#jobless monday au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jiamour · 2 years ago

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💿 now playing: pushin’ n pullin’

povs: 💗-yn, 🖤-js, 💛-rj, 💙-jn, 🧡-mk, 💜-dh, ❤️-jm, 💚-

track 31: jobless monday

guitarist!jisung x reader

a/n: a jeno psyche introspection update :]

a/n: everyone in this au dissociated when they’re overwhelmed in their own way bcs they’re all just like me

tw// dissociation, derealization, depression, anxiety, mentions of past suicidal ideations, arguments, mark doesn’t let go of jeno when he asks him to, not suggestive but jeno spends a considerable amount of time on his knees and has an oral fixation, this was written for me and me only

word count: 4.2k

album tracklist

soundtrack: jobless monday - mitski, the cut that always bleed - conan gray

jeno is tired. mondays are always like this, he has a lecture at 11am followed by a 4 hour lab at 5pm. these are both mandatory credits that gave no other scheduling options just to ensure that he, personally, wouldn’t be able to eat lunch or dinner at his usual times, he was sure of this.

jeno just wants to graduate. they curse their younger self sometimes for choosing a 5 year program, but other times they’re grateful. jeno’s scared of graduating, they’re scared of the real world, job searching, the fact that they’re directionless and that they can’t keep putting off answering questions about what they plans to do with their life, what they plan to do in the future, because now they’re in the future and they’ve still got nothing.

sometimes, they just want to turn their thoughts off. which is what they thought their zoloft prescription was for but apparently they only takes those to feel chronically fatigued and sweaty.

jeno often feels like he lives entirely inside his mind, which is a funny thing to say because of course he does, everyone does. but he swears it’s different, he feels like the truest form of himself is trapped in a mental cavern where he sits and observes the physical world. a world that he can never truly reach or interact with, it’s far away and blurry around the edges like a vignette.

at night, when he’s alone and it’s dark and quiet, it’s like he’s not even corporeal. he can be anywhere but usually he finds himself traveling back to his childhood bedroom and it’s like he’s really truly there in every sense but physical. he has to blink himself out of it after a few minutes to prevent the unreality from completely overtaking him. he turns on his phone flash light and takes in what’s real, the overpriced uni hoodie he stole from mark that hangs over his desk chair, the pile of textbooks he needs to resell, the dying plant he hasn’t watered in weeks. he wills himself to be there, be present.

jeno finds himself following a routine, which he likes most of the time, he thinks. or maybe he doesn’t. jeno’s not quite sure what he likes. he’s not quite sure who he is at all actually. but jeno thinks he likes routines because routines mean he’s going ‘home’, or atleast a home away from home, marks apartment.

they know when they get there it will be just like any other day. mark will acknowledge their entrance with a nod not even pointed in their direction, if they’re lucky maybe they’ll be granted a mumble of greeting or a fleeting glance. jeno will kiss his cheek, maybe play with his fingers for a while, but eventually they’ll always end up sat alone at the end of mark’s bed silently playing games on their phone or texting jaemin to ease their boredom.

mark will join them around 1am every night, when jeno has already made their way up the bed and under the blankets. jeno will be just barely awake, holding on just because they swore they wouldn’t fall asleep without mark there beside them.

this stubborn “rule” has been holding on strong for about a year now, having started when jeno found mark still awake after 2 and a half days, trying to finish a paper early. that evening they stand beside marks desk, arms crossed, until late hours into the night. they remember practically falling asleep on their feet but refusing to move without mark taking a break and joining them. eventually, when jeno practically flops on top of his keyboard and rubs at their sleep filled eyes with the sleeve of their hoodie, marks hoodie, mark caves.

right now, he’s on his way home, alone. his hand reaches out instinctively when he goes to cross the street but no one grabs on. he knows it’s dumb and maybe childish but mark always holds his hand out for him when they’re around busy intersections. the emptiness reminds him of everytime mark forgets. jeno would reach his hand out and no one would hold on, he’d look to the side and see mark smiling as he texts someone on his phone.

“hey!” a voice yells out from behind him when the cross walk signal blinked to a walk. he jumps back, head whipping back and forth checking for cars that may have ran the light, but none came.

“hey,” the voice says again, closer this time, jeno turns begging themself not the shake, so the stranger doesn’t know they’re panicking over crossing the fucking street, “you’re marks partner, right?”

“yeah,” they respond, willing their natural charisma to take hold and do the talking for them, “i’m jeno.”

“perfect! could you give this to him? i haven’t been able to catch him in forever,” the stranger hands jeno a file without waiting for an answer, “and tell him to text me back!”

“okay,” jeno smiles a fake smile, “i’ve got to get home but it was nice to meet you.”

“you too man,” the boys already turning around and jeno has to cross the street again, the file shaking in his hands.

jeno loves going home to mark, even if he doesn’t get any of the attention he craves, even if he doesn’t get a second of intamacy. jeno loves mark, he has to love mark, it makes him feel stable and grounded somewhere. he likes having that role assigned to him, he likes being “marks partner”, it makes him feel like he has purpose, he has direction. he finds it a bit nerve wrecking to think about losing that part of himself but it is a bit scary in general to have such an integral part of your identity be tied to another person who you feel is slowly falling more and more out of love with you.

but if mark needs them to be more loveable then they’ll become more loveable! just not tonight. tonight, jeno is tired. tonight, they’ll appreciate the fraction of mark that they get because that’s just how things are.

jeno enters marks room and quietly closes the door behind themself and place their backpack against the wall. mark doesn’t acknowledge them once, just chews on his nicotine gum in silence, it’s one of those nights.

he wants to make a scene. he wants to make a stance. he’s gonna march straight into bed and ignore mark as well! that’ll teach him! but when jeno thinks rationally he knows mark won’t even notice and he’ll just end up feeling more upset.

so jeno goes up to his partner, ready to give him an earful about lack of quality time and appreciation. but jeno is tired. so, instead he droops lazily to his knees, right beside marks gaming chair. without looking down, mark shifts the chair back slightly, ushering jeno between his legs, almost under his desk. jeno follows the silent instructions and rests his cheeks on marks thigh with a puffed out sigh.

mark reaches a hand down to play with jeno’s hair, and jeno can’t help the smile that envelops them knowing they finally got marks attention, at least partially.

“hey yed,” marks voice is soft and sweet and he cards his fingers through jeno’s bangs pushing them back and out of his face.

mark makes them feel like their in a jar of honey, their brain feels sickeningly sweet and works painfully, perfectly, slow. jeno manages to hum back a response. “hey,” they quietly greet and they nuzzle themself further against marks thigh.

“tired?” mark asks, brushing his thumb gently over jeno’s cheek and beneath his glasses along his closed eyelid before returning to softly scratching along his scalp.

“mhmmm” jeno hums, letting his head be moved along easily by marks fingers.

mark coos, “my poor baby,” and jeno’s smile turns positively dopey, he knows if mark ever looks down he’ll be met with a very obviously love sick idiot.

everything about jeno feels like jelly. he almost huffs at that realization, not because of the feeling but because he keeps comparing himself to food. jeno might just be hungry. this is what happens when his lunch and dinner scheduling is disturbed.

marks fingers move down the back of jeno’s neck and they shiver against his touch before relaxing fully back into his thigh, jeno hadn’t even noticed themself getting tense but somehow mark managed to picked up on it.

“do you want to tell me about your day, baby?” mark asks softly, massaging circles into the hair behind jeno’s ear.

“mmmm, there was a girl on the bus with a dog this morning, i didnt get to pet it though, wasn’t sure if it was working,” jeno pouts, his voice is barely above a whisper. his eyes squeeze shut as he tries to indulge completely in marks touch, “and i got lunch with renjun, we split a family size salad from the grocery store.”

“have you eaten dinner yet?” jeno shakes their head and in the process, leans back and rests their chin atop marks knee so they can look up at their partner.

mark looks down at them and then he’s fighting off a smile as he looks away. god, he loves mark.

jeno knows he’s in love. he has been for almost 4 years now and he doesn’t think it will ever go away. mark has always described being in love as some over powering force that disorients him, practically incapacitates him, but for jeno it’s different. for jeno, it’s relaxing, it’s comfortable, it’s like living in a cloud (if clouds weren’t just water droplets and were actually stretched out cotton balls). it was something so soft he let himself sink down into it, unsuspecting, and now he’s stuck, surface barely firm enough to move, let alone climb out of.

‘cotton candy!’ jeno marvels. falling in love was like getting tangled up in a wand of cotton candy, all sticky and pretty and a little bit messy. he imagines compressing it down between his fingers forming pink and blue sugar sheets that he longs to take a bite of. the more he lets his mind wander the more he wants to devour mark. jeno really wishes he grabbed food before he came, he can barely focus on the conversation at hand. this is getting embarrassing.

“there’s some left overs in the fridge if you want them,” mark is giving them his full attention now and jeno wonders what they did to earn the honour.

“maybe later,” jeno hums back because he’s a sap and no matter how much he wants food, he wants mark more. just like this.

“yed, you need to eat if you’re hungry,” he’s softly reprimanded, with absolutely no bite behind it. mark places his hand on jeno’s cheek, stroking under his eye with his thumb. jeno leans into his touch, as good as delirious.

there’s sparks flying inside of jeno’s head, mark being worried about him skipping a single meal shouldn’t make him feel as insane as it does. jeno can feel the oxytocin levels rising in his brain, in his mind it’s a soft lilac colour and it dances behind his eyes.

and then there’s a thumb against jeno’s bottom lip, their eyes practically go cross as they attempt to look down at it. mark laughs softly at their suprise and he presses down ever so slightly, it’s just enough to make jenos mouth drop open, a response that was practically automatic.

mark eases his thumb into jeno’s mouth and jeno nips at the tip of it. mark laughs. god they love making mark laugh, it’s not exactly a difficult feat but it feels blissful every time, nonetheless.

jeno presses his tongue against the pad of marks thumb, it’s salty. wow. jeno really could devour him. he can imagine how dumb he looks right now, on his knees, huge dark circles under his eyes, hair probably a mess, his tongue lapping up his boyfriends fucking finger, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. leave it to mark to enable his oral fixation when he least expected it.

“you’re so pretty,” mark hums, and jeno wants to melt. mark thinks he looks pretty. jeno wonders what he actually looks like from marks perspective, wonders how he would feel if mark was in his position. his partner looking up at him through his lashes with his pretty doe eyes that were almost glazed over with sleep. jeno is obsessed. but, he thinks, he might just be obsessed with everything mark does.

“stop looking at me like that,” mark mutters shyly, his tone laced in fondness. he removes his thumb from jeno’s mouth and looks away again, the tips of his ears tinted red, “at least not while i’m working.”

“sorry, just love you a lot,” jeno pushes himself off of his knees a little, so he can flop more of his body onto marks lap. his arms wrap around marks waist and his head rests on his abdomen, “can’t help it.”

“you-“ mark cuts himself off with a laugh, and starts to run his fingers through jeno’s hair again, “you make me feel crazy, did you know that?”

“mhmm” jeno hums back proudly. snuggling into his partner, who HE made feel crazy, “you love me.”

“i love you,” mark hums in agreement, “so much.”

they fall back into silence.

at least until jeno’s phone buzzes.

they slump down off of mark and sit on their calf’s in front of him. jeno’s eyes light up as soon as they see the message and mark sends them a curious glance as they begin to stand up.

“jaem texted,” jeno smiles with his eyes at his confused partner and kisses him on the cheek as a goodbye, “said he was making something to eat and needed my help.”

mark grabs their hand before they can go, and pulls them back into him, placing a firm kiss on jeno’s lips. jeno smiles brighter at the unexpected action but it falters slightly when mark doesn’t let him go.

“but you just got here,” mark pouts.

“i’ll be back, i promise,” jeno smiles sweetly and playfully tugs his hand away but mark only intertwine their fingers and pulls him closer, pecking his lips again, “i’m just going down the hall markie, you wanted me to eat right?”

“yes,” mark whines, “but i thought you’d just be heating up left overs and coming right back, if you help jaemin you could be gone all night.”

“you’re so dramatic,” jeno coos at his pouting partner, lifting their intertwined hands to kiss the back of marks hand as marks shoulders sag, “i’ll be quick.”

“i haven’t seen you all day.”

“neither has jaemin,” jeno laughs like mark is only teasing.

“jaemins not your boyfriend.”

“‘mark that’s dumb, i’m just going to make dinner,” they hated the tension, every part of jeno wants to relieve the conflict they knew they were teetering on the edge of, “you could make dinner with us if you want.”

mark squeezes his hand with a frown, “i cant baby, i have to work.”

“yeah,” jeno looks away, “that’s what i thought you’d say.”

“baby,” mark was firm, his jaw clenched, “stay please.”

“jaemin wants my help and i need dinner.”

“i don’t get you,” marks eye contact burns into them.

“what?” jeno frowns back.

“i don’t get you,” mark repeats, “i don’t get why you’re choosing jaemin over me.”

“markie, you’re being ridiculous,” jeno whines, “i’m not choosing anyone. i’m making dinner.”

“not just now, in general,” he’s holding jeno’s hand so tightly now it starts to hurt, “after what he did to you. i don’t know how you forgave him.”

“you don’t know anything about jaemin,” they know their tone is cold but they can’t help it, anger starting to bubble up inside them.

“i know a fuck ton about jaemin,” mark fights back, “ i know he’s a coward, i know that he didn’t fight for you like you’d fight for him.”

“he didn’t know.”

“how could he not know? you were miserable,” jeno feels his throat start to close up as mark continues, “did he not care about you at all?”

“shut up,” jeno chokes out. he doesn’t need to hear this. he doesn’t need to relive any of this. not over some petty argument. he couldn’t cry. he wouldn’t. he’s made to much progress moving past this to let it hurt him again.

“i’m sorry baby, but i just don’t get why it took your dad dying and you getting fucking institutionalized for him to come back,” if he truly was sorry he would listen to jeno and shut up, jeno thinks, he wants to scream but he doesn’t, “he doesn’t deserve you.”

“we were teenagers mark and i’m not his responsibility.”

“jeno you almost died,” jeno startles at marks volume

“i know!” their voice raises against their will and cracks, “but i didnt! i’m here aren’t i? and without jaemin i probably wouldn’t be so can you fucking drop this?”

“sorry,” mark repeats, his face was contorted in a mix of pain and conflict.

“it’s fine,” they huff, “can you just let go of me.”

jeno pulls his hand back gently but mark doesn’t budge, “baby i don’t want you to go like this, not after a fight.”

jeno furrows his eyebrows “mark. let go.”

he has the strength to pull his hand away himself, but he didn’t see why he had to exert force when his partner should let his hand go when he states he wants to be let go.

mark grips his hand tighter and jeno’s heart rate picks up, he really doesn’t like this, he needs to go, “let go,” he whispers.

mark gives him a begging look, “…jeno.”

“let me go.”

“jeno. baby. come on.”

“LET GO OF ME,” he yanks his hand away as hard as he can since clearly mark didn’t want to respect his autonomy.

it happens so fast, they don’t have control of the swing of their arm as it hits marks desk sending a glass clattering against a wall and a pile of papers falling to the ground. the glass smashes, loud, but all jeno can hear is the sound of their own heart and the shriek of his voice.

mark startles, his eyes go wide, concern taking over every one of his senses. jeno feels sick to their stomach.

“i’m sorry,” he cries, “i’m didn’t mean to yell, i didnt, i didnt. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.”

“shhhh,” mark hushes, not knowing if it was okay to reach out to comfort his panicking partner, “it’s okay baby, it’s my fault. everything’s okay. try to breath.”

they can’t process marks words, they feel dizzy, everything is blurring and fuzzy and bad. everything is bad and loud and painful. they squeeze their eyes shut, it’s disorienting, they see the blinding glow of headlight and glasses smash inside of their skull. right the glass. they broke a glass.

“i’m sorry,” jeno repeats, frantically wiping the tears away from his eyes before he drops to the ground, scrambling to pick up the broken shards of glass.

“hey, hey, baby, stop. please,” mark pulls at his shoulders trying to get him away from the glass, he easily tell how out of it his partner was, not wanting to take any risks to his well-being, “don’t worry about it baby. get away from the glass, it’s okay. i’ll clean it up. it’s okay baby.”

jeno doesn’t stop trying to collect the tiny shard that litter the ground, and marks concern only grows as they lets out a loud, painful, sob that makes their chest and throat ache.

“it’s okay, it’s okay,” mark coos softly, running his hand through jeno’s hair attempting to smooth him, “you’re safe, everything’s okay, i promise.”

jeno nods but marks not sure they’re processing a word he’s saying. he tries again to pull them away from the glass but jeno shakes him off with a shaky, heaved, breath.

“can you breath for me baby?” mark tries so hard to keep calm and steady, wanting to pull jeno back but not wanting to make any sudden or firm movements that would panic jeno further, “can you do that for me please?”

jeno tries to form a sentence but it comes out in a loud panic noise. he feels like he’s suffocating, his vision slowly boxing itself in.

“i’m so-“ jeno tries to repeat but he speaks like he’s out of breath. he’s falling, every sound is distant and fuzzy like a messed up radio signal.

he can barely hear it as marks bedroom door is slammed open but his skin burns as he’s pulled into a suffocating, protective hug. it’s not mark, mark is knocked onto his ass beside them and he could feel himself being pulled in the opposite direction.

“jeno, jen, are you okay?” it’s underwater and distorted but they can tell it’s jaemin. they couldn’t wrap their head around why jaemin was there, what he was asking, nothing felt right, “did you get cut by any glass, let me see you.”

glass. the glass. the glass he shattered, after he yelled. he felt sick to his stomach knowing he caused enough of a commotion for jaemin to hear from the kitchen.

“jen, i need you to answer me, are you okay?” jeno cant seem to keep his attention on anything, he feels trapped deep in his mind watching everything with a delay. he nods.

“what the fuck did you do?” jaemin sounds so harsh and it makes their heart clench but the comment isn’t directed towards them.

“nothing,” mark sounds just as cold, “get out, i’ll fix it.”

“nothing?” jaemin’s voice rises, but to jeno its moving further away from him. he gasps for air, or maybe he just breaths, he can’t tell, everything is heavy.

he pushes himself away from jaemin, who seems to be rather preoccupied with arguing with mark and shakes as he stands to his feet, “i’m going-“ he tries to speak, “i’m gonna lie down.”

he stumbles to the bed and lays there, staring up at the ceiling, letting one more tear fall before everything stops. he’s spaced out and the argument booming in the room is nothing but muffled white noise.

they don’t know how long the screaming match lasts. they’re not really here anyways. they’re back home in their childhood bedroom and everything’s okay.

marks sighs when jaemin leaves, wanting toss another round of papers off of his desk but he doesn’t. jaemins parting warning, “be a better boyfriend before you aren’t a boyfriend at all,” repeats itself in his head.

he sits at the end of the bed, easing into the comfort as it says below him. he places his hand on jeno’s ankle.

“jeno?” he says softly and gets no response.

he sighs again and let’s himself fall back into his back, “can you come back to me, baby?”

no response.

he reaches up and delicately holds jeno’s hand, they lay like this for a few seconds and mark takes everything in, “baby, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand, please.”

mark waits a couple seconds. then 5. then 10. after 14 he feels a squeeze. it was light but it was enough to send a spark of relief down marks spine.

“i’m sorry for raising my voice,” mark takes a shaky breath, “and for not letting you go… and for what i said about jaemin. i know you love him- and he loves you, he does, i know that. it’s just sometimes i get so mad at him and- and-“

mark tries to clear his throat to make his voice stay sturdy, “i’m sorry.”

jeno doesn’t respond, but mark doesn’t expect them to. he lets go of their hand and pushes himself back up. he looks back at jeno as he gets off the bed to grab a spare blanket from his closest, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get the blanket on his bed out from under jeno easily.

he sits at the top of the bed beside jeno and fluffs the blanket out so it’s covering the both of them. gently, he takes jeno’s glasses off, doling them closed and reaches over jeno to place them on the the nightstand on jeno’s side.

mark snuggles under the blanket and into jeno, kissing his forehead, “i love you.”

no response.

mark bites back tears, not liking when jeno’s upset with him or when he’s the cause of jeno panicking enough to retreat into the safety of his mind.

jeno rolls over to face him and ducks his head into his chest.

mark closes his eyes and a couple of tears make it free, he lets himself relax next to jeno.

“i’m sorry,” mark whispers again.

“it’s okay,” jeno whispers back.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

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calamari-minecraft-corner · 7 months ago

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If I said that this specific lyric in Jobless Monday by Mitski is Cala and Dre in the ghost au what then

#listen it’s fine #<- it’s definitely not #cala rambles #ghost au #this song just hurts me and I love it so much

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gregorygerwitz · 2 years ago

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a garden grew right through the pavement (a cozy trio au)

warnings: drug use, addiction, depression, attempted suicide, abuse, hospital stays

The date was November 14th, 2011. It was a Monday, so maybe Mouse should have anticipated the harsh dip in his mental health that happened so suddenly. Between the phone that rang every day that he forced himself to answer and the scattered texts that he didn’t have the energy to acknowledge and the fact that he was sleeping on a few blankets on the floor most nights, he was just... tired. No part of him wanted to keep trying when life seemed to be so stacked against him. And he had enough contacts that getting pills wasn’t an issue. He just had to take enough of them, and go to bed where he always did, and his mother’s calls wouldn’t have to be a problem anymore.

But ignoring his phone meant his also ignored the texts that came through, including the one that mentioned Jay was bringing him food. That impromptu dinner delivery was the only reason an ambulance was called at all, let alone in time to do anything. And hospital sheets could be itchy and uncomfortable, but it was a lot warmer there than it would have been on his bedroom floor.

Jay had made two phone calls that night, one to emergency services, and one to the number that had been calling Mouse’s phone for weeks. But while the ambulance had arrived in time to get them to the hospital, he’d sat alone in an uncomfortable chair in the hallway all night. Parents who had promised to rush over as soon as they could simply never arrived, and he sustained himself on snippets of conversation that he could catch from doctors until he was allowed into the room.

The only company he had was when he walked down to the cafeteria for coffee as the sun was rising, a teenage girl with bruises on her arms, a split lip, and a laminated bracelet on her wrist insisting on holding his attention. She drank a whole cup of coffee in the time it took just to prepare his own, and then disappeared before he left to go back upstairs and continue his waiting. But that wasn’t the last time he saw her, either.

There were three days he spent in and out of the hospital, talking to the people behind the desk at the entrance to the psych wing. When he was turned away every morning, he stopped for another cup of bitter coffee before trying again with the afternoon staff. The girl - Hailey, as she finally introduced herself - was always around, making casual conversation during the hours he lingered there. She was seemingly always around, though he only saw her outside of the cafeteria once, when she was signing her own discharge papers on his way out one evening. She’d seen him, and smiled and waved, and he initiated the conversation for the first time before she had the chance to make it to the door.

As it turned out, Hailey’s situation was an unfortunately predictable one. Most of the bruises had healed since she was admitted, with only one particularly nasty one sticking around on her thigh. It was from where she’d hit the table when she ran from the house, not even real evidence of why she had gone to the hospital in the first place. And he’d seen them that first night he’d hung around, she was sure. Jay, the guy who harassed the psych ward nurses at shift change every day while he waited for his friend’s discharge, had been nice enough to offer to walk her out when she got to leave. He was even more insistent when she mentioned she didn’t have a car, offering to wait for a cab with her in the cold if she didn’t feel like accepting a ride from a stranger.

But telling him she didn’t exactly have somewhere to go anymore would be too dangerous. And no reasonable man in his twenties was going to care about a nineteen year old who was homeless and jobless. Except Jay wasn’t anything at all like she anticipated. He pulled out cash from his wallet, insisting he didn’t need it for himself and she should get a hot meal for herself. And she was invited along to lunch the next day, if she wanted to meet at a diner down the block after another set of discharge papers were signed at the end of a seventy two hour hold.

It was probably stupid, meeting up with two men she didn’t really know for food, but it was free food. Jay paid for burgers for all three of them, and extra fries, and she wasn’t going to turn that down in her state. Until she could find a job that didn’t put her on her father’s payroll indefinitely, free food from friendly strangers were all she could afford. And if that turned into crashing on their couch, just for a night or two, it probably wouldn’t end any worse than going back to her parents’ home would...

And, when it was still the three of them in one apartment years later, when two of them had detectives’ badges and the other had a half decade long streak of sobriety, they realized that one awful week might have been the best thing that ever happened to them.

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kentopedia · 11 months ago

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I’m curious, where do u get inspo to write ur fics??? :0 ‘m currently in a writers block and idk how to get rid of it so I was wondering how u overcome it ‘n write fics ! (u don’t have to answer if u don’t wanna <3) have a very nice day and night ! thank u sm !

hi!! ugh writer's block is the worst i hope you're able to overcome it soon :( omg such a good question, i had to think about this for a second. i think i get inspo from a lot of different places! so first, if i'm watching any other tv shows or books at the time. a lot of my au ideas spawn from there, and also songs! i wrote an entire fic based on one line from jobless monday by mitski last year. personal experiences or things i'm going through at the time are where a lot of my drabbles come from. like my recent nanami cat fic was inspired by my own cat hehe. and i write them often to help cope with little moments of doubt or things i'm feeling. also this is so random, but i work in a coffee shop on the weekends, so i do a lot of brainstorming there SDSDHSF. obviously i don't mean this in a weird way, but just observing other people in public spaces like that can really jolt some inspiration into your mind.

honestly, sometimes, i put a lot of pressure on myself to write "great" and creative ideas. but i've been better about trying to remind myself that not everything i write needs to be like that. sometimes just writing something silly or random can help get the creative juices going as well! and honestly, a lot of things i've thought were dumb that i've put on here, people have ended up liking anyway :) and an aside, i know some people don't feel the same way, but for me, pushing through and just getting words on the page (no matter how bad they sound) is what helps me get through writer's block the most! i try to establish a routine of writing a certain amount of words per day (even if its just 100). and that really seems to help me!

#໒꒱ rylie's angels #i hope this is helpful in some way :)#good luck with writing!! cheering u on nonnie <33

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sev-rh · 3 years ago

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Jobless Monday

Azutara x Modern!au

#azutara #kazula #azula #katara #atla #my art

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sinner-as-saint · 4 years ago

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Let Me Love You.

CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader AU.

Run-through: Things happened between you and your boss over a weekend recently; while on a business trip. Boundaries were crossed, lines were blurred – rather salaciously. Following this; you decide to resign from your dream job because you couldn’t handle the guilt of having been so unethical. So vulnerable and open. Neither could you handle his burning stare at work, nor the craving of being under him each time you looked at him. So you decide to leave before you ruin your own career and further. But then, your boss shows up at your doorstep – determined to make you realize that this isn’t so bad after all…

Themes: smut, fluff, ceo!bucky (because I miss him)

You felt awful as you stepped into your apartment.

Sighing as you looked around; thinking about how the job you just quit had paid for this lavish home you owned currently. Removing your shoes by the door, dropping your bag and keys beside them you lazily crossed your spacious living room and stepped into the main balcony.

Given you were high up, the view you had of the city was to die for. The sun was going down, and usually you loved sunsets but you couldn’t appreciate this one as much as you wanted to. You were stressed; now jobless.

You thought back to the past week you had just hustled through. Monday was weird; he avoided you like the plague. Tuesday was the same, except you caught him staring in your direction while in a rather important meeting. Wednesday, he still didn’t say a word – except for his usual demands which being his PA you had to meet. Thursday he didn’t come to work; which then gave you more time to think about everything which happened recently, allowing you more time to feel guilty and weird.

And today, given it was Friday he was the busiest he’s been all week. Yet despite that, he managed to send you looks which spoke volumes even in crowded rooms. And you couldn’t take it anymore. You believed you were someone who wouldn’t be able to mix work and pleasure and find a healthy balance, so for the sake of your own peace of mind; you produced a resignation letter and placed it on his desk when he wasn’t in his office. And you left for the day.

You knew he always lingered at his office for a while longer on Fridays. So you were sure that by now he must have found your letter. You wondered if he felt just as awkward and weird as you did, and if so, then he’d accept your resignation without any hesitation.

You sighed one more time, taking in the cool air and the orange-pinkish sky. You walked back inside and decided that soaking in warm water and essential oils would make you feel a little better. So that’s what you went for.

Thoughts of him filled your head as you soaked in the warm bath water. Your boss. James Buchanan Barnes; powerful name for an equally powerful man. He was the kind of person you couldn’t forget even if you tried. Respect, fame, wealth, authority, power; he had it all.

And recently, just a week ago, he had taken over you as well…

-Flashback-

Friday morning you came to work and found out that you would be accompanying your boss on a short business trip. You didn’t make a fuss, even if it meant sacrificing your days off. The paycheck you received each month made up perfectly well for it.

Paris for weekend, to attend a business conference didn’t sound so bad after all.

“Sir, I’ve just been notified that you’ve cancelled the hotel reservations?” you questioned while scrolling through your mails. While you were just a little confused by this, the man in front of you was clearly not.

Sat across you on the dark seat; well-groomed as always – dark suit, perfect hair, perfect face, strong jaw and strong built. He looked like he could be on a magazine cover. Pure, drop dead gorgeous male. Many of your friends often asked you how you kept your calm and composure around him, and how could you not want to jump his bones all the time. To which you answered; you didn’t see your handsome boss in that light.

But oh did you lie.

You were human. And you did find your boss to be super attractive just like the rest of the world did. But did you do anything about it? No. Firstly, that would be highly unprofessional. Secondly, he was way out of your league. Still, it was hard being around a man this handsome. Knowing he was single and available made it worse.

“I did.” he answered, just as confidently as he did everything else. “It’s just one night, Y/N. We’ll stay at my penthouse.” He stated.

You nodded and replied back to your assistant who had initially emailed you about this sudden change. ‘We’ll stay at my penthouse’…

You had shared residence before. Once you spent the night at his mansion because of work load. Then another time you two shared a cabin while on a trip. Once you shared a hotel room because separate rooms weren’t available. But this, today seemed a little different. And you couldn’t place a finger on what it was.

It didn’t rub you the wrong way or anything. He just seemed so cheery, which was unlike the normally slightly grumpy man. But then again, who were you to question his decisions? So you went along.

You two landed in Paris on Saturday morning. The conference was to be held on the same evening, followed by a formal party of some sort, then the two of you would be making your way back home by Sunday evening. Quite a tame weekend… until it wasn’t.

Throughout the whole conference, you felt a pair of eyes staring at you from across the room. Meanwhile you were talking to an acquaintance – legal advisor of one of the many businessmen who were attending the same conference as your boss. Steve was a friend of a friend but you two were currently bonding more and more due to work.

And little did you know, that Bucky hated it.

He was watching. He’s always watching you. Not in a creepy manner, in a protective way. As a woman, you were somewhat oblivious to the effect you had on people when you entered a room. You never noticed it, but your boss did.

Bucky knew how every man turned their heads to look at you. How every woman envied you. And it was never about what you wore, or how you did your hair. It was always about how you carried yourself, how you walked so confidently, how you were always polite and proper. And so beautiful.

As much as he liked showing you off, Bucky hated it when he wasn’t the only one who had all your attention. Like right now. He clenched his jaw as he studied how this man approached you. Blonde hair, tall and muscular – Bucky hated him immediately. He hated him a little more after he saw how the guy hugged you; a lingering hug which Bucky never got. Then he hated him a little more when he saw how you dragged your hands down the guy’s arm, refusing to let go of him.

You never touched him like that. Bucky asked someone close by and he was told that the guy you were talking to was someone named Steve Rogers, and he was a lawyer and an acquaintance of yours.

Hmm.

He tried to look away but he couldn’t. Bucky envied the guy talking to you. He didn’t like how close he was standing to you. He didn’t like how he kept his hands at your elbows so gently, caging you, keeping you to himself. He hated it.

Then he asked you about it on the elevator, as you two made your way up to his penthouse to get changed and ready for the party later.

“You know Rogers?” he asked out of nowhere. His tone just as serious and cold as always.

“Yes. He’s… a friend.” You smiled innocently, thinking back to how you and Steve had successfully broken the ice earlier.

Silence.

You each took a room inside his lavish penthouse apartment. You immediately loved the place. You had about two hours before the party so there was no need to rush. You took your time, yet your mind couldn’t help but drift towards how your boss has been acting in the past hours. First he was all cheery and warm, and now he’s back to his grumpy self.

Oh well.

You stepped out of your room just in time, your boss was waiting by the foyer dressed in a signature, all black, 3-piece suit. He looked devilishly handsome.

“You look lovely, Y/N.” He said softly as you walked towards him. You couldn’t help but smile and tried to hide your face by looking down at the marble floor. Before you could recover from his rare compliment, he reached for your hand and walked the two of your towards the elevator again.

You noticed it then. The shift between the two of you.

The party was amazing. Lovely people, lovely music, nice conversations; what more does one need? Then again, you could still feel a pair of eyes on you. At some point, you dared to look up and you made eye contact with your boss.

He was staring with an unreadable expression on his face. You shook it off and went back to the conversation you were currently part of, but you could tell he hadn’t stopped staring at you.

You two met on the elevator again after the party, on your way up for the night.

“You and Rogers seem close.” He pointed out.

You were surprised at the tone he used – that of disgust and anger. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

He scoffed, then turned to you. “Is something going on between you two?” Same tone as before.

Your eyes widened. “No. No, what makes you say that?” part of you wondered why the hell was he so suddenly interested in your personal life.

“Just asking.”

You couldn’t help it. “Are you alright, Mr. Barnes? You haven’t been yourself in the past-,”

He cut you off abruptly. By backing you into the corner of the elevator, the cold metal pressing against your back as his warm hand held you gently at your waist.

“Am I alright?” he mocked in that authoritative voice of his. “No, Miss Y/N. I’m not alright.” He confessed. “I’m not alright with you being so close to me, yet not being able to touch you. I’m not alright with seeing other men making you smile,” he inched his face closer you yours, “making you laugh, dance with you, touch you like I can’t. I hate it.”

His warm breath fanned your face. And as the metal cage got higher and higher, your heartbeat increased in the same tempo. Racing. Rushing. Your thoughts were a mess. Your body was tingling, he was so close. Too close. And you could feel yourself giving into him already.

And you did eventually.

“Then what’s stopping you?” you asked in a whisper, and you heard his little chuckle under his breath. This could be a wrong idea, but it felt right. You looked up into his piercing stormy blue eyes and you saw it; the hunger, the desire, the need.

You were sure yours mirrored the same emotions. Bucky pulled away just for a second, to press the key to stop the elevator from moving upwards any further. Then he turned to you again. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered against your parted lips, barely touching them with his own but the proximity was enough to make you lightheaded.

You nodded quickly and his mouth was on yours immediately. His lips moved against yours perfectly. He slipped his tongue past your lips and stroked the top of your mouth, driving you crazy. His kiss was just how you imagined it would be; hot, passionate, and exciting.

Your hands found their way into his hair and your fingers ran through his soft locks. He pushed his muscular body into yours even more and you gasped as you felt how close he actually was. His body heat wrapping around you.

His hands slowly reached up and slid the straps of your satin gown down your shoulders, letting it fall and bunch around your waist. He had been wanting to do that all night, especially since he saw you dancing with that guy Steve.

Bucky smirked at the sight of the flimsy, lacy lingerie you had on; which he was sure he could tear off your body in less than a second. And he did, allowing the thin material to fall to the floor. He gently touched you wherever he could; letting his hands linger at your breasts and taking his sweet time; caressing and kissing your skin. His lips trailing down your neck; kissing, licking and biting.

His mouth didn’t leave your skin as his hands slipped in between your legs with ease; caressing your inner thighs as he went. His hand slipped into your underwear with no shame, his knuckles gently stroked your wet folds; making you shiver at his touch. He chuckled upon feeling just how aroused you were. “So perfect…” he whispered.

He ran his fingers up and down your folds, gathering and smearing your arousal around as he went. You whimpered quietly against him; your gown barely covered your body. But Bucky was nowhere near complaining. In fact, he had been thinking about what you looked like under that dress since the first time he saw you this evening.

His hand gently wrapped around your throat. He gave it a little squeeze and an involuntary, playful smile formed on your face. His smirk grew, and so did the fire in him. “Like it when I choke you, huh doll?” he spoke, dragging the tip of his nose along your jaw as his other hand slipped under your skirt and rubbed your clothed core. He couldn’t take it any longer. “I need to have you.” he growled. “Now.”

He pushed his two fingers past your entrance with ease and moaned right in your ear as he felt your wet and warm walls immediately welcoming him in. He curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the right spots which made you weak in the knees. You bucked your hips against his hand involuntarily, and he chuckled as you moaned out loud while he touched you.

Feeling more confident than earlier, you quickly unbuttoned his pants, palming him through his underwear and feeling his erection. You smirked to yourself as he grunted the moment you touched him.

“I want you…” you mumbled breathlessly. All your worries and overthinking left behind, you wanted him bad. And that’s all you could think of at the moment.

Bucky smirked. He lowered his pants and underwear, then he hurried in pulling down your underwear, letting it all fall and pool around your ankles. You stepped out of it and Bucky picked you up by your thighs and kissed you deeply while holding you between him and the metal surface tightly.

Your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms held on to him tightly. His cock briefly brushed against your wet folds in the process and you whimpered through the kiss. Bucky needed to be in you already, all he wanted was to hear you scream his name as you cum around him. So he wasted no time in aligning his throbbing tip to your dripping wet entrance.

He pushed himself into you; stretching you out. His nails digging into your skin as he held you by your hips, and yours scratching at his shoulders as he filled you up; making you whine and moan as he went. You were both gasping by the time he filled you up entirely. His body didn’t feel as foreign as you expected. You two fit perfectly.

Bucky started rocking in and out of you, without wasting any time. You felt all of him; your walls clenched around his thick cock as he started out with slow strokes and then gradually sped up into you. You felt all of him, the bumpy and the velvety skin of his length. He was perfect as he stroked your walls with his pulsating cock. You were a moaning mess in no time.

His strong arms supported you up by grabbing you at the curve of your ass; holding you against him, as he sped up into you; showing you how much he missed you. He pushed his head into the crook of your neck and swore under his breath, all while occasionally mumbling how much he loves you and how good you feel wrapped around him.

He fucked you relentlessly; earning more and more moans out of you each time his cock stroked your walls. Your hand slid into his hair and you tugged on it each time he pushed into you. You soon felt the familiar pressure forming; pressing inside you as the familiar warmth spread all over your body. You moaned wantonly.

Bucky nibbled at the skin under your ear and you lost all control you had left. Your thoughts became cloudy and all you could focus on was how his body brought you immense pleasure; your mind a foggy mess. Your clit rubbed against his pelvic bone each time he buried himself completely in you, and he soon quickened his pace; earning even more moans and mewls from you.

He pounded into you as fast as he could, your back slamming into the wall with each thrust; it hurt just a little. Your body moved along with his like a rag doll. And you never complained once. You could hear the wet sounds that he caused and the sounds of your skin clapping against each other – it was all too sinful.

He moaned right into your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back like it always did no matter where he took you. Your legs started to shake around him as he quickened his pace; pounding into you relentlessly. The pleasure built nicely as he took you higher… and higher… and higher. Until you couldn’t hold back anymore. So, you came undone around his cock; screaming his name in the process.

And that was one of the many times he made you cum around him that night…

-End of flashback-

Fuck…

You shivered in the warm water at the thought of him deep inside you; how perfect he felt, and how you never wanted to leave that bed with him in it. But then, you thought about how wrong that was; how you shouldn’t have gotten so intimate and personal with your boss. It was wrong, and unethical and a terrible mistake. But it felt good…

Stepping out of your bathroom, wrapped in a soft robe, you felt chills all over your body. Not because of the temperature, but because it felt as though you suddenly weren’t alone in your home. You panicked for a moment. Your heart racing, your thoughts racing faster.

Then you sensed it.

Sensed him.

He was here.

“Miss Y/N.” He spoke in that damn voice which could make you drop to your knees in less than a second.

Yet you managed to maintain your composure as you slowly turned around to face him. Realization hit you a little late, and you gasped under your breath when you finally saw him standing in the middle of your bedroom. Your initial reaction was to hug your robe tighter around your body.

He looked flawless and powerful as always. Hands shoved in his pockets; accentuating his broad shoulders. That gorgeous smirk on his face. Flawless hair. Flawless face. Bucky smirked. “Oh don’t hide from me. I’ve seen it all, haven’t I?” he teased so effortlessly.

You felt your face getting hotter under his intense gaze. “How did you… how-,”

He cut off your rambling. “I own the building, doll.” he answered like it was the most obvious thing ever.

Right. Of course he owns your apartment building. He also owns half the city.

There was an air of arrogance around him at all times. And you tried so hard to hate it, but you couldn’t. It suited him; the arrogance, the power, the authority. And he sure knew how and when to use it.

You cleared your throat as you kept your eyes focused on the ground, rather than look into his stormy blues ones because they were a new weakness of yours. “You shouldn’t be here.” You mumbled, not hating that he was here.

He scoffed. “Oh?” he raised an eyebrow at you and took a few steps towards you. You were surprisingly not hysterical about the fact that this handsome man found his way into your home out of nowhere. He walked over to you, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him.

You had no other choice but to look up into his ocean blue eyes and you could feel yourself melting already. He pulled you closer and leaned in, gently kissing along your jaw repeatedly. You closed your eyes and tried your hardest not to sigh in pleasure or moan as you felt the softness of his lips and the roughness of his stubble altogether.

“I’ve missed you.” he whispered against your skin, stopping for a moment and kissed you at the corner of your mouth. His arms circled around you, holding you close to him. Your arms circled around him as well, slowly. You realized you had missed him as well. His warmth, his voice, his mouth. All of him.

And just like that, he took over your very being again. One touch of his lips and you were under his spell with no intention of making it out anytime soon. “I missed you too…” you whispered breathlessly as he kissed your lips gently.

But those few words from you triggered something in him. An irritation he had carried inside since he saw that letter of yours on his desk. Overflowing emotions he couldn’t handle; due to which he was here in the first place.

“Yeah?” he whispered through the kiss, then slide his hand into your hair and tugged on it to pull your face away from his. He clenched his jaw as he looked down at you. He was conflicted, should he be mad that you even dared to think you could just leave him, or should he just fuck some sense into you? “Yet you dared to leave me your resignation with no warning?” Oh. “Huh? Is that how it is now, you think you get to decide everything?”

Oh. So he was mad.

“I didn’t mean-,”

He kept going. “Shut up, babygirl.” He spoke softly. “Now you listen to me,” he inched closer, gently biting your lower lip, “You’re not leaving me. You’re not resigning. You’re not going anywhere.” He stated, then pulled away to look at you again.

There was a fire in his deep blue eyes. “We can’t keep doing this.” You tried to come up with something. An excuse. You were looking for an excuse.

“Why not?”

“It’s wrong.”

He scoffed and then smirked again. “Is it? Does being with me feel so wrong to you now, huh?” he cooed, knowing it was only a matter of another minute or two before you give into him. “That wasn’t the case this past weekend, was it?” He moved the two of you backwards, towards your bed in the middle of the room.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to resist him for too long now. But you still tried, in vain. You sighed loudly, wrapped in his strong embrace. “You’re my boss.”

He chuckled. “I know that.”

“Exactly.”

“What?” he questioned, already untying your robe as he stopped at the end of your bed.

“You know what. How are we supposed to be professional at work if we’re sleeping together?” you asked.

He smirked looking down at you. “Then let’s not be professional.”

You sighed again. “It’s-,”

He cut you off with a kiss again, sliding your robe down your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. “Shh.” And just like that, you melted under his touch. “It’s okay babygirl, let me take care of you.”

He pushed you down on your bed and held your stare as he undressed himself; smirking as he watched how you grew more and more desperate with each item of clothing he took off. He hovered on top of you in no time.

Bucky lowered his face; pressing his forehead onto yours gently, while he pushed his erected cock past your tight entrance. You moaned out loud as he did. He grunted once he filled you up entirely, and he gave you a couple of seconds to adjust.

“Fuck…”

You were so full of his thick cock that even forming a proper thought seemed impossible at the moment. You shuddered as you felt all of him. His lips found yours again, attempting to get you to stay quiet while he rolled his hips against yours.

He removed himself and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you struggled to adjust to his size. He lowered his face again, and leaned into your ear. You heard him panting and swearing under his breath as he rocked into you. Your nails sank into his skin, around his shoulders; which you held onto for dear life as he pounded into you.

“Thought you could just leave me, huh? Thought I would let you?” he mumbled right in your ear as he fucked you relentlessly. “You thought I would let you go? Let someone else touch you, pleasure you, fuck you like this? Did you babygirl?” he growled. “Answer me!”

You whined, throwing your head back and moaning at how good he felt. “No… please I didn’t-” you were breathless. You tried matching his thrusts but were unable to; so you simply let go. Your body moved against his like a rag doll.

He growled at how your walls clenched around him. “What? You didn’t what? You didn’t think I’d come back looking for you? You thought I would just let you go because you asked for it?” he accidentally let out a moan, followed by swear words. “You think you make the rules here, doll?”

He reached up and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His blue eyes were wild and fierce; staring deep into your soul. His gaze made you tremble in pleasure. He looked so powerful. Broad and strong, hovering above you, his cock buried deep in you. Looking down at you like he owned you.

He kissed you, bit your skin, kissed your open mouth while he rammed into you; and you never complained once. Given his size, he stretched you out completely. And it did hurt, but the pleasure compensated for the pain.

Your legs trembled as you lifted them up to wrap them around his waist. This allowed him to thrust deeper into you, and in the haze he was in, he managed to mumble right in your ear about how good you felt. He was relentless, as though each moan, each mewl which left your lips only encouraged him to get more and more rough.

At some point, right when your walls started clenching around him and when you were just about to come undone; he removed himself from you and flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you onto your knees by your hips. He kissed the back of your neck and pushed himself inside you again. You felt his hard body press against the curve of your ass as he filled you up again.

You moaned out loud at the new sensation of him rocking into you from behind. Bucky’s hand found its way to your front and he pressed the palm of his hand against your lower abdomen. He liked the thrill each time he felt himself thrusting deep within you.

His hand travelled all the way to your throat and he bent down to whisper in your ear, “Can you feel me deep within you?” he boasted as he gently squeezed the side of your throat. But hard enough to make you lose your mind.

“Please…” You could only moan and whimper in response while he kept pounding into you incessantly. You felt him quicken his pace as he chased his own orgasm. And finally he let you, and you came undone all around him – moaning his name out loud.

You woke up an hour later, the sky was darker and you felt a lot better than you had all week. You turned to your side and found your handsome boss passed out next to you. A smile formed on your face involuntarily.

“Don’t just look, you can touch too.” His gruff voice spoke up a second later, his eyes still closed. You chuckled and snuggled closer to him.

“So what now?” you asked, wrapping an arm around his bare torso. His body heat was something you were quickly getting used to.

He took a deep breath, smiled and lazily reached over to place a kiss on your forehead. “Now you let me love you.”

#ceo!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #marvel au

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strawberryshortcake1495 · 3 months ago

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Fun Facts About My Jobless Monday AU ❤️

The baby Stan twins inspired Auntie Pines to have Dipper and Mabel. She first met them at a family gathering when they were little kids, and she decided she wanted some curious eyes and bright smiles of her own too.

Filbrick and Auntie…don’t have the best relationship. When she was a little girl, Auntie was forced to do all the housework whether she liked it or not. Filbrick isn’t the best person but she used to make up excuses for his behavior until they reached adulthood. One day, she met Uncle Schmidt and he made her feel like the most special person in the entire world. Wealth and love is the perfect combo. They were together for 3 years until getting married and deciding to have children.

Uncle Schmidt looks like a cold and apathetic man just like Filbrick but is actually super kind and caring. He’s just an introvert with a resting bitch face.

After 6-7 years of living in the mansion, Stan decides to move out once he’s matured and thanks the Schmidt family for putting their faith in such a screwup like him. Let’s just say it was super emotional.

Stan once fought a group of PDF files to protect the twins.

In their early adulthood, Filbrick kept begging Auntie for money and she politely rejected until one night he was caught almost breaking into the old family home. Auntie and Uncle both decided to move to Bel-Air for their safety.

During college, Ford went on a class trip to Bel-Air along with Fiddleford but he never bothered to visit Stan.

Uncle Schmidt gave Stan haircuts every 2 weeks until one time he accidentally forgot to for an entire month and the twins loved Stan’s long hair, which made Stan himself love it.

Uncle Schmidt is British. He moved from Wales to Jersey to Bel-Air.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #young stan pines #young ford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #filbrick pines #pines parents #jobless monday au

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thatforgottenbasilisk · 2 years ago

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Song prompt #2! I’m going for that low hanging fruit! Afohiko and no.69!!!

69. Jobless Monday by Mitski

dsfsgf keeping the mitski afohiko theme alright lmao

hmmm alright i think this is just barely prior to the afohiko divorce era, when theyre married and while i would normally go for sorahiko-being-a-villain-secretary a la i want a love that falls as fast as a body from the balcony or in love i've always been a mercenary i think we get a bit of divergence from that. maybe sorahiko was a villain who got forcefully retired when he got married, maybe he was a civilian whose taste in men has to be the least fortunate ever, but he wouldnt know nana at this point bc i dont think he has a support network in this au :)

i think at this point in their divorce era afo fully controls sorahiko's finances and autonomy and shit and sora's just like. i wish we never met i still love you "take me out" in both senses of the phrase like. sorahiko has a lot of mixed feelings rn!!

like the whole song is from sorahiko's perspective i think. he can't afford anything bc afo took over his accounts and he was the dude that had been paying him anyway so he couldve just. stopped paying him but afo is evil and he will take that extra controlling step.

also the "as long as we're out in the sun" lines could be bc afo has started trying to vault sorahiko maybe :)

#'he only loves me when theres a means he means to end' is DEFINITELY going to be a title for an afohiko fic btw #afohiko #mha #asks #ask game

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ibijau · 3 years ago

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Counterfeit AU pt6 / On AO3

Meng Yao makes himself useful after losing his job, and discovers something unexpected

Names are funny things, Meng Yao thinks as he stares at the sheet of paper in his hand.

Funny things indeed.

After everything that went down in the Hanshi, it's Beastie that saves Meng Yao from himself.

Left to his own devices, he would have either wallowed in misery, or waste time proving to himself that everything that happened wasn't his fault, the way he knows he's done in other lives. But when he comes home after having his past lives thrown into his face and losing a job he loves, Beastie’s mother corners him just as he puts his key into his lock. Her daughter is on school holiday, she explains, and was supposed to be looked after by a friend with children of a similar age. But one of the children came down with something contagious, so the whole plan fell through, and the poor woman now desperately needs help finding someone to look after her daughter.

She’s not asking for Meng Yao to play the babysitter, but he knows so many people, he has so many connections, maybe he could pull a favour somewhere, help her out again.

“I can take care of her for a few days,” Meng Yao offers without thinking. “I’m jobless as of today.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! What happened?”

“My employer died,” Meng Yao replies, which is close enough to the truth. He doesn’t think Nie Huaisang will continue using his Shanzi alias after this, and they’ll never meet again. He might as well be dead. “I don’t plan on looking for a new job right away, so I can babysit for a while, it’s no big deal.”

She tries to insist that he doesn’t need to be doing that, but quickly agrees after some reassurance that Meng Yao doesn’t mind. She looks so relieved she could cry as she says she’ll drop Beastie in the morning. Meng Yao smiles, certain that his mother would be proud of him for doing what’s right.

Having Beastie around is definitely the best choice he could have made. She’s a good kid, but she’s also high energy and needs to be entertained, which means he doesn’t get to think too much about how much he misses Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen.

They watch movies together, as they’ve always done when he picked her up after school. They go for walks to a nearby park, and once to a museum to look at old armours and swords. He buys Beastie a fake sword, though they agree to keep it at his place, since her mother already despairs that she so strongly favours boy’s toys. In fact, Meng Yao ends up just spoiling that little girl, the way he would have loved someone to do for him when he was her age. He even has Nie Huaisang’s console repaired so she can play on it, instead of selling it as he’d intended.

The video games are a big hit with her. She’s particularly in love with the same game Nie Huaisang spent too many hours on, that weird little terraforming thing which Meng Yao can’t see the appeal of. He liked that it made Nie Huaisang happy. He likes that it also makes Beastie happy, and that she’s very careful not to ruin the work previously put into it, focused instead on maintaining it and planting flowers

“It looks like home,” she explains when Meng Yao asks about that, and lifts the console for him to see.

It doesn’t look like a homely place, he thinks, and more like a military fortress right out of a wuxia drama. But Meng Yao doesn’t get to make that remark, because his phone vibrates, demanding his attention. Beastie, sitting crossed legs on some cushion on the floor, goes back to watering virtual flowers, while Meng Yao checks some news from his bank account. A lump sum has been sent to him, a good deal more than his usual salary, coming from an account registered under a name he doesn’t recognise.

It has been a week since he was fired.

Nie Huaisang kept his promise.

It really is over.

Not that Meng Yao really doubted it. Nie Huaisang has many faults but indecision has never been one, though he’s always been good at pretending otherwise. Once his choice is made he toys with expectations but rarely ever changes his mind.

Rarely, of course, isn’t never. Meng Yao, foolishly, hoped to be one of those few exceptions.

Those new zeroes on his bank account feel like a divorce, and he never even got a honeymoon.

That night, Meng Yao allows himself a few hours to wallow in misery, after Beastie went back to her mother. He is only human, and it does feel good to eat take-away in front of a cheesy romance. The film's hero doesn't get the girl, who was dead all along. Meng Yao cries, even though he's seen that movie before.

By morning, he's in control again, and takes Beastie to the park so she can run around in the sun, and scare pigeons with her sword.

Those holidays are all great fun, until Beastie’s mother reminds them that she has homework to do.

Beastie is a clever kid, there’s no doubt about it, but she doesn’t much like doing her homework, least of all when she feels she could be playing. It takes all of Meng Yao’s negotiation skills to get her to even look at her school books, and he almost resorts to bribery to make her pick up a pencil. But she works hard once she starts, and Meng Yao, wanting to encourage her, sits with her at the kitchen table to update his resume. Beastie will go back to class soon, and inactivity just isn’t in his temper.

When Beastie is done with her work, she gets permission to put on whatever movie she likes while Meng Yao checks what she’s done in case it needs correcting.

But when he picks up the sheet of simple maths she’s expected to give her teacher on monday, all Meng Yao sees is her name.

It’s really funny. He knows her name of course, though he hasn’t heard it in a while. Even her mother took up to calling her Beastie after he nicknamed her that. It just fits her so well, that active little girl who prefers trousers over dresses because they're easier to move in and always wants to play at fighting. She’s a real little monster, and Meng Yao loves her like that. She’s just Beastie.

But according to the homework she’s spent the afternoon on, she’s also Nie Mingjue.

It could just be a coincidence. Names are funny like that, they pop up in unexpected places, they get forgotten and reused. Perhaps in another life, Meng Yao would have just dismissed it as a random incident.

In another life, he wouldn’t have been called Meng Yao.

It’s the first time this happens since that first life they all shared. He’s Meng Yao again, Lan Xichen bears his old name too, and now he’s found a Nie Mingjue, hiding right under his nose. A Nie Mingjue who likes fighting, and claims that her toy sword is actually a sabre, and who always insists a lot on things being fair, even when Meng Yao tries to give her the biggest share of a food she likes.

It can’t be a coincidence.

Meng Yao needs to tell someone.

He needs to tell Nie Huaisang.

He tries, of course, and without surprise his former employer’s number has been terminated. He has the same luck trying to send an email. Nie Huaisang might as well never have existed. Meng Yao feels helpless, torn between tears and laughter. After spending centuries looking for his brother, Nie Huaisang just might have lost his chance due to being so damn dramatic. Serves him right, Meng Yao thinks, still bitter about being discarded so easily, and never getting a chance to see if things might work better in this life.

Bitterness doesn’t last. Meng Yao cares about Nie Huaisang, more than he should if he were a little smarter, and he knows how important finding his brother again would be for him. And if Nie Huaisang can’t be directly contacted, there’s always indirect ways.

It’s not that Meng Yao misses Lan Xichen, he tells himself that night, when Beastie is back with his mother and he starts writing a long text message on his phone. Well, it’s not just that, anyway. He does miss Lan Xichen, sweet and funny and so eager when talking about art. But more importantly, Lan Xichen probably has access to Lan Wangji, who clearly must know how to contact Nie Huaisang.

Texting Lan Xichen is a strategic choice.

The way Meng Yao's heart jumps inside his chest when Lan Xichen immediately replies is… it's strategic too. He's just glad that his plan is working.

How have you been? :)

I could have been worse. I've just realised something and I think it concerns you. I've told you about that kid I babysit, haven't I?

Little Beastie? Is she okay? D:

She's Nie Mingjue.

This time, the answer isn't immediate. Meng Yao stares nervously at his phone, wondering if Lan Xichen thinks he's lying, or planning something. Considering their first life, who could blame him?

But after a few minutes, his phone vibrates again.

Sorry, I dropped my phone and couldn't get it back from under the couch. Are you sure?? (⊙ˍ⊙)

It all fits. You could come meet her if you want. But it's him, I'm sure.

Did you tell Nie Huaisang???

I can't contact him. Are you in touch with Lan Wangji? Maybe he can warn him.

I have his number, I just texted him! I'll keep you updated! It's so wonderful if it's da-ge!! Can I really meet him? ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Her*?

I'll send you my address. If you can come tomorrow, she'll be there.

Are you sure? I don't think da-ge would still want me around. (≧﹏ ≦)

Meng Yao gives that question the consideration it deserves. It's not an unfair worry to have, and he'd be wondering the same if he hadn't known Beastie for so long.

I literally killed him, and he killed me. If she had to hate anyone it'd be me, but we get along great. We're no longer the same people we used to be. It's the same for her.

If you're sure, then I'll come! (❁´w`❁)

Meng Yao is very sure indeed.

So Lan Xichen comes.

It's odd to invite someone to his flat. It's a small place, a bit messy, full of trinkets and DVDs that Meng Yao would never admit to owning, not with the image he wants to create. He's always avoided guests. But having Lan Xichen over is as rewarding as it is terrifying. Lan Xichen brought some charming little cakes, as if he's visiting someone important, and he smiles at the sight of a movie poster on the wall, confessing he watched it so often as a teenager that the tape broke one day.

"It's my favourite too!" Beastie exclaims. "Meng-ge has it, you know! Can we watch it now?"

Normally, Meng Yao would point out that it's a little rude to ask that when they have a guest. But he can see that Lan Xichen is nervous and unsure how to act around Nie Mingjue, and maybe a movie will let them all relax.

In the end, they spend a pleasant afternoon, the three of them. Once Lan Xichen stops worrying that the Nie Mingjue of old will appear and shout at him for getting him killed, he starts chatting with Beastie about her favourite movies, what she's learning in school, what she wants to be when she grows up. She's very happy to answer, and very impressed when he explains he's a teacher, even though she's finding it hard to accept that most of his students are fully adult.

And when Beastie is back with her mother, Lan Xichen lingers for a while, tempted by the offer of Meng Yao's favourite takeaway.

“It’s amazing how much like him she is,” Lan Xichen says as they sit on the sofa to wait for the food to arrive. “It’s the first time he reincarnates, you know. At least, Wangji told me they’d never found any trace of him before.”

Guilt shoots through Meng Yao. It’s his fault if Nie Mingjue’s soul was so fractured it took him this long to be reborn. Or at least, it’s the fault of someone he was, once, which is nearly the same, and yet completely different. Meng Yao has learned from living and dying several times, and he’s lucky enough to live in a kinder world than Jin Guangyao did. It helps.

“She’s also different from him, though,” Lan Xichen continues, moving just a little closer, until they’re almost touching.

“We’ll, for starters she’s a kid,” Meng Yao points out, wondering if he should take the other man’s hand. If this had happened before the Hanshi, he would have, but he’s not sure where they stand now.

“It’s not just that. In that first life, I knew da-ge as a child too and he was…” Lan Xichen sighs and makes a vague hand gesture. “He was a lot. Way too serious sometimes. We all were, I suppose, but him most of all. The Nie tended to grow fast, to compensate for dying young. I’m… I’m glad that he gets to properly be a child this time. That she gets to be a child.”

“The world has changed,” Meng Yao says, finding the courage at last to brush his fingers against Lan Xichen’s. “Things aren’t always easy but they’re… easier, I suppose.”

Lan Xichen’s returns that touch, gentle and careful as always. This, too, is easier now than it was back then. It’s not easy, but there’s less pressure to conform, less demands to be good dutiful sons, and just a little more space to be their own people, to make their own choices.

Maybe in their next life they’ll meet again and it’ll be even easier to be like this. But even now, Meng Yao is ready to take the chances that his past self wouldn’t have dared to dream of. He leans toward Lan Xichen, hoping to kiss him, but a knock on the door interrupts them and he jumps to his feet to go get their food. The delivery man looks at him a little funny, but makes no comment. If Meng Yao is half as red as Lan Xichen, he deserves those odd looks.

Nothing happens again that night. The moment has passed, and after eating, Lan Xichen has to go home because he has engagements the day after that he can’t cancel.

It's not a date that night, no more than any of their previous encounters were.

It's not a date then, but next time, when Lan Xichen invites him to a restaurant, Meng Yao is informed in no unclear terms that this is, in fact, a date. They go see a movie after, and Meng Yao gets to kiss one of the two most handsome men in the world.

Life is good.

Life is really good, and yet Meng Yao wants more.

In spite of their efforts, Lan Xichen and him can't get in touch with Nie Huaisang to inform him that his brother has finally reincarnated. Even Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are getting worried. From what they told Lan Xichen they haven't had any contact with him since the day they picked him up at the Hanshi.

"They say he's done that before," Lan Xichen tells him. "They think he'll return in a decade or two, maybe a little longer. Time is hard for immortals, they lose track easily."

That's all very well for them, but Meng Yao doesn't have a few decades to waste, and neither does Nie Mingjue. They're not immortals. One bad illness, a reckless driver, just tripping in the stairs, and it's all over until they reincarnate again, and Meng Yao is done with missed chances.

If he can't directly get in touch with Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao can make a few discreet calls to former buyers, and advise them to get their purchase asserted again, just in case. He makes sure to only contact people who bought legitimate artworks of course. He wants to make a wave, not get in trouble. If Meng Yao knows Nie Huaisang even half as well as he thinks he does, then even in hiding Nie Huaisang will be checking what’s happening in the world of art collectors, and he’ll hear about some of his buyers suddenly becoming fearful of fakes.

It’s a little mean perhaps, when Nie Huaisang is so proud of his counterfeits, but kindness has never been Meng Yao’s greatest quality.

Besides, it works.

One afternoon, when Meng Yao is alone at home, checking a job offer that he’s probably going to reject because he deserves better, there’s a knock on the door. Meng Yao considers ignoring it, but some of his elderly neighbours have been coming to ask for help with their phones or whatever new fancy blender their kids got them to make life easier. Usually, five minutes of easy work means free homemade food for his next meal, which is always a great deal.

When he opens the door, there’s a very old man waiting in the corridor alright, but free food is probably out of the question.

“Well, I’m here,” Nie Huaisang says. “Whatever is going on, it’d better be important.”

#xisangyao #xiyao #sangyao #xisang #counterfeit au #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes

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jiamour · 3 years ago

Text

pushin’ n pullin’

pairing: guitarist!jisung x reader

side pairings: markno, rensung, … & more

genre: band au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, nsfw, hurt/comfort/more hurt but mostly they’re just some goofy guys, humor, slowburn, kind of slice of life

warnings: heavy themes relating to mental health disorders, !!one of the characters has ocd (because i have ocd and i wanted to write about it) so they mention “obsessions” that may trigger psychosis!! mentions of doctors and meds, emotional abuse, minor character death, absentee parents, drug use, addiction, extreme homophobia, chronic disease, toxic relationships, A LOT of talk about sex and sexuality, i’ll add more as they come along (welcome to my trauma dumping au :]) 🔞🔞

a/n: there’s a lot of pov’s in this au so if i think it’s confusing or if the perspective is important i’m going to add a heart that matches the pov.

(💗 - yn, 🖤 - js, 💛 - rj, 💙 - jn, 🧡 - mk, 💜 - dh, ❤️ - jm, 💚 - cl)

band au

~ in which your neighbor, jisung, keeps you up at night in more ways than one. not only does his shitty band practice until ass o’clock at night, he’s also hooking up with your roommate, whose room you happen to share a wall with ~

alternatively: your circle small but all y’all crazy🤪 (and queer)

playlists:

dh.♩ rj. ♩cl. ♩ jn. ♩ mk. ♩ jm. ♩ js. ♩ yn.

INTRO: meet the band // ig

TRACK 1: aquarius be gone

TRACK 2: spin spin

TRACK 3: space jam tw//bugs

TRACK 4: homophobic

TRACK 5: role model

TRACK 6: rejection sensitivity

TRACK 7: mercury in pisces

TRACK 8: ratatouille tw// chronic disease

TRACK 9: hoodie

TRACK 10: tarot reading

TRACK 11: literally just a markno fight

MARKS INTERLUDE

TRACK 12: 1984

TRACK 13: stocks // pokemon spoilers??

TRACK 14: wednesday

TRACK 15: incognito

TRACK 16: quarter

TRACK 17: omnipresent

TRACK 18: :( (manipulatively)

TRACK 19: [redacted]

TRACK 20: warblers

TRACK 21: literally just a rensung fight // read tws

RENJUNS INTERLUDE

TRACK 22: therapist // read tws

TRACK 23: boyfriend material

TRACK 24: leave him

TRACK 25: pottery

TRACK 26: here we go again

TRACK 27: moon song

TRACK 28: bad hair day

TRACK 29: woohoo

TRACK 30: aita

TRACK 31: jobless monday // read tws

JAEMINS INTERLUDE

TRACK 32: love or hate?

TRACK 33:

loading…

extras:

when i don’t feel like actually writing

➥ 1 ➥ 2 ➥ 3 ➥ 4 ➥ 5 ➥ 6 ➥ 7 ➥ 8 ➥ 9 ➥ 10 ➥

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milkandcookies-post · 3 years ago

Note

Can I please have replaced MC au?

REPLACED MC AU

━。✿ฺ Butter cream frosting ✿ฺ。━

↓ ↓

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Jobless Monday

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ Hi! Thanks for the request! You didn’t say how the Mc should be replaced. So Ima just make it up on the way lol. Also Ima put it together w/ a few plot twists!

❀。• *₊°。❀°。 TW- HURTFUL WORDS, JEALOUSY, REPLACEMENT, DEATH MENTIONS, YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTERS ARE LITTLE B*TCHES, INSECURITIES MENTIONED, HONESTLY THIS IS JUST FULL ANGST, ALSO YOU SAY SOME PRETTY MEAN STUFF, PERSON BOSS

»»———- GENDER NEUTRAL MC, AMAB MC(Assigned male at birth), They/ them pronouns used.

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ CITRUS TYPE(S)

.·:*¨༺ GRAPEFRUIT 🔴 (kinda) ༻¨*:·.

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ- Reminder- you are perfect the way you are! Don’t let anyone tell you less.

────────────────

┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧ ┊┊┊┊┊ ⋆┊┊

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　° ┊⋆ ˚✯┊☾⋆ ✩

┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ • ° ☾⋆｡˚┊˚✩ ┊

┊┊. ┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊ ⋆✩.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

*. * ·

ೃ⁀ ✩

────────────────────────────────────────────────

You were tired of this-

It was draining you, from the bone.

You sat in your room with anger slowly seeping out of you, as you heard laughter in the common room.

Its been 11 months since the said new exchanged student arrived, apparently Diavolo wanted another human because you were just too “eh human” or whatever Diavolo said

No wonder why his dad fell asleep just to not see him.

In a month it will be time for Jessica to go back to the human realm

But unlucky for you, you live in the Devildom

So you can’t leave, even if you could it would end bad

It sucks anyway.

They didn’t want her to leave, being honest everyone has changed since Jessica came into your life

They started pushing you off, not a lot at the start

Then blocking you

Then insulting you

The yada-yada

You can live without them, they were never really important….

────────────────

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

┊ ┊ ┊ ✫

┊ ┊ ♫ °

┊ ⊹

✽ ⋆ ┊ . ˚.

❆.

───────────

۪۪ ❁ཻུ۪۪. The next day

“I don’t want you to leave Jessie! I’d miss you too much”

The champagne hair colored demon screeched while throwing himself on the couch

“Yea, why can’d ya stay a little longer human?”

Asked the white hair colored demon while spreading his legs, after sitting down next to the lust avatar

“I really wanna stay guys but theres already a human for the program, you guys know that!”

Answered the smaller female

“Ugh, does MC really have to still be here?”

Asked the lust demon, picking his head from the couch

“They live here so yes, sadly”

The blonde demon responded

“Why can’t they leave instead?”

Asked the youngest demon, after rolling his eyes

“Jessica was only chosen to be here for a year, Im not sure the Human realm would allow Jessica to stay,”

Said the oldest demon there, answered the youngest

“Why can’t we trade MC for Jessica then?”

Said the purple haired demon

“Yea about that- I’m sure we can’t since MC lives here”

“Man MC always ruin’ns things for us”

“MC has always been so cold,never doing anything for us”

───────────────

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

┊ ┊ ┊ ✫

┊ ┊ ♫ °

┊ ⊹

✽ ⋆ ┊ . ˚.

❆ •

───────────

Chatter filled the common room

Nine people in there

One person in the hallway.

“Man they really hate me”

Says the human in the hallway, sighing

“I wonder what happens when Jessica leaves. Do things get better?”

In the distance, stands a godly being

“How about we change up things? Just a bit…”

A faint glow coming from the wall in your room….

───────────────

┆┆⋆ ⋆

┆┆

┆┆ ⋆

┆☽ ⋆

┆ ⋆

✧ ⋆

───────────────

۪۪ ❁ཻུ۪۪. A month later

“Bye Jessica, we will miss you”

Everyone said in union, after the female walked in the human realm

“Wheres MC? I can’t believe they would miss Jessie leaving! So selfish”

Rolling his eyes, Asmo said while looking around for the said human

“MC is a real demon! They hurt Jessie so they shouldn’t even say goodbye. Sinful!

Said the younger angel, pouting about the missing human

“I agree with the Chihuahua, MC shouldn’t even be here ya know? MC is such a disgrace”

Agreed with the angel, nodding his head Mammon did so

“Whatever, forget that gross normie lets go home already. Man I miss J already “

Said the third oldest, Leviathan after scowling at the word normie

At the HOL, there lay a sleeping mortal. A dark ink dripping could be seen coming from their pencil pouch

────────

┊┊┊

┊┊

┊☆

┊┊

☁︎︎ .

┊

☁︎︎ •

───────

“MC your grades have been slipping, have you even been doing your work?”

The oldest asked you, confronting you in front of his brothers

You could hear Leviathan and Asmodeus snickering

“Actually yes I have; It’s just you all are annoying, I can’t focus on anything”

That made him mad, the snickering stopped

“You have no right to talk to me like that! I can’t believe you are blaming your failing on me and my brothe-“

Before he could finish his sentence you interrupted him

“Shut up already! Jeez you give me headaches, just leave me alone. Gosh you are so annoying”

You say and walk away before he could even understand what you said

“You all are so disgusting”

Everyone is either angered, shocked, or just speechless

“See! MC has been so cold towards us!Ugly!”

Asmodeus spoke as he rolled his eyes at the name of the human

“Ya, MC is just ruthless. Why we even kept em?”

Mammon questioned after cleaning his shades

“Disappointment indeed, MC has no proper response to far anything!”

The spawn of wrath spoke instead of shaking his head

─────────────

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊

┊ ┊ ☆ ┊ ┊

┊ ☆ ☆ ┊

★ ★

─────────────

Selfish

Disgrace

Gross

Failure

Ugly

Ruthless

Disappointment

As silly as the names get its just mean

How could the people you risked your life your just-

Toss you away

Like a sugary frosting on a cupcake

And replace it with a less sugar frosting or just eat it plain

Maybe you could apologize for whatever you did

No.

They don’t deserve an apology, You do.

────────────────────────

⊱ ────── {.⋅ Hey! If you got this far, thanks for reading! This may be short? Idk but I didn’t want you guys to get bored reading so yea. See ya next time!⋅.} ────── ⊰

-🥛🍪

────────────────────────────────────

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐚?

𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭?

☟MOBILE☟

Finished with your tea?

Have another, what flavor do you want?

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jincherie · 4 years ago

Text

fox rain | five

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 9.9k+ • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: stop two on the angst train express!!! not as blatant, more reading between the lines here...... have fun! • ☽ — notes: bros... it’s only downhill from here. cowa-fucking-BUNGA amirite cowboys???????!?!?

— posted; 18.09.2020

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterpost | prev. | five | next • —

You lay in a sort of placid, bewildered shock, the kind that is sourced from confusion as opposed to an unpleasant surprise. After waking to blearily turn off your alarm before it blasted through the entirety of Dancing Lasha Tumbai, you’d unlocked your phone to find this curious set of messages from a number you haven’t saved. You’ve been lying in place for several minutes as your tired, wired brain slowly kicks into gear and attempts to debunk the mystery. After another unsuccessful few minutes of staring blankly at the screen, you’re saved from impending cranial combustion when your phone lets out a delightful little tinkle and another message hastily joins the others.

Ah, that makes so much sense now! Except it doesn’t. Actually, it kind of adds to your bewilderment. Taehyung… is texting you? You don’t think you’ve ever in your life had any correspondence with him that didn’t either take place in the presence of Jimin or under the influence of alcohol… also in the presence of Jimin, now that you think of it. You haven’t really interacted with Taehyung outside of Jimin. So it is particularly odd to wake up to a series of messages that are from him, and pertaining to such an odd topic. You’re still so tired you can’t even fathom what would warrant a text from him. Maybe you dropped something at one of your tutoring sessions and Jimin asked him to give it back to you? It would make sense, since after the rollercoaster of a ride the last week has been for him (in particular, the questionable events that took place at the hands of one Kim Seokjin but somehow ended up with Jimin and Hoseok making up? You don’t really understand it but you’re not even going to bother to try to at this point) he has ended up a little preoccupied.

Tapping the screen when your inactivity leads it to go dark, you take a moment to scrounge a response from the empty barrel bottom that is your brain. Once satisfied, you drop your phone onto your bed and flop yourself back to the position you’d been in before your own alarm woke you so rudely. Technically, you don’t have to be up and about for another hour…

With faith that your additional hour of sleep will revive your ability to think, you allow yourself to slip somewhat self-indulgently back into sleep and pass the fuck out like a woman who has spent the night trying to forget.

(Which you are, and did do, except with maybe a little less alcohol than what that sentence implied.)

X X X X

It has been almost a week since the unfortunate end to that tutoring session on Monday, and while you’ve managed to stay off social media enough that you haven’t triggered yourself by accident in the entirety of that duration, every time you come on campus it’s like for however many steps forward you took, you take double the amount backwards. University students are such gossips! Well, the jobless ones are, anyway. The students that work and study are too busy dragging themselves around campus in a stunning rendition of the undead from various media to be bothered with the latest plot twist in the resident school drama. Which is to say, there has been no twist. The population is still shamelessly up Sera’s ass in the belief that she is the author of the poem, and as has become the norm you find yourself resisting the urge to hunt the bitch down and go in for round two on her face. Surely, your self-control has earnt you the title of a saint by now.

You’re blasting some angsty shit on the way to your music history class and pretending you’re in a music video for some indie band (it’s cathartic, and you will argue that fact to your grave), when you make it a few steps past the entrance to the food court and have the absolute living daylights scared out of you. Thudding footsteps reach you through your earphones and two hands clamp on your shoulders to halt you in place and spin you around like Barbie Ballerina.

“You’re a disgrace!” It’s Seokjin who has halted you in the middle of the hallway, every bit as dramatic as you’d come to expect. “You skipped drama class? And you call yourself an acting major, PSH!”

Yanking your earphones out, you nail the tall, pink-haired idiot with a glare. Very bold of him to be approaching you after you nearly chopped off Lil’ Jinnie barely a few days ago for his bastardous antics. Perhaps he’s getting a bit big for his glittery pink rainboots.

“First of all, will you please listen to me when I tell you I’m not an acting major?” Unfortunately, when you speak your voice comes out more exasperated and less threatening than you intended. “Second of all—very bold of you to be approaching me right now. You’re lucky you escaped with your life, you meddling bastard. You want me to bite the rest of your dick off?”

“You should know by now that I take that as a compliment,” Seokjin sniffs, haughtily, ignoring the latter part of your threat. “And do you know how boring it is for me to crash your class when you’re not even there? No one threatens me like you! It’s getting harder and harder to get it up these days, you know. I need a hit of the good stuff.”

For a moment you’re simply stunned into silence, staring at him and wondering just how and why he seems to have been sent here with the sole mission of making you want to kill him and then yourself. Nothing you could think to say really is enough, so you settle on simply turning and walking away.

Of course, you forgot that no one turns their back on Kim Seokjin and gets away with it.

“YAH!”

You wince—you think he actually just broke a sound barrier, or maybe your eardrums— or both. Seokjin quickly scrambles to place himself in front of you, arms out. His eyes are wide in something you suspect he thinks is a puppy-eyed look, but actually comes across more like he’s trying not to shit himself.

“Promise me you won’t skip drama again!” Seokjin says, pointing a finger at you in borderline accusation. When he doesn’t see your expression budge, he quickly changes tactics. “If not for me, the most charming prince in the story of your life, then at least for Jungkook, that poor virgin—”

You blink, distracted for a moment by what he said. “Wait, Jungkook is in my drama class?”

“’Wait, Jungkook is in my drama class?’” Seokjin repeats in a voice a few octaves higher than your own. “Listen to you, not even knowing who is in your own class. For shame! But have no fear, since you clearly skip so much I will happily extend my generosity and take you under my wing. Tutelage fee starts at $55 with an extra $5 for every question you ask that I don’t know—”

“Do you ever actually hear yourself talk?” you ask, feeling your will to live draining out your ears. “Like, the shit that comes out of your mouth? Do you hear it? Because—wait, are you saying you would charge me for questions that you don’t know the answer to?!”

Seokjin shrugs, “It’s a little unorthodox, I know. But—”

“I would literally be bankrupt! Thousands—no, millions of dollars in debt!” You exclaim, grabbing him by his stupid big shoulders and shaking him about. “Do I look crazy to you?!”

“Oh, what, you think you can do better?!” Seokjin demands, voice wobbling from your shaking. “What’s 2x2?”

“Fucking four!” you wail, releasing him in your despair. You can’t do this, your day only just started and you are not exhausted enough to micronap while he talks like usual. “I’m leaving, don’t follow me. DELETE MY NUMBER.”

“Haha jokes on you!” you hear Seokjin holler from behind you, voice rapidly growing quieter from the speed that you’re powerwalking away. “You never gave me your number!”

You make it to class barely on time due to Seokjin acting as one of the biggest inconveniences in your life, and while you manage to push him from your brain for the duration of it, you wish you could say that is the last time you see him,

It’s probably the fact that you busted his ass being a weirdo with Jimin and Hoseok last week that has him so…. attached this week, you suspect. You’re at your third Seokjin encounter for the day and you’re honestly considering whether you should trip to the campus pharmacy and look for some pepper spray, or maybe an umbrella. Pepper spray would be more effective, but the umbrella…. You can’t argue against the satisfaction it would provide.

You’re trying to sneak your way into a library on the Arts side of campus, one you don’t usually go to, so you can study without worrying about going absolutely batshit insane in the presence of Seokjin. It was hard, but you think that you’ve finally managed to shake him. What on earth had him so determined to tail you today? Was it seriously because you skipped your own class? Nutcase.

You peek your head around the corner looking not only for Seokjin, but for another thing you had happened to notice every time you were ambushed. You have yet to determine whether the glimpse of phenomenally bright floral print right before Seokjin pounces you is causation or correlation, and it makes you a bit nervous. Cautiously, like timid forest animal, you creep around the corner and begin to make your way into the building, eyes flicking from the library door right at the end to the rest of your surroundings. The café coming up on your right tempts you greatly, but you know it is too great of a risk. Out in the open, you’d definitely be seen.

This area is almost like a courtyard, an undercover area between three separate buildings. With a looming cement and glass ceiling, though, it feels like a building of its own. The library sits nestled in the corner of the largest building, and although it isn’t very wide, it spans several floors. You plan on going to the highest one and hiding in a corner near a window.

You’re close, so close to reaching the library in fact that you’ve fallen into a false sense of security. By the time you register the sound of pounding footsteps approaching behind you, for the second time today, it’s too late.

“Ah, y/n! Wait!”

Instinctively you prepare to burst into a sprint to get away, but at the last second stop yourself. That doesn’t sound like Seokjin… that sounds like—

“Taehyung?” you ask, turning in surprise as the boy comes to a screeching halt in front of you, bending with his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath.

“I’ve… been trying….” he huffs, “To talk to you…. all day….. hah…Why are you so….. good at running away?”

He looks absolutely wiped out, cheeks red and sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. You’re just beginning to feel guilty when you notice his shirt, the bright floral print that you literally don’t know anyone else bold enough to wear, and you realise he’s really not lying. Poor Taehyung, just like you he has fallen victim to—

“That Seokjin bastard,” you say, completing a quick scan of the area to make sure the mention of his name didn’t somehow summon him. “He’s been harassing me all day. I’ve had to really up my game. By the way… are you okay? Please breathe… also what did you want to talk to me about?”

Taehyung straightens, eyes closed as he attempts to control his breathing. One of his hands comes to sweep the ashy hair from his face, the ends slightly damp with sweat.

“I’m fine,” he says, sounding slightly like he’s about to pass out. You prepare to take a step forward and catch him if he does, but he opens his eyes in the next second and shoots you a dopey smile. “I’m fine! Apparently just… whoo… really out of shape.”

“Your sacrifice is not in vain,” you say, smiling when he lets out a sudden laugh. Another shaky breath rakes past his lips before he straightens, eyes blinking a little wider. “Ah, right. I was looking for you because, um… you didn’t respond to my text… and I needed to ask you something that’s a little time-sensitive…”

“Your text…” you wrack your brain, sure that you remembered responding to it this morning in bed. Your mouth shifts into a wince, though, when you can recall writing a response, but not actually sending it. “Oh. I am so sorry, I’m an idiot. I was kind of half asleep when you texted, and I swear to god I typed a response but I think I fell asleep again before sending it…”

There is not a shred of accusation on Taehyung’s pleasant features, lips instead slightly curled in a smile. “That’s fine,” he chirps, rocking on the balls of his feet for a moment. “I do it all the time too. I’m just glad I caught you.”

You return his smile, before a thought that had been nagging you earlier returned and you acted on the urge to voice it. “By the way…. How did you get my number?”

Your question seems to be unexpected and, for some reason, flusters him slightly. He reaches to scratch the back of his neck, averting his gaze for a moment. “Uh, Jimin gave it to me. It was for something stupid a while ago but I never needed to use it.”

You raise your brows at what he said, but get the feeling he’s not going to elaborate. Instead, you remain quiet and wait for him to continue his thought from earlier. He shuffles on his feet, returning his gaze to your own. “Anyway, the reason I was trying to catch you all day was because I wanted to ask you something…”

“I know it’s not really any of my business, but I kind of noticed, and Jimin mentioned lightly that things haven’t been, uh…. great for you lately.” He doesn’t even give you time for that statement to sink in amongst your shock, continuing without pause despite the way his cheeks begin to flush, “And, uh, my exhibition is this Friday, and I was gonna go with Jimin but he double-booked himself with Hobi, so now I have no plus-one and I was wondering… if you wanted to go?”

When you simply stand there, dumbfounded, he clears his throat awkwardly, fiddling with the cuffs of his button-down. “To um, you know, take your mind off things… maybe… you don’t have to, of course, but I just thought I would—”

Snapping out of your stupor before he can take back the invitation, you hastily step forward and outstretch your hands. “Oh, no I would love to go! This is really—” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the light sting of your eyes “—sweet of you. I’d like to go, if it’s ok. You’re sure Jimin doesn’t mind…?”

Taehyung seems shocked, and you suspect he might have thought you would turn down the invitation from the way his eyes seem to light up. Have you really been walking around campus looking like that much of a gloomy bitch? You need to check your facial expressions when you get home this afternoon.

“He won’t mind,” he says, waving his hand excitedly. “Great, perfect—um, here is the little info sheet. I’d stay to tell you more but my class actually started a few minutes ago, so…”

“Oh!” you exclaim, taking the sheet from his hand before waving him away. “Go! Go to class! I’m sorry I made you late! Thank you for this, by the way!”

He seems slightly dazed at your enthusiastic thanks and farewell, but he shakes himself out of it and before he goes he sends you a smile that you can’t think of any other way to describe except dazzling. “It’s no problem, y/n. See you then.”

And then he’s off and you’re left standing alone in the pseudo-courtyard, clutching the exhibition pamphlet in your grip. Your eyes sting ever so slightly, and you can’t help but think how kind of sad it is that one person goes out of their way to think of you in the midst of everything you’re dealing with and you’re so touched you’re nearly driven to tears.

Hormones suck and you want a refund.

X X X X

Taehyung was right when he said that what he had to ask you was time-sensitive.

You hadn’t realised it at the time, but Friday was only a few days away— and in the midst of classes, schoolwork, and everything else, those days went fast. Before you know it, it’s Friday morning and a panicked glance at the pamphlet Taehyung had given you reveals that the exhibition opens officially around 4:30PM. That works out surprisingly well for you, considering your last class ends at three o’clock and you can easily reschedule your session with Hoseok and Jimin.

There’s a lot about the invitation you haven’t gotten to really dwell on, and that continues to be the case as the day flies before your very eyes. By the time your music theory class comes to an end and you finish scribbling down the last few lines of note from your teacher, the event is even closer than you anticipated. From your recent examination of the pamphlet, you’d found earlier that Taehyung’s exhibition is being held at a small university-sponsored gallery downtown. It shouldn’t take you too long to get there from your house, and on the way home after packing your things, you plot out the route you’re going to take. It’s about a twenty minute trip, as you discover, since there is by some stroke of luck a bus that goes straight there from a street just around the corner from your own. Taking that into account, you should have around forty minutes or so to get ready.

Considering you’re one of many poor university students populating the area, it’s not often you actually put the effort in to get dressed up. Around these parts, there is a distinct culture of sweat pants and comfortable tops and more often than not a socks-and-slides combo, something you take part in more often than you’d like to admit. Still, you feel that considering the nature of the event you’ve been invited to and what you know of Taehyung’s works, you should probably be putting in much more effort than usual.

While you might act like a slob sometimes, this isn’t actually a problem— even goblins like you can have a stash of decent clothes somewhere in their cave. Yours happen to be pushed to the back of your closet on hangers that haven’t seen the light of day in months. What can you say? University takes its toll in mysterious ways.

Standing before your closet, eyes boring into the portion that’s been held in its depths for longer than you can remember, you wonder which way you should go with your outfit. Exhibitions are fancy right? Should you dress it up? Logic says you should, but on the other hand what if you are the only one dressed up? That would be humiliating. You pause for a moment to think about the type of garb you usually see Taehyung in— you have a feeling that he will probably dress the same way tonight. Recalling his bold, avante-garde taste in fashion is about as helpful as one might imagine, but it does comfort you to know that no matter what you choose, most eyes will likely be on him anyway.

Comforted by that fact, you make up your mind and pull out a set that isn’t too over the top, and won’t make you look like a rat. Once you’ve slipped into those, you freshen up and wash your face, trying to make yourself seem a little bit more alive afterwards and not like you had an 8AM class today. You’re successful, to a degree, but you’re a little tight on time so you can’t really dwell on it. Feeling your stomach rumble as you grab your bag and key, you can only hope that this exhibition has free food.

x — x — x

“Ah, y/n! You’re here! You… you look nice.”

You were so busy staring at the large, shiny building before you that when Taehyung’s voice rings out in greeting, it startles the hell out of you. You don’t even register what he says before you’re pointing with eyes and mouth wide open, “Your exhibition is in there?!”

His expression of surprise melts into one of amusement, a laugh tumbling from deep in his throat. You don’t even notice the way his cheeks are flushed ever so slightly as he meets your gaze.

“Fancy, right?” he says, wagging his brows. “Some loaded alumnus who actually enjoyed his university experience practically donated it to them. So now they use it for, uh… for most exhibitions.”

“For the best ones, you mean,” you say, your grin widening when he scratches the back of his neck, bashful and blushing. “But yeah, damn. I was expecting it to be nice but I wasn’t expecting it to be this nice.”

Taehyung laughed again, clearing his throat. As he takes a moment to collect himself, you let your eyes scan over his form. The second you do so, you feel a foreign flutter in your stomach, heat flushing to your face. There is truly no other way to describe his choice of outfit for today except for painfully boyfriend. Perhaps on anyone else it would look a little less than presentable, but on Taehyung’s model-esque form the loose chestnut pants and an oversized leather jacket over a boldly patterned shirt work wonders. How does he look so effortless yet so…?

If you’d attempted to wear something like that you’d end up looking like the local court jester. Perhaps you should just make peace with the fact that God has favourites and Kim Taehyung is clearly one of them.

“It, um. It started a few minutes ago, shall we head in?”

Taehyung offers you his arm, a gentlemanly move that completely contrasts the boyish grin on his face. Ignoring the sudden sensations in your abdomen, you make a show of curtsey-ing before you take it, eliciting a laugh from your company as the two of you head to the entrance and the full exhibition experience begins.

As soon as you enter there is someone by the door, who seems to be at the very least taking note of how many people enter, a table with flyers and booklets beside him. Taehyung parts from you only to move over and grab a few, brandishing them as he returns with a bright grin.

“Here is all the information about the event, madame,” he says, with an extremely exaggerated air of grandeur, presenting one of the flyers with a flourish. You take it, unable to help your soft snort.

“I would have thought I had something better, what with the very artist behind the event accompanying me,” you say, grinning when you see his cheeks turn an endearing pink as he flashes a bright, boxy smile.

“True,” he returns, folding the other flyer and slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. “You can’t ask a flyer questions in real time. Anything that crosses your mind, you can ask straight to the source.”

“Oh? Then, may I enquire as to what the theme of this exhibition is?” You’re enjoying the playful air that drifts between you now, unable to rid your face of the smile currently displayed on it even if you wanted to.

Taehyung’s eyes flick to you, a lopsided smile tugging his lips to accompany the sly accent to his gaze. “Ah, a tough one right off the bat. I think telling you straight-up would be too easy. Let’s see if you can try to guess it as we walk through.”

You turn to him with an affronted look, having expected him to easily supply you with the answer. Taehyung is a little cheekier than you remember. You snap your mouth shut, cheeks heating when you notice he has offered his arm to you once more. Taking note of the other people in the room walking around in a similar manner, you slip your arm through his and try to ignore the way you feel your ears light on fire.

“Okay, you’re on,” you respond, if a few moments too late. He doesn’t comment on the delay, simply sending you a smile that you can’t quite decipher the emotion behind. You don’t get to dwell before the two of you are off, beginning on your journey through the building and starting on your tour of the exhibition.

You’d kind of always known that Taehyung was talented, considering he managed to make such a name for himself on campus in such little time with such ease. Hell, he’s well-known enough to have made it onto the list of suspects for the muse of your poem. Still, this knowledge is only compounded the further into the building you go and the more of the exhibition you see. Taehyung is truly talented, the images blown up and displayed on the wall each capturing a certain emotion that you don’t have a name for, yet is so familiar that each time you see a new one it gives you pause. Viewing his works, seeing into this part of him and witnessing this bit of his soul he has bared, you can’t help but feel a slight sense of kinship.

It’s something that rests in the space between your lungs and diaphragm, something that tickles but also something that aches. You do know this feeling, so familiar yet so out of touch and far from the tip of your mind’s tongue. You do try to guess the theme of the exhibition as you go, throwing out the occasional dumb guess to elicit a laugh— he always laughs, and it always makes you smile— but you don’t quite manage to pin it.

“The five senses,” you shoot into the dark, standing before an image that has made you stop and stare for a good five minutes now. It’s not quite black and white, and it’s not a particularly unique image— but something about the composition, something about the movement in the two hands that are so close yet so far from actually touching, speaks to that hidden part of you. The way one of the hands simply hangs, unbothered and neutral, but the other, the one slightly closer to the foreground, has fingers ever so slightly outstretched, reaching but never quite committing to the movement and the unspoken consequence of the hinted action.

Of course, you know the answer even before Taehyung says it. He laughs, hands in his pockets, “Nope, ddaeng.”

“This is hard,” you whine, without much heart behind it. The smile stays on Taehyung’s face.

“Whatever. You’re smart, I know you can guess it. It should be easy, for you.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and you have to turn away so that he doesn’t see your cheeks warm. The two of you had parted when you caught sight of the snacks table; you’d been prepared to abandon him and make a beeline over, but Taehyung had surprised you by marching over himself and coming back with a loaded plate. He’d confessed with a sheepish smile that he hadn’t had lunch, and really you were in no place to judge since you hadn’t either. By this point in your journey, though, the plate is almost empty. There’s only two tiny cupcakes left and you’re letting the rest of the things you scarfed down settle before you go in for more.

Perhaps it was a little dangerous, coming here with Taehyung. He looks so fine, even while shoving sweets in his mouth, that you spend about the same amount of time looking at him as you do at his artworks. It takes all of your willpower to tear your eyes away every time you catch yourself looking at him and admiring the truly boyfriend fit he has donned for this occasion. Every so often he will simply stand before one of his works, scrutinising it with a fresh perspective and ever-criticising eyes, and the sight of it will make something nameless and foreign well within you. You don’t quite know what to do with it, so you ignore it. Or at least, you try to.

It feels a little too similar to what you know of yearning. It leaves you confused.

You stop not long after in front of another piece, this time a combination of three images that act as separate snapshots of smaller parts of a larger image. You admire the way he has set it out, revealing not too much but just enough that the viewer gets a sense, a feeling, but isn’t confronted with the message. It allows everyone to take their own sensation from it. You like that a lot about his works— he doesn’t tell people what to feel as they view his images, but merely hints, prompts and nudges. He sets the stage and allows people to take what they need, see whichever bits draw their eye most and spell meaning from elements of their choosing. He’s talented, you find yourself marveling again, so incredibly talented.

But still, you can’t put a finger on what the theme is.

By the time you make your way completely though the exhibition, having doubled back at a few points to look again at a select few of the pictures, you’re still no closer to guessing. It has you deep in your thoughts as you stand outside, waiting for Taehyung to return from thanking one of the guests who had recognised him for coming.

“Guessed it, yet?”

You turn, pinning him with a look that you hoped didn’t look as dumb as it felt. “Leave it with me,” you say. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

At your words, Taehyung laughs— it’s one of the full-bodied ones you’ve come to enjoy, where he throws his head back a little and shakes his hair back into place after. You have to snap yourself out of it before he catches you staring.

“I’m sure,” he says, unable to keep the cheeky grin off his face. It does slip ever so slightly though, just for a moment, as you watch a thought cross his features. “By the way…”

You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue. You feel an odd combination of at-peace, and unsettled. Holistically, this is the most at-peace and relaxed you’ve been in weeks. However, when you take a moment to tune into the inner machinations that make up your being… something in this exhibition has reached into your insides and fiddled around, moving things where they shouldn’t be and touching things that aren’t meant to be touched. It’s odd, and you acknowledge that it gives you quite a bit of cognitive dissonance. Even so, you’re calm enough that you have no trouble being patient while you wait for Taehyung to continue and say what he seems so nervous to say.

“Um, I know I initially only asked you about coming here, to the exhibition…” he begins, reaching to rub the back of his neck in what you recognise to be one of his nervous ticks. “But, I actually have these vouchers I won in a competition a while ago for a paint-and-sip session that are about to expire, and I was wondering… would you like to go? Now, I mean. Since they actually kind of expire tomorrow. Unless you’re busy, because if you are that’s—”

You decide to put him out of his flustered misery, reaching to nudge his arm. “Of course, that sounds fun! Plus, you were right the other day; I could really do with the chance to relax. Thank you, for all this. I really appreciate it.”

It takes a second for your words to register, but when they do the most blindingly bright smile spreads across his face; he’s practically beaming at you.

“Of course,” he says, with barely a moment’s hesitation. “I’m really happy you agreed to come— I’m glad you said yes to the paint-and-sip, too, because it’s one of my favourite places. Come on, let’s get going. If we get there at just the right time, we can get a really good seat, hopefully by the window.”

The journey continues, Taehyung leading you through the city while chatting easily all the while, a stunning twilight cityscape backdrop and the gentle glimmering surface of the river meandering through buildings providing the perfect scenery. If you had a little more faith in your artistic ability, you might try and paint the image you see now; Taehyung in the colours of dusk, soft and natural against the bright lights and harsh lines of the metropolitan landscape. But alas, you aren’t as talented as the man besides you, and you don’t even want to think of how it would turn out if you attempted to paint such a thing. You quickly throw the thought from your mind before it can linger and get up to more trouble than it’s worth.

“Here we are!” Taehyung’s cheer breaks you out of your stupor, bright smile directed your way once more as he stops in front of a large establishment with long strips of window and a colourfully sewn awning.

‘Brush & Bar’, the cursive, neon sign reads above the door, flickering between soft pink and peach orange. It’s an interesting aesthetic the place has going on, but when you look over and catch sight of Taehyung once more it suddenly makes sense why he likes it so much. The style of this place is very similar to some of the more outlandish things he tends to model around campus. Before your reverie lets you remain abandoned outside, you hurry to follow after the ashy-haired boy, grabbing the back of his jacket when you almost trip over the door frame. He spares a look over his shoulder to make sure you’re okay before he continues, moving towards the counter and smiling with more charm than you can personally handle at the staff member there.

It’s a woman, who you suspect is in her mid-thirties, and she is pretty enough that it takes you by surprise when she rolls her eyes heavily at Taehyung’s approach.

“You again, boy?” she asks, though it sounds more rhetorical than anything and you catch the slightest tinge of humour accenting her words and it soothes your hackles. “Don’t you ever get sick of hanging around here?”

“Nope!”

She cracks a smile, lines appearing at the edges of her eyes. “Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. We’d miss you an awful lot if you ever stopped showing up here.” Her eyes flick ever so slyly to you, and then back. “Say, is today the day you’re finally gonna make good on those vouchers you won? I know you said you were waiting for the right chance to ask that g—”

“Yes!” Taehyung cuts in loudly, eyes wide and cheeks flushing darkly. “Yes, yep! I brought the vouchers! They do expire tomorrow after all!”

The woman, Bora as you now see from her nametag, simply smiles, something sly about the action intriguing you. Taehyung clears his throat, reaching to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly. “So, um… I will use them now. Is the window seat free…?”

Bora nods, a fond curve to her lips now as she rummages around behind the counter and takes the offered vouchers from Taehyung to punch holes in them. “Your favourite spot? Of course. I had a feeling you were coming, too, so I’ve already gone and set it up with some canvases and acrylics.”

She hands the vouchers back, and Taehyung slips them into the pocket of his jacket. “Paintbrushes and jars are in their usual place, and I know you don’t normally drink while you’re here but if you’d like some tonight just take your order up to Kyungsoo. Oh! And tonight’s special for snacks is tea cakes, so definitely make the most of that. There are some good ones in the display.”

At the mention of food and alcohol, your gaze had already started to wander on its own— you catch sight of the display of cakes and other sweets and feel your mouth water. Ridiculous, since you were kind of full before, but what can you say, you’re a complicated woman. Lots of layers, not unlike an onion. The thought almost makes you snort.

With a gentle nudge to your arm, Taehyung is bringing you back to the present moment and leading you over to the window, where a medium-sized table has been set up with two square canvases and a basket of paint bottles, palettes leaning to the side. Taehyung instructs you to take a seat, informing you with a smile that he’ll grab some paintbrushes and water for the two of you to use. At his suggestion, while he is gone you open up your phone and search for something to paint. Something that’s not too hard and not too easy. Because your skills are… well, they’re not nonexistent but you’re not about to go around tooting your horn in front of someone with actual art skills and talent. Apparently there is usually an image supplied for each night, but Taehyung says it’s not strict and that tonight is one of the nights where all the patrons just have free reign.

You sort of get distracted part way through the activity, eyes subconsciously seeking Taehyung’s leather jacket amongst the decently filled establishment. It’s really quite nice inside, actually; the walls and general decor are soft and neutral, with pops of colour everywhere that bring each corner and table to life. A lot of the furniture is wooden, natural and polished underneath specks of paint that decorate in layers that tell of time spent well. The lighting is soft with the exception of the bulbs stationed above each table, which are brighter and angled towards where the canvas would be. On one of the walls, the one near the bar, it is completely covered by greenery— vines that, as far as you can tell, aren’t actually fake. A soft, almost jazzy tune filters lightly through the room, complemented by the low hum of chatter and paintbrushes hitting glass. You’re incredibly impressed and, admittedly, you like this place a lot. It has the kind of vibe that just… makes you content.

“Here we go!”

You startle at the sound of Taehyung’s low register, looking over to see him placing a bundle of paintbrushes in between the two of you and a jar beside each of your canvases. He takes his seat across from you, smiling brightly. “Did you decide what you want to paint?”

You hum, turning your gaze out the window for a moment to see if it grants you any inspiration— it’s a gorgeous sight, the twilight sky broken by the outline of buildings with glimmering insides, but it doesn’t help much. You don’t know what you want to paint. Of course, there is this big, expanding feeling inside you, the urge to express it somehow filling you to your fingertips, but what do you do with it? You don’t even know its name.

“No,” you answer, reaching for one of the palettes propped up to the side. “But I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll just see where the vibe takes me.”

The smile Taehyung gives you at that is softer than most, and he eagerly follows suit in grabbing a palette and beginning to set it up; he squirts a big dollop of white, blinking at it for a moment as though he hadn’t intended to put that much. “There are some pencils and erasers to the side there, too. I prefer the moldable one.”

You thank him for his advice, before realising as he puts his own pencil ever so lightly to canvas that he hadn’t told you the subject of his painting. “What are you going to paint?”

“A secret,” he says, leaning around the canvas to grin at you. “Since I don’t know what you’re painting. Let’s swap paintings after, though. I do want to see eventually.”

That makes you laugh, but you don’t bother pushing further. A surprise is nice every now and then, you know. So long as it’s not the kind that ruins your life as you know it indefinitely.

But you’re here to have fun and relax, so you’re not going to get into that. You’re not even going to think about it.

Taehyung clears his throat, catching your attention immediately. “Right, before we start we should probably order. Did you—”

“No need, my boy!”

Two new figures appear at the side of the table, one a youthful man on the shorter side, the other older and plumper with grey beginning to speckle through his hair. The shorter one places two drinks onto the table, colourful cocktails in a generous glass, and the older laughs before placing down two plates, each with a different kind of cake slice situated neatly in the middle.

“On the house,” the man continues, chuckling at the shocked and somewhat flustered look on Taehyung’s face. “You’ve given us a lot of business so don’t even worry about it. Plus, we heard you were finally making the most of those vouchers so… here’s a little something to start the night off well!”

“...Thanks, Mr Kang,” Taehyung finally manages, shooting them a smile that could honestly give Hoseok’s own a run for its money. “You too, Kyungsoo. Do…. do I wanna know what’s in this?”

He’s gesturing to the drinks, a somewhat fearful look on his face. The shorter man shakes his head, thick brows curved in mirth as his lips twitch into a lopsided smile. “Nope. Tastes good though, so you got nothing to worry about.”

You can’t tell whether Taehyung is relieved or concerned, and so step in to save him a moment of reprieve. “Thank you so much— this all looks amazing!”

Happily, the two men soak in your praise. “I assure you,” Mr Kang says, patting his chest proudly. “It tastes as good as it looks.”

Kyungsoo snorts, but doesn’t disagree. He gives the two of you a small smile. “Right, we should be on our way. You two enjoy yourselves, and if you want refills just come let me know.”

Taehyung nods, thanking them again, and then it’s just the two of you once more.

“Well,” he says, licking his lips and reminding you of a puppy as he stares intently at the slice of strawberry crepe cake, decorated with a generous drizzle of syrup and two fresh, sliced strawberries in a dollop of cream beside it. The other one, a coffee-caramel blend you presume from the heavenly aroma reaching your nose, looks just as good but is nowhere near as successful at capturing his attention. “I guess… let’s begin!”

Whether he meant painting or devouring the food, you end up doing a bit of both. Each mouthful of cake that enters your mouth is announced with an explosion of flavour so rich it lingers long after you’ve swallowed the mouthful down. The drinks, too, are delicious. Fruity but not too syrupy or sugary, you suspect Kyungsoo had used spirits and tempered the fruity flavour with a bit of lemon or lime.

You still aren’t really sold on what to paint, but in the meantime you end up sketching out the flowers that sit on the windowsill a little behind Taehyung. They don’t seem too complicated, and if they end up looking terrible you can just smear the canvas with paint and call it abstract. Of course, part of Taehyung’s shoulder cuts the vase off from view so he’s probably going to end up making an unwitting appearance in whatever mess turns up on your canvas.

Even though neither of you have any idea what Kyungsoo put into those drinks, you’re sure its something strong. Before long the two of you are already giggly, conversation flowing easily as you put paint to canvas and attempt to make something decent. It’s around the time the two of you are almost finishing your drinks that the conversation takes a delightful turn, which consists of Taehyung telling you about his little fluffball, Yeontan.

“Oh my god,” you say, fingers gripping the paintbrush tight as you try to pet the urge to pet a dog that isn’t even here. “He’s so cute! Look at his grumpy little eyebrows!”

Taehyung laughs, having taken a break from painting to show you his dog like a proud parent. He takes his phone back and slips it into his pocket, paint-flecked hand returning to the brush he’d abandoned. “He’s such a smart dog, but he’s also super dumb. Runs into shit all the time. And there was one time that a friend came over and brought a new camera that he hadn’t seen before—”

Taehyung has to pause recounting the story, he starts giggling so hard. It makes you erupt into laughter as well simply because of how contagious the sound is. “He got so mad, he ran in front of me with his little legs and started barking at it like he was trying to protect me. I love that little dog.”

“I love him too and I haven’t even met him,” you giggle, using your pinky (the only finger you’re sure you haven’t gotten paint on yet) to wipe under your eyes. You don’t think you let a tear slip but you’ve been laughing so much you can’t be sure.

Taehyung beams at you from around his canvas, brush held midair. “That’s exactly what Jiminie says.”

That gives you pause. “Wait— Jimin hasn’t seen your dog? But you’ve been friends for ages!”

You catch the photographer smiling as he delivers a few soft strokes to his painting, affection hidden in his tone as he responds, “Yeah, a few years. Since… the last? Second last year of high school? Maybe? It was a wild start to the friendship.”

“Wild?” you echo, intrigued.

“Yeah. What really kick-started our friendship was this one time I came over while Jimin was really upset about something. I can’t remember exactly how it happened but we ended up at some wack university event nearby. It was boring as hell, and somehow we figured the best way to be entertained would be to commit a mild crime and get away with it.”

Once more, the ashy-haired male has to pause his story to get the giggles out of his system, taking the opportunity to sip a little more of his cocktail. You do the same, not one to pass up much of any drink these days.

“Long story short, he ended up streaking across the field and earning himself a title at the university as ‘mooncheeks’ or something equally dumb and funny, earnt himself a bit of a nude legacy.”

You pause, the alcohol beginning to slow your mind just enough that it takes a little longer for you to connect the dot between his story and something you’d shoved so deep in the back of your mind years ago that you’d almost forgotten it.

“Wait—” you smack your paintbrush down, eyes wide as an accusing finger is thrown his way. “That was— he ran into me on the way back! Oh my god I almost forgot, that was you two?!”

Taehyung erupts into laughter that is an octave or two shy of being too loud, having to place a hand over his chest to brace himself. He’s nodding wordlessly, eyes pinched shut, and it’s probably the alcohol making your eyes blur but for a moment you could almost swear he’s glowing.

“Yeah,” he finally manages to articulate, wiping a stray tear or two from his eyes, sniffling. “It cheered him up, though, so I think it’s worth the potential trauma.”

That makes you laugh, another sip of your drink going down. A lot of the spirits must have settled at the bottom, because this one had a little warmth as it went down.

The night goes so easily it’s like a dream, the atmosphere and alcohol in combination with Taehyung’s company making you feel much like you did before this whole shitshow, back when it wasn’t so hard to release the tension in your shoulders or to muster a genuine smile. Taehyung happily gets you a few refills, refusing to let you pull out your card— which is probably for the best because you’re not sure where your wallet is and you’re not coordinated enough to look right now.

You’re on the further side of tipsy, teetering on the edge of pleasantly drunk where nothing makes sense but you’re still somewhat coherent, and everything is funny. Taehyung has almost dipped his paintbrushes in his drink instead of the jar a few times, resulting in a long round of laughter and sore stomachs each time. Eventually, you’d moved his drink to the other side of the canvas and he’d offered you a sheepish smile.

Surprisingly, your painting doesn’t look too bad, either. Currently it has a bit of a blurry, undefined quality to it, but in your current opinion it kind of works for it. Taehyung’s shoulder did end up making a feature and as the two of you talk you find yourself distractedly painting patterns in the ‘leather’, swirls and hearts and hell, even a few triangles. Eventually, you reach the point where you think that you really can’t do anything more to make the painting better in the time you have, so with a contented sigh you place your brush down and instead turn your attention to Taehyung.

Even as he talks to you and wobbles a little in place, he’s still so incredibly focused in his work, in every detail that meets canvas at the direction of his nimple finngertips, that you don’t think you even see his hand shaking while he paints. Which, your hand was— a lot. It’s the main factor responsible for this one squiggly flower stem in particular you can see in your painting.

As you sit there, happily listening and laughing at each anecdote Taehyung offers you about his life, you find your mind wandering a little bit. Back to the exhibition, and the works and even the way you caught him regarding them. You recognise the critical lens that he viewed them through, because it’s one you adopt yourself for your own creations. Something wells in you, an urge to reassure him in case he ever had any doubts about his own talent; you’re far too many drinks in to be in a place where you can stop yourself.

“Taehyung,” you begin softly but seriously, with minimal slur. He doesn’t stop his motions, but you see him pause for the briefest moment before humming in acknowledgement. “Taehyung, I have to tell you…”

You’re figuring out how to best word your impression of his works and his talent, but you must take longer than you thought because Taehyung lets out a soft huff, giving you a smile that you can’t quite decipher.

“Don’t worry,” he says, flicking the paintbrush back to rest the wooden stem on his knuckles. “I already know I’m not the muse. You don’t have to worry about convincing me.”

For a second, all you’re able to do is blink. Taehyung simply goes back to his painting, expression neutral and his soft hum brushing your ears beneath the soft melody floating from the speakers. You realise quickly that you don’t know what to say to that, and that the full implications of his words haven’t really sunk in yet. He must have noticed that you’d been trying to go around and convince all the suspected subjects that they aren’t the muse of the poem… you feel oddly ashamed, for some reason. Your cheeks feel hot, and not just from the alcohol flush.

“Done!”

Taehyung’s voice breaks you from your reverie, his cheery smile greeting you once more. “All finished?”

You nod, offering a smile of your own and taking the opportunity to say what you wanted to earlier. “Yep. I’m excited to see yours, you’re so incredibly talented, Tae.”

His smile turns shy at that, a bashful laugh tumbling from his lips as he does his best to clean up his area. You do the same, standing up for the first time in a while and having to reach out and stabilise yourself on the table so you don’t fall. The drinks hit you a little harder than you first thought!

“Thank you,” he finally mumbles a few moments later, collecting the brushes. “I’m excited to see yours, too.”

You let out a short laugh at that, knowing that whatever you threw onto that canvas isn’t going to be able to hold a candle to what he made.

Quicker than you can keep track of, the two of you finish tidying and then before you know it you’re saying your goodbyes to the staff and stepping outside. You shiver at the unexpected breeze that greets you, people along the other side of the street huddling together. It’s a windy night and the breeze carries a bit of a bite.

“Oh, right,” Taehyung starts in place, offering his canvas to you. “Careful, it might still be a bit wet…”

Somewhat mindlessly, you swap paintings with him, smiling brightly before your gaze is drawn to the side. By nothing but absolute chance, it passes over the line in front of a bar popular with students at your university, and you almost blink and move on before your eyes halt in familiarity. At the hands of nothing but stupid luck, there is someone you recognise over there. Yoongi stands, face indicating a loud complaint before it even leaves his mouth, and there are a few others around him that he seems to be with who are laughing as they wait in line.

Your head feels so messy, like the wind has managed to get inside your skull and fling everything about like leaves on the autumn breeze. You’re so distracted in the moment that you don’t see it as Taehyung follows the direction of your gaze, and his expression drops. When you jerk out of your reverie, it’s just in time to see his eyes flicking from your painting, to his, and then back to you.

You’re about to peek at his painting and fill the silence with a compliment, but he beats you to it. Something is different about his expression, and not just because he’s no longer under the warm light of the paint bar. The glow you’d noticed so easily earlier seems to have dimmed a bit.

“Did you figure out the theme of the exhibition?”

At his question you startle, gaze flicking to the side as you try and figure it out on instinct on the spot. You’d completely forgotten to think about it, and considering you spent about as much time looking at him as you did his works while at the exhibition, you can safely determine you’re still nowhere closer to the answer. “Ah… no.”

As though drawn like a magnet, your gaze ends up over in the direction of Yoongi for the briefest second. You struggle to tear it away.

“It’s anaxiphilia.”

Even through the inebriation slowing your thoughts, his words reach you immediately. It’s as though your heart has turned to stone and dropped straight through your chest. That unspeakable, unknown emotion wells and bubbles within you, swelling to twice, thrice its size and blocking words before they can even reach your throat. Your eyes are on Taehyung again, but his are still centred where yours had been— had he also noticed Yoongi? You didn’t know they knew each other...

“Oh,” you finally manage, swallowing down that nameless sensation. Taehyung’s gaze slowly slides back to you, dark eyes full of so much… something, you think it would take you years to unpack and familiarise yourself with it all.

For a second, the two of you stand with your gazes locked, both of you too deep in your own thoughts to do anything about it. Taehyung is the one that breaks the spell.

“Well, it’s getting late, I shouldn’t keep you out any longer… There is a bus stop here, and tons of ubers in the area…” His eyes flick away as he talks but return as he murmurs this last bit, “Thank you for coming today. I hope you had fun.”

“Of course I did,” you rush, finally finding your voice amongst the shambles in your head. “Thank you for inviting me, Tae. I really… I really needed this. Thank you.”

He nods, smiling at you, but you notice it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Please get home safe,” he says, and you nod immediately, making his gaze soften. “See you later.”

“Bye! Thank you again!” you wave, Taehyung turning quick and already a decent way down the street after his farewell. He offers a wave over his shoulder and you catch it just in time before you turn back, gaze unconsciously seeking out the familiar figure across the road. Distantly, you observe that Yoongi is no longer in line for the bar and has switched to the bubble tea place a few stores down.

Taehyung’s exhibition and it’s theme swim through your mind, a sudden impulse welling within you in response that spurs your legs into a motion. You’re about to go across the road in a sudden spurt of something like bravery, but for some indecipherable reason, you stop before you can get more than a few feet. You turn your head, gaze thrown over your shoulder, eyes seeking without an explicit goal in mind.

You catch sight of him just before he rounds the corner and disappears from view— even from the back Taehyung presents a handsome figure, but in the split-second you manage to view him, the most notable things about his retreating form is the slumped curve of his shoulders and the lowered angle of his head. He’s gone before you can blink leaving you for good this time with nothing but your messy head and the one thought that swims to the surface that says after seeing him glow in happiness for the better part of the evening, sadness doesn’t suit him much at all.

Clutching the painting, your turn back to the front and try and focus on the present for just a minute or two, like whether you’re going to catch a bus or uber it home, but each time you start a new thought it always brings you back to the odd mix of guilt swirling deep in your gut. There’s something else there, the familiar hollow pit of yearning, but for once… you can’t quite tell who it’s for.

a/n: thank u so much for reading! i really hope it was worth the wait and that you look forward the future parts as fox rain begins to slowly draw to a close!! pls let us know u liked it w a like and rb and screaming in our inboxes is always ALWAYS welcome!! thank u !! love u !! <3

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