mention of castration 

➤ author's note: a bit short, but i think it’s cute!

╰₊✧ she needs to make sure that eustace was alright first, swiftly spinning him around to check if he was hurt or not. he seems a bit in shock from the experience, but his ramblings of denial about the world and situation he found himself in made it clear that he was mostly fine, so she gives edmund the reins (much to his complaint) and runs over to you as soon as she can.

“you shouldn’t have rushed in like that, i could have handled it myself,” she scolded, coming closer to help you wrap white bandages around your dominant arm and cringing when the color red quickly spread throughout. “you could have gotten seriously injured! this isnt like our first time in narnia, i don’t have the cordial to heal you like i used to.”

“well, i know you could have, but i just got so pissed off seeing him put his hands on you like that— i mean, the fucking nerve!” the adrenaline from the fight still hadn’t worn off from the battle and your anger was still running hot after seeing some bastard try to sell your girlfriend to the highest bidder, making you barely register the stinging pain of your wounds. “besides, don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

she pouted, “don’t try to turn this on me!.. but yeah, i would have done way worse if that happened to you, i would have chopped his dick off—”

you reached out to pinch her cheeks, full of affection and teasing tones, “yeah, i know you would have, my most beautiful knight in shining armour.” 

╰₊✧ insists on spoon-feeding you your meals, claiming that you two have barely spent any quality time together since you two are always helping around on the ship and get interrupted everytime you mange to get some alone time. she’s very cheeky about it, loving that she can baby someone for once instead of always being the one babied as the youngest in her family. 

╰₊✧ her cheerful energy is so infectious, you’ll frequently forget that you are injured and may strain it a few times. you’ll be helping her doing the chores (even if she is royalty, the dawn treader needs as many hands on deck as possible. a ship with so many people on it never runs out of things to do in order to maintain it) and chatting as you do so often, then suddenly feel a sharp sensation of pain in your arm because you weren’t being careful. 

╰₊✧ when the wound heals and leaves a scar, lucy will kiss it whenever she sees it and tell the story to anyone who asks when back in england. the person listening will assume she’s just joking and that you got it from something stupid when you were younger, but the dead-serious look she gives them when they laugh makes them wonder if the fictitious tales hold more weight than they thought. it always makes the two of you giggle while exchanging knowing looks.

[character-of-all-time]

Now that the submissions are closed, were there any funny submissions that topped the previously stated funny submissions?

I might end up publishing the full response list to browse through at your leisure and so that someone else can seek out the hee hoo funny ha has rather than making myself go through all 1522 again, but I would like to highlight a few submissions that stuck with me:

character: Sam Winchester

from: supernatural

why?: oh COME ON. ur gonna make me defend sam fucking winchester as the most character of all time?? he literally has bangs. he died at 23. he died at 26. he died a lot of other times too but those are the most important ones. he's jesus and he's the antichrist and he gets placed on a visual crucifix too many times to count. he's an addict and he's a christian and god is making his life miserable on a personal level. he is wholeheartedly convinced that there are other people who "have it worse" than him (he was tortured by satan for centuries). again he HAS bangs. he's been possessed too many times to ever feel like his body is his own. he's in a constant cycle of being beaten down and KNOWING he shouldn't get back up, and not wanting to get back up, and getting back up anyway like a kicked puppy who thinks maybe this time they won't get kicked. never ever gives up but in a sad and pathetic way that makes u feel vaguely nauseous. he's psychic. he bought a ring for his girlfriend while they were still in college. he went to stanford. he's unclean in the biblical sense but he prays every night. he had a queer allegory arc spanning multiple seasons that people ignore so they can claim he's cishet. he totally fucked a 300-year-old witch while studying under her to become a witch himself. everyone he has ever loved is dead and he knows it's his fault. he spends the first few decades of his life angry -- SO angry -- at everything he's been put through, full of rage at the things he's suffered and the people who caused them. he is punished for this fury, taught to never be angry again, and after a while he just lies down and takes it. he is a serial killer and on the fbi's most wanted list. he uses "low sodium" as an insult. he's a vegetarian. he never drives his father's car. he has demon blood flowing through his veins and his best friend is a literal biblical angel. he's an abomination. he thinks that hope is kind of the whole point. he has BANGS. he killed his brother several times over, and he destroyed the world to bring his brother back to life a few times too. he spent time in a psych ward. he thinks he is terribly hard to love. his mother destroyed his life before he was even born and he still calls her "mama." he died at 23. he was kicked out of the house when he was 18, and then was kicked out of basically everywhere else for the rest of his life. his only family locked him in a panic room and left him to die. he forgave them for that because he doesn't know how to do anything but forgive. he's got bangs. anyway

what do you want?: u KNOW what i want. if my best friend sam doesn't win this bracket i'm crashing my car into the world's tallest and thickest tree

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character: jesse pinkman

from: breaking bad

why?: Well.Well. i. so. hes THE character okay he was created in gods eyes only to be sculpted and changed by the wrath of satan (or the other way around). Its jesse pinkman. have you ever watched 5 seasons of a grown man with cancer abusing another grown man in order to support his family who hate him because of the way hes trying to support them (drugdealing)?No? well i need you to and then come back to me. jesses relationship with the aforementioned Grown man with cancer (walter white) is so multidimensional you could refer to jesse as walters affair, student, victim, partner in crime, son figure etc and it would be RIGHT because they are all encompassing and fucked up. and jesse loses everything and he cries and hes so emotional but he PREVAILS. he prevails and he precedes walter and all the toxically masculine men who hated him, who convinced him was less than who he was. and the dog motif!!!!! hes a loyal dog but his owner has been slowly feeding him poison, to break him down slowly, and its killing him so he BITES because it hurts and they all talk about the rabid dog he is, how badly the owner needs to put him down. and then his owner gives him away to much worse men, owners who wont feed him the poison slowly, but will beat and use him relentlessly. and then his old owner is going to die and he knows it and he needs to secured his reputation and put everything in place. he saves the dog and kills the dogs new owners. he BEGS for his dog to kill him, to kill him like he had done to the dog. but this dog is not like any of his owners, hw will never be. so he barks and says that he should do it himself and he RUNS. hes crying and whimpering but hes not getting beaten or poisoned anymore, hes a free dog and its up to him to make his own future without the influence of evil owners. THAT'S jesse Pinkman. hes the bride of heisenburg hes the dog motif and he loves and loves and protects animals and kids because he couldn't protect himself and he wins with tears in his eyes. um also hes trans so ^ hasnt watched this show in like 7 months i have mo idea what im talking about

what do you want?: one billion dollars

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who: Victor frankenstein

from: Mary shelley frankenstein

why?: I don't remember anything about this book except for the incredible and relatable line of 'I raveged an oatcake' cos God man me too

what do you want?: An oatcake

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who: sphagnum moss

from: real life

why: Love that bitch. They are light and hold moisture well. and they also form peat bogs when they die which is swag

what do you want?: To be turned into a zebra mussel and sleep in a Marimo moss ball and not have to worry about relationships or taxes

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who: Guy Montag

from: Fahrenheit 451

why?: he kills his boss with fire which i think is pretty cool and something we can all aspire to. i also want him to be in an online popularity contest because i want ray bradburys head to explode from beyond the grave

what do you want?: prove life after death so i can destroy ray bradbury’s soul