#lmk if i should change anything or if you’d like to plot!

[fvnnythiings]

jax would never admit it out loud, but kingers fort ? it was actually pretty d@*# comfortable. the pillows, albeit digitized, were a lot cozier than the hard ground ; harsh both in its flatness & the glaringly bright colors that jax could, if given time & effort, recall taking quite a long time to get accustomed to. it was also pleasantly dark inside — not the fabricated kind of simulated darkness that came about as quickly as it took caine to snap his fingers & looked almost warped at the edges, fake & artificial. this was just . . . dark. & it didn’t totally suck.

he tells himself that the only reason he’s even here in the first place was out of boredom & an innate desire to annoy. kinger, it would seem, was simply the prime target of jax’s current bout of nonsense. he hadn’t anticipated for their time together to become so . . normal ?

❝ well, i hope you had a blast just being able to skip out on this last adventure. must’ve been nice not havin’ to, y’know, actually do the job or work. unlike some of us. and gangle ? ohhhohoho, boy. gangle. she was the worst. just what were you even doing, anyway ? and — why are you. looking at me. like that ? ❞

/ @circusroyal liked for a jax toy !

[hongcherry]

you're my tomorrow | j.ww

At first, you didn't think anything of it. Jeon Wonwoo was just a customer. However, his daily visits to your bookstore café started to become the highlight of your days. The little conversations here and there made you happy. It's because of him that you always look forward to tomorrow.

☕️ Pairing: customer!Wonwoo x cafeOwner!Reader

☕️ Rating/Genres/AUs: PG; Fluff with a sprinkle of angst, slice of life; Strangers to lovers, cafe au, non!idol au

☕️ Warnings: Reader is smaller than Wonu, ultra soft boi and supportive wonu *swoons*... can't think of anything else but ofc lmk otherwise

☕️ Word Count: 5k

☕️ Author's Note: Thank you to @justsomekpopstuff for giving me this plot idea! I def got carried away and wrote way more than I thought I would lol. I hope you enjoy it! Everyone thank JJ for the storyline ✨ Also, thank you Jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) for beta'ing and giving me amazing suggestions for some edits! 💗

Happy holidays to all (if you celebrate)! Stay safe and have a nice time 💖

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

Monday

When the door chimes a little after eight at night, you know it’s him.

He strolls in, usual glasses perched on his nose and jacket layered with a few specks of snow. His hair isn’t styled, soft waves adorning his head. He looks like the average person who’s winding down from a long day at work. From the two and a half months you’ve known him, this is his usual state on Monday nights.

Wonwoo entered your cozy bookstore café nearly three months ago. His order rarely varies, and sometimes he orders a drink he could get anywhere else. Yet, for some reason, he always comes here.

And throughout those months, you’ve realized you always look forward to his presence.

“Busy evening?” he asks while stepping up to the counter.

You’re in the middle of packing a pastry for another customer and quickly hand off the bag to your coworker.

“More so than usual; it’s finals week,” you reply with a small smile.

Wonwoo glances around, nodding as he takes in the sight of many tables occupied by people with textbooks, laptops, and notes scattered around them.

“I don’t miss those days,” he chuckles.

“I don’t either,” you agree. “So, what can I get you today?”

Wonwoo peers up at the menu behind you. You wonder why he does so since he usually rotates between three drinks.

“A hot chocolate,” he replies.

“Oh?” You can’t hide your surprise.

He grins, tilting his head slightly. “Should I have ordered something else?”

“No!” you hastily say. “You can order whatever you want.”

He pulls out a bill that exceeds the cost of the order and slides it to your side of the counter.

“Just thought I’d try something new for the holidays,” he explains, then leaves to find a seat.

“Wait!” you call out, bill in your hand. “You paid too much!”

If Wonwoo can hear you, he pretends he doesn’t. He continues his journey and ends up in the corner next to a window by the bookshelves. He retrieves a book from his bag, opening it where his bookmark rests.

Your hand falls to the counter with a heavy sigh. You guess you’ll give him his change when you give him his order. Normally, you’d call customer’s names or numbers for pick-up. But Wonwoo is different.

Wonwoo’s one of the rare customers who gets his order hand-delivered.

After completing the transaction in the system and making his drink, you grab his change from the register and walk to his table.

“One hot chocolate,” you announce and set the cup down along with his change.

“I’ll take the drink,” he says and brings it closer, blatantly ignoring the cash next to it.

“Wonwoo,” you say.

“Yn,” he answers, eyes flickering up.

There’s a small smirk on his lips that makes your insides churn.

“You overpaid,” you simply state.

“So?”

You move his money closer. “So, take it back.”

Wonwoo slides the money back to you. “Consider it a tip.”

“You know we don’t take tips here,” you say, moving it again.

“You should. You all work hard.”

“People are already struggling as is. If they can find solace in a little place like this, that’s all that matters.”

Wonwoo rests his hands on top of yours, which is still on the money, and slides it back to you.

“Then consider it a holiday present. From me to you,” he smiles.

His hand feels warm on yours. Your eyes move down, but you wish you hadn’t.

His large hand nearly covers yours, making you feel small yet protected. You can tell from his build that he’s strong and fit. You wonder what it’d be like to get a hug from him.

“I—” you struggle to speak.

“It’d make me happy.”

You sigh, nodding hesitantly.

He slowly removes his hand. “Thank you.”

“N-No problem,” you say, gathering the change and pocketing it. “Enjoy your book and drink.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo replies and picks up his book. He holds it up with one hand and uses the other to sip his hot chocolate.

You make your way back to the front, trying to ignore the lingering warmth on your hand and the feeling in your chest.

Tuesday

Wonwoo shows up at the same time but orders one of his usual drinks. It's a different book than yesterday and judging by the similar cover, it's probably the next one in the series.

Ever since Wonwoo “gifted” you money, you’ve been trying to think of something to get him. It’s a little tough considering you don’t actually know him. You know he works a duty-heavy job and that he lives nearby. You know he has a lot of friends despite him being so quiet. Although you’ve never seen Wonwoo and his friends in the same room, they often come with him to the café in duos or trios.

You also learned he’s an avid cat and gaming lover.

You were surprised about the latter.

“Is he also a student?” one of your new coworkers, Sebastian, asks thirty minutes after Wonwoo’s arrival.

You wipe off the cup in your hand and set it on the counter, calling the number associated with it.

“No, he graduated already,” you reply and watch him practice making a drink.

“You seem to know him. Are you two friends?” he wonders.

You lean against the counter. “I don’t think so. He’s just a regular here, so I’ve learned a few things here and there.”

“Ah,” he replies and hands you the finished drink.

You take the drink and start taking a sip to see how well he did.

“You should ask him out.”

You choke on the drink, eyes wide as you reach for a napkin to wipe your chin.

“T-That wouldn’t be appropriate,” you stammer.

He laughs and takes the drink from you. “He’s not working here, and it’s not like you’re paying for him to come by. I don’t see how it’s inappropriate.”

You sigh, knowing he has a point. It’s not that you’re not attracted to Wonwoo, but it feels almost out of line. Plus, you’re not sure if you like Wonwoo, or just like the thought of him. You haven’t been in a relationship in years and would be lying to say you don’t miss having a partner.

You miss being able to share life memories with someone.

Wonwoo’s handsome. He’s kind, funny, caring, and fit—not that that’s a big deciding factor, but it sure is a bonus. Though, do you just want someone with those attributes, or do you want him?

“Just think about it,” Sebastian suggests and greets a new customer.

Your eyes drop to your feet in thought.

Part of you worries you’d make it awkward if he says no. It’s not like you are friends, so you won’t be ruining a friendship, but you enjoy seeing his face every day. His simple presence is one of the highlights of your days.

Plus, you don’t even know if he has a partner already!

You groan, putting a hand over your forehead as you try to organize your thoughts.

“Bad night?” a familiar voice asks from over the counter.

You drop your hand to see who it is.

Wonwoo stands with his empty cup and saucer, book tucked under his arm.

“Ah, uh, not really,” you reply sheepishly. You can’t disclose the true reason for your state; you’ve never been the best liar either.

“Well, I hope whatever is troubling you passes soon,” he says and holds out his dirty dishes.

“You could’ve left them on the table,” you say, grabbing them from his grasp. Your fingers touch his, and it’s difficult not to feel like a silly teenager in the movies, especially with your current predicament.

“I know,” he smiles, “but I wanted to tell you bye, and you seem busy.”

You set the items in the sink before addressing him again. “Still… But thank you anyway.”

“The drink was great, as always.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says, slowly stepping away from the counter.

You smile, nodding. “See you.”

His eyes linger on you before he turns and exits your café.

Wednesday

Wonwoo comes and goes as usual. It’s a busy night and you’re unable to speak to him much. It���s not the first time that has happened, so he doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of interaction. Regardless, you wish you could’ve spoken to him more.

That night was spent browsing the internet for the perfect gift for Wonwoo.

From gaming headsets to the top-rated books on Goodreads, you felt like you scoured every possible present for him. But none of them satisfied you.

It wasn’t until you came across bookmarks in your recommended section that you decided what to get him.

Maybe a bookmark was too boring, but you figured it was the safer option.

You spend over an hour searching for the right bookmark, but again, you come up short. They’re either too flowery, too plain, or too cliché.

In the end, you opt for making your own.

You find some DIY bookmark kits online and place an order. Trying not to second guess your decision, you call it a night—going to sleep as you brainstorm what to put on the item.

Thursday

“Do people actually read these books?” Wonwoo asks during your break, which you decided to spend with him.

Your gaze follows his to the wall lined with several bookshelves.

You chuckle, “Sometimes.”

“You said you got these books donated?” he asks, recalling an earlier conversation you had when he was a newcomer.

“Most of them,” you hum.

“Does your offer still stand?” he asks.

You turn to him with puzzlement.

He smiles. “You said I could take a book if I left one.”

“Oh,” you laugh out of embarrassment for forgetting. “Of course.”

Wonwoo nods and then stands up. He takes two steps to his right, then carefully plucks a book from a high shelf. He replaces the empty space with his own book.

Something about the simple act has your heartwarming. Or maybe it’s the way he’s so gentle with the books as if they’ll cry if moved too aggressively. You wonder if he’d touch you as carefully, if given the chance. Would you find comfort in his caresses the way you think the books would if they were personified?

Wonwoo sits in his seat again, perching his glasses higher after they slide down.

“Have you read this?” he asks, twisting the book so the cover faces you.

You analyze it for a moment, but the title doesn’t ring a bell.

Shaking your head, “Unfortunately not. I haven’t had the chance to read in a long while.”

“I guess running a business is time-consuming,” he teases lightly.

“How do you find the time? Didn’t you say your work is hard, too?” you ask.

He leans back in his seat, book resting in his lap.

“I make time,” he simply says. “I found it’s important to make time for things I care about.”

He’s staring at you in a way that makes you think there’s more to his words than he lets on.

“T-That’s a good habit, I suppose,” you say.

“When was the last time you did something for yourself, and not the café?” he questions.

Your brows furrow in deep thought. You thought the answer would come easily, but it doesn’t.

“I—I can’t remember,” you answer with your gaze down, a little dejected at the self-reflection.

Wonwoo sits up and leans toward you. He lowers himself until he can snag eye contact.

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself,” he reassures. “I know what it’s like to bury myself in my work.”

“You probably think I’m pathetic, huh?” you laugh awkwardly.

Wonwoo shakes his head.

“It’s good to be dedicated to something. Your efforts are clearly visible,” he gestures to your crowded café. “But at the same time, it’s also good to not burn yourself out.”

You nod in agreement. “I’ll try to be better.”

“Not for me though. For you,” he says.

You offer him a kind smile that he returns. “For me.”

Friday

Wonwoo doesn’t come at his usual time.

You finally finished his gift last night and are eager to show it to him. You try to suppress your excitement, but it’s difficult to calm your mix of emotions.

As you made it, you realized it was the first time doing something non-work related. Usually, you’d be researching new recipes, doing finances, or simply sleeping. Last night, however, you were doing something personal.

Wonwoo’s words from yesterday ring loudly in your ears.

It felt good to take a break from work.

It felt good to feel like an actual person and not some workaholic machine.

Some say people come into your life for a reason. Maybe you’d still be stuck in your cycle, if not for him.

You wish he were here. 

Wonwoo’s usually a punctual man, so being this late sends uneasy nerves coursing through you. But, the idea of him not showing up at all is even more worrisome. 

Perhaps he’s working overtime and will be here soon. He’s never missed a day.

Yet, as minutes turn into hours, you begin losing hope.

Excitement transitions into worry. This isn’t his typical behavior. You don’t have a way to contact him either.

Is he hurt? Does he need help? Did you say something wrong yesterday? Did he finally decide he doesn’t like your café anymore?

Perhaps you’re too caught up with giving him your gift that you’re overreacting. It could simply be a late, late night at work for him.

He’ll be here.

Even if he just grabs his drink to go, which he’s done in the past, he’ll be here.

The bell chimes as your last coworker leaves for the night.

Wonwoo’s present sat abandoned in your locker throughout your shift. There’s an odd discomfort in your chest as you stare at it now. 

You’re not sure if it originates from being unable to gift it and see Wonwoo’s reaction, or if it’s because he never showed up.

Probably a combination of both, but more so the latter.

It’s uncanny to not see Wonwoo every day.

You had never thought about how you’d feel if you didn’t see him constantly. He was just always there. Always so reliable that you didn’t feel the need to consider what if.

What if he stopped showing up? What if you never saw him again? What if he no longer was a constant in your life?

You swallow the lump forming in your throat.

It’s a harsh reality to know he’s not required to visit. He can leave any time he wants. He can stop visiting your bookstore café at any moment.

There’s a strange thought about you not being good enough for him. Though, you’re not sure what that has anything to do with his absence.

Why would it matter if you weren’t good enough for him? He didn’t come to the café for you.

Did he?

If it was you he wanted, couldn’t he ask you out? Perhaps not as a romantic date, but as friends?

He never has, so he must not want to know you beyond the café. Meaning, he doesn’t come to it solely for you.

But, what changed for him not to show up tonight?

Unsettled with your thoughts, you decide to distract yourself with the final tasks you have to do before you leave.

However, the ride home is filled with more endless thoughts about Wonwoo.

Saturday

You come to work with less bounce in your step than usual.

The world outside seems dimmer. It feels as if the skies are going to be consumed with clouds and rain is going to fall. However, a storm was not in the weather’s forecast.

“Are you getting sick?” Sebastian asks.

You force a smile onto your face for the customer in front of you, handing them their order before looking at your coworker.

“No, why?” you wonder.

“You don’t seem well. Did you not sleep well last night?”

You wish you had, but you tossed and turned constantly. You didn’t think Wonwoo’s absence would affect you so much, but your mind kept wandering to every possibility for his no-show. In the end, you just gave yourself a headache.

“No,” you sigh, “but don’t worry about me.”

You try to smile again, but you’re sure Sebastian can see through it.

“Want me to close up tonight?” he offers.

“Don’t you have a big essay due tomorrow?” you question, remembering how stressed he sounded a few days ago.

“Yeah, but—”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist.

Huffing, he nods and grabs the cup from your hand. “Then go rest for a bit while I finish these orders.”

You purse your lips, contemplating arguing. In the end, you relent, moving to the backroom’s couch and plopping down.

You’ve been scrolling through your phone for ten minutes when you hear a familiar voice.

“Is Yn not here today?”

“Oh, she’s not feeling well, so she’s taking a break. Is there something wrong with our service?” Sebastian answers politely.

You shove your phone in your pocket and head to the door. There’s a small window that you peep out of.

You catch a glimpse of Wonwoo’s frown before he speaks again.

“No, everything’s fine. Will you tell her I hope she feels better?” he asks.

Sebastian nods slowly. Although you can’t see his face, you can see the cogs turn in his head.

“Oh! Ooh! You’re that guy.”

Wonwoo looks confused.

“I’m sorry?” Wonwoo replies.

“The guy that always comes in—”

Not trusting Sebastian to keep his matchmaking attempts at bay, you push through the door.

“Wonwoo,” you greet, trying not to seem too eager that he's here today even though you are.

Wonwoo’s eyes drift past Sebastian to see you. Instantly, his mouth begins to lift.

“Hey, you,” he says lightly, sweetly. “I heard you’re not feeling well.”

“Ah, I’m fine. Seb’s just overreacting.”

Sebastian narrows his eyes at you in a glare.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he scolds.

“I’ve rested enough,” you shoo with a hand.

“Ten minutes isn’t long enou—”

“Seb, do you mind attending to the customers behind Wonwoo?” you interject.

Sebastian eyes you before grumbling under his breath—something about you being stubborn—then greets the next customer.

You move down the counter to an empty space.

“What can I get you?” you ask Wonwoo.

He shakes his head. “Actually, I just wanted to talk today, if that’s okay. I won’t be long.”

You want to say he can take as much time as he wants, but you hold back.

Concern creeps from the shadows around you.

Is he going to tell you he’s leaving forever? Does he not like your drinks anymore? Did he find somewhere better? Someone better?

“O-Oh, yeah, okay,” you mumble and maneuver around the counter.

You lead Wonwoo to his usual corner, next to the window and the bookshelves. It’s a little quieter here.

You both take a seat from across each other.

You fidget in your seat, nerves making you angsty.

“Are you sure you feel okay?” he asks.

“Just tired, nothing to be worried about,” you smile.

Something in your chest warms at knowing he cares about your well-being.

“Hm. Alright,” he replies a little skeptically.

“Is everything okay with you?” You try to change the subject. “You didn’t come in yesterday.”

Your voice trails off, not wanting to show how concerned you were about his absence. However, Wonwoo can sense it regardless.

He smiles, though the small lift at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s amused with your attempt to hide your worry.

“Did you miss me?” he wonders.

Your eyes widen a bit. “I—Well. I just noticed you didn’t come because you always come, you know?”

He nods with a subtle smirk still on his lips, yet it fades after a few seconds.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come,” he apologizes sincerely. “One of my friends was in the hospital.”

Your heart drops and guilt kicks in. It’s not that you didn’t consider the possibility, but you had been more focused on him not liking you or the café.

“Goodness, I’m sorry to hear that. Are they okay?” you ask, frowning.

“He had to get surgery, but he’s fine. Just a little grumpy and whiny,” he chuckles.

You feel better hearing his small laughter.

“That’s better than being in pain, I guess,” you reply.

“Yes,” he concurs. He waits for a beat then continues, “I wanted to ask you a question.”

You tilt your head. 

A question. That sounds better than some statement about not seeing you again.

“Okay,” you say.

“When we last spoke, it was about you not having enough time for stuff outside of work,” he begins.

You nod to show you’re following but don’t cut in.

“Well, there’s this small event tomorrow. It’s nothing fancy, just some walking around. I wanted to know if you’d like to go with me?”

Your heart races as he speaks. You’re stumped for words. It’s as if you’ve subconsciously been waiting for this, but now that the time has come, you’re too nervous to answer.

“You can decline,” Wonwoo assures.

Although you’re anxious about the idea of meeting outside of the café, you don’t want to miss the opportunity.

“N-No! I mean, no, I don’t want to decline. What time? Where?” you hurriedly say before he can take back his offer.

He grins and holds out a small piece of paper.

You take it, turning it over to see scribbled numbers. You guess it’s his phone number.

“I can pick you up after work. You close early tomorrow, right?” he asks.

You nod, trying to hide your smile at him remembering your café hours. Though, since he visits frequently, you guess it shouldn’t be that surprising.

“Dress warm, okay?” he adds.

“Okay.”

Wonwoo stands from his seat, and you follow.

“Get some more rest tonight, Yn,” he says softly.

“Y-Yeah. I will,” you reply.

Although you’re no longer fretting over reasons for his no-show yesterday, you’ll be worrying about tomorrow now. Still, you’ll try to sleep—maybe even drink some tea or warm milk. You’ll try for him.

Sunday

Wonwoo comes to the café a few minutes before you close. He’s dressed in a fluffy hoodie layered with a light brown trench coat. He looks so…soft and warm.

Before you depart, you make a drink for each of you. He tries to pay but you profusely veto his offer.

The ride to the event is quiet except for the random music being played from his stereo. You’re unsure how long the ride is, but you don’t care. Even if you’re not speaking, it’s nice being with him in a new environment. It’s nice to see a different side of Wonwoo. And part of you hopes he likes seeing a different side of you too.

The event is free, but since donations are strongly encouraged, you and Wonwoo slip a few bills into the plastic reindeer before stepping onto the lit-up walkway.

People of all ages are enjoying the event. The walkway is wide enough to accommodate a couple of people at a time, but it’s still crowded. It forces you and Wonwoo to bump shoulders several times, and each time, you both apologize.

You notice a few minutes into the walk that he seems tenser than usual. You’re not sure of the reason, and he doesn’t seem inclined to disclose the answer.

You try to distract him by pointing out different features—from big blown-up Santas to mechanical reindeer moving up and down. However, it doesn’t seem too effective.

Wonwoo’s steps eventually begin to slow. He never comes to a complete stop, but with his slow speed, a lot of people pass by. Eventually, there’s a gap in the crowd and his body relaxes.

He must not be a fan of crowds.

“Can we sit for a bit?” you ask, not really needing to rest but there are picnic tables with fake candles on them nearby that are less crowded.

“Sure,” he says.

You guide him to an empty table and sit across from each other.

“Thank you for taking me here,” you smile while glancing around. “It’s so pretty.”

The area is filled with multitudes of holiday decor. There are so many lights strung that you don’t need streetlamps to see. It’s rather magical to see it all. It’s a shame you can’t see this all year round. But then again, it might lose its effect if you see it constantly.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replies.

His eyes drop to your hands clasped on the table. There’s a slight shiver in them.

Suddenly, his hands are covering yours—warmth instantly shooting up your arms from his touch. He says nothing as he rubs his thumbs along your cool skin.

You want to say something; however, it doesn’t feel like you have to, so you just stare at him, a small smile on your face while you bask in the warmth he’s providing.

“How does it feel?” he questions after a few minutes.

You open your mouth to say “good” and to thank him for taking away your coldness, but before you can, he speaks again.

“Getting out, I mean. How does it feel to get out of the café?”

“Oh.” Your face heats rapidly. Thank goodness for your slow reaction. “It’s refreshing.”

Wonwoo hums, nodding.

“Should we walk around again, or should we go? I don’t want you catching a cold,” he says.

“I’d like to see more if that’s okay,” you admit.

“It’s more than okay,” he reassures.

He starts to stand, but you grip his hands to stop him. He stares down at you bemused.

“I have something for you,” you explain.

He sits back down, hands leaving yours when you pull away to retrieve something from your bag.

It’s a small black box with a purple bow on it, albeit the decor is a little squished from being confined to your small bag.

“What’s this?” he asks and carefully brings the box nearby.

“Since you gave me a gift this week,” you say, referring to his tip on Monday, “I got you one as well.”

“You didn’t—”

“Need to? I know. But, I wanted to. And I worked hard on it, so accept it, please?” you say lightly so as to not sound too serious. 

He smiles and nods, lifting the lid.

Inside is the bookmark you made him. On the bookmark’s center is a cat with a game controller. It’s simple, but that’s the best you could do with your lack of drawing skills. Attached to the bookmark is a purple tassel.

“You made this?” Wonwoo asks in amazement.

“I’ll only admit to that if you like it,” you say out of nervousness.

Wonwoo laughs and glances at you. “I like it a lot.”

“Then yes, I made it.”

His gaze shifts to the item again, examining it closely for a bit. Then, he sets it back carefully in the box and puts it in his pocket.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly.

“Of course,” you smile.

You and Wonwoo walk around for twenty more minutes before you call it a night. Throughout the entire walk, he held your hand in his free pocket. The warmth from his body combined with his sheltered pocket made your hand clammy. You felt embarrassed at the fact, but Wonwoo refused to release his hold. Truthfully, you didn’t want to let go, but you also didn’t want him to be disgusted at the feeling.

Wonwoo drove you back to your café where your car was.

You tried to demand he stay in your car since he parked next to yours, but he still climbed out.

You stare at his eyes which are framed by his glasses; his cheeks are slightly rosy from the temperature. His dark hair dances softly in the wind. He looks so handsome.

Wonwoo leans forward and connects his lips ever so softly against your cheek. You have the urge to turn your face and capture his lips with yours, but you don’t.

There’s something romantic about going slow.

Wonwoo pulls back with a kind smile.

“You look beautiful tonight, Yn,” he whispers, breath ghosting your face.

You can’t stop the smile forming on your face even if you tried.

“And you look handsome,” you reply.

Wonwoo mirrors your grin.

“Get home safely, alright?” he instructs.

You nod. “You too.”

You unlock your car and climb inside.

Wonwoo lingers outside, watching with his hands in his pockets.

After starting your car and rolling down your window, you lean out and prop your head on your arm that’s resting on the edge.

He bends slightly to see you better, a small grin on his mouth. His face isn’t too close, but it’s closer than it should be for an average person. But, Wonwoo isn’t average.

He’s quiet for a while, and you take the time to observe his features again. Your heart is thumping loudly in your ears. The desire to kiss him resurfaces.

Maybe you’re starting to like Wonwoo. Not just because he’s attractive, kind, funny, and caring, but because he’s Wonwoo.

Wonwoo, who’s been a frequent customer at your café for months.

Wonwoo, who’s always been supportive and kind.

Wonwoo, who’s slowly capturing your heart.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks with a smile still on his face.

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Because of Wonwoo, you’re always looking forward to the next day.

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[sscieloz]

As you dance

Huh Yunjin x itzy6thmember!reader

Synopsis: Yunjin didn’t know you knew how to dance. That was, until she saw you wasted at an after party, laughing and moving your body along with the neon lights.

Warnings: nsfw, …? Idk what else. drinking, perhaps. smut. sub!yunjin x dom!reader.

Word count: 5.8 k.

Notes: I AM BACK ONCE AGAIN! And Idk what I did here. It just kept going. I think I’m getting better at writing smut, though! This was way more comfortable to write than my previous one (which I’m working on part 2 already!!). I did check for spelling errors and everything in general (yay!), but if there’s anything that makes you uncomfortable lmk so I can change it. that’s it enjoy!! muah kisses ily my loves. ps: Yn is part of itzy but I think I’ve made it general enough you can imagine any gg you’d like, kind of. But itzy rocks.

Yunjin stared shamelessly as you danced around with your bandmates at the secret afterparty you were all attending. She watched as you swayed your hips along with the rhythm of the music and twirled your friends around, laughing when one of them lost balance and almost fell to the ground. To her, the way you moved around was completely indecent, for God’s sake. It made everyone stare at you, in awe. She hated that— so many eyes on you. She should be the only one.

Yunjin doesn’t know why she assumed you weren’t good at it. maybe by the way you talked about yourself, always saying how you hated to dance and were always behind your bandmates in choreography, looking too out of place to blend in. She should’ve known you were, as always, just insecure.

She had seen you dance before, of course. You were good with the choreography you were given, even if it wasn’t always your style. But to see you dance so freely… It was truly a sight.

To others, however, you were enjoying yourself and having fun with your friends, but Yunjin knew better— knew you better. It was a clear challenge, she could tell by the way your hands ventured to your chest, mostly exposed by your top’s neckline. The subtle looks she’d send you across the room, every time your hands touched your best friends’, the one your stupid fans were always shipping you with, waist, were meant to defy her; provoke her.

It had made Yunjin so horny it hurt. She clenched her thighs, hoping for some kind of relief, but it did nothing to ease the burning sensation building up in her core.

Thankfully, the next set of songs were ones you disliked, so you excused yourself from your friends and neared the bar, taking a break. Yunjin didn’t waste any time following you, sending hard glances to the people who motioned to greet you before she was by your side. As if she’d ever let them steal your attention from her.

"I didn't know you could dance," Yunjin casually told you, leaning against the balcony. Her tone was light, making it seem like a simple observation, attempting to mask the fact that simply watching you dance had made her incredibly turned on.

Your moves were experienced, almost obscene. And the micro skirt you wore had you looking irresistible, shining like a beacon in the middle of the damn dance floor. It made her want to snatch you up and fuck you right in the restrooms, for everybody to hear you screaming her name, simply to get rid of that smug smile on your face.

You weren’t hers, though. The two of you were merely friends, so her actions were resumed to her wettest, dirtiest dreams.

"You assumed that, unnie,” you replied, after catching your breath for a few seconds. Your cheeks were flustered from the alcohol, and the dance had messed your hair up even more, making the curls run towards all places. You looked wild, free. Alive. Yunjin would definitely write about you once she went home. She could already plot the verses in her head. "I said I didn't like it, and I don't," you continued, picking up the drink the waiter had handed you and thanking him with a bow and a small smile. "But it's fun, sometimes. I did ballet for quite a while, remember? I know a few things."

A few things.

You turned to her, taking a step so you’d be closer. Her eyes were beautiful, all bright and expressive, and you so hoped to get to be someone special in her life. You’d grown used to talking to her over the last weeks, after you asked for her number at an award ceremony. You two texted all the time, and told each other just about everything: she had told you about the hard time she had at produce 48, then the frustration when she decided to give up the trainee life and go to college; the insecurity she faced after finally living her dream, constantly wondering if she was enough, if she was worthy of all of this wonder. You, on the other hand, shared about your family; how your mother and grandmother, mostly, coerced you into dancing, specially ballet, and how you absolutely loathed it. You told her that you tried out for JYP with one of your best friends at the time, who you admired so much and was such an inspiration to you. Yunjin was the only one who knew how surprised you were when you got in, and she didn’t. And how her coldness and rudeness towards you broke your heart. You two knew so many profound things about each other, but it was so awkward to stare at her personally. Yunjin, who knew the raw version of you, who knew each and every one of your nightmares, and still wanted to be friends.

To you, it was embarrassing how much you knew about her. Each time you spoke, you took an effort not to reveal anything she hadn’t told you yet. About her hobbies, her sister… you knew it all. And you so desperately wanted her to notice you. To truly see you much you desired her.

Oblivious, the two of you. Both playing a game of hide and seek with your feelings, afraid you’d scare each other and make one run away.

She was taken by surprise by your movements, but quickly recovered and took a step towards you herself. She grabbed a strand of your hair, admiring the way the curls fell so graciously into place, adorning your delicate face.

“You look beautiful today.” She thought better, frowning slightly. “Every day, actually.”

You smiled at her, not thinking much of it, but before you could thank her, Kazuha showed up, jumping up and down.

“Yunjin unnie! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” She stopped to acknowledge you, still moving frantically. “Hello Yn! You look so, so pretty!”

“So I’ve told her,” Yunjin mumbled, as you nudged her and thanked Kazuha, this time.

“Thank you, Zuha. Did you take too many Red Bulls again?” She nodded, as if the ground was sending electric waves into her body.

“Only two, Yn-ah!” She did the number 2 with her fingers before turning to Yunjin. “Chaewon unnie says we have to go. We have rehearsals tomorrow morning, remember? We can’t be tired.” Kazuha explained, gripping the girl’s arm as she tried to drag her towards the rest of the bandmates. Yunjin stood frozen, though. There was no possibility she’d leave you here, not when everyone was staring at you like they were just waiting for an opportunity to snatch you and take you home.

They wouldn’t dare. Taking you from her was not a possibility.

“I can’t go, Zuha.” Yunjin said, looking at you sneakily so the ballerina would, hopefully, get the hint. Kazuha furrowed her brows, confused.

“Why not, unnie?” She kept looking at you, then at yunjin, trying to understand.

“I can’t.”

You felt like you were intruding, but you couldn’t let Yunjin go, either. You put your hands on her other arm, asking her softly, “Is everything ok? You look a bit pale. I can go if you'd like, the girls are probably looking for me anyw—“

“No!” Both girls exclaimed, making you take your arms off the older girl, taken aback by their intensity. Yunjin eyed Kazuha before turning back to you, annoyed to not have your full attention anymore. Her thoughts were racing, and you’d given her the perfect cue: she wasn’t going to waste it. Clinging onto you, she grabbed your tiny waist, burying her face in your neck since you knew she was a terrible liar. Yunjin was tall herself, so she was constantly towering over people, but you were two, maybe three inches taller than her, which had always pleased her.

“Actually, I don’t think I feel so good, Yn. Perhaps you could come with us to the dorm? The girls sleep like rocks, and I’m afraid I’ll start to get nauseous, and I’ll be all alone because they never wake up.” She pleaded, making her voice crack so it would look real. Yunjin did feel a little bad for lying so bluntly to you, but she wouldn’t leave you alone at the club for everyone to have you.

She felt cold hands being pressed on her neck and her forehead, making her shiver. She could only think how it would feel to have those same hands pressing slightly into her pulse point, as she was pounded by behind—

“You really are a bit hot,” she heard you say, and it took all of her strength not to laugh. “And shivering. Why did you come? You should’ve gone straight home.”

To see you.

“Yes! Please come with us, Yn! Yunjin is always talking about how you take such good care of your bandmates when they drink too much! You should care of unnie, too.” Zuha said, picking up on her friend’s act. She shamelessly winked at the girl, but you didn’t even notice, too busy staring at your feet at the thought of Yunjin talking about you to her friends.

“Apparently, not so much,” You frowned, realizing your bandmates were no longer on the dance floor. They often drank over their heads, and you were always worrying they wouldn’t pass out in a chair or do something reckless. “Yeji is probably up to something somewhere, and Lia’s too sweet when she’s drunk. Now I’ve lost them.” You mumbled, truly thorn between the pretty girl in your arms and your bandmates. Sensing your hesitation, Yunjin gave your waist a reassuring squeeze, which you pretended not to be affected by.

“We’ll find them and ask about it, ok? I’ll survive on my own if they’re too bad themselves.” She assured you, making you feel lighter. You nodded, and soon the trio started searching for your friends through the club.

-

Turns out you were right, after all. Yeji was as red as a tomato, laughing at Chaeryoung who had just tripped over the chair. Lia was flirting with someone you couldn’t see clearly in the dark, and Yuna looked in her own world besides Ryujin, downing shots by herself. Surprisingly, Ryujin was cool, watching the whole scene with a small smile as she sipped on her drink. She frowned at the sight of Yunjin clinging to you and Kazuha jumping on your other side, but her smile quickly became malicious as she noticed the older girl’s hands on your waist. You shook your head, mouthing her to stop.

Yunjin simply didn’t see you like this, no matter how much you wanted her to.

“We were looking for you,” she said, over the music, as soon as you were near enough to hear. Yeji had taken Kazuha for a dance, and now they were both in a jumping contest, apparently. Yunjin didn’t catch the way your friend’s voice dropped an octave, but you certainly did, “But you were busy, I see.”

“Yunjin is not feeling so good,” You clarified, giving her your best, stop trying to suggest things that didn’t happen stare. Ryujin new about your crush and how you and Yunjin texted all the time, and had always tried to convince you that the girl liked you as much as you liked her.

“I asked her to go home with us, to take care of me.” Yunjin explained, squeezing your waist again. She liked the way you tensed around her hands when she first did it, momentarily closing your eyes to regain your focus, “Because she always takes such good care of you, when you guys are not feeling so good. But she was wary of leaving you here alone.”

“Nonsense! We were actually looking for you to go home, too. It’s getting late anyway. You should take care of Yunjin-sunbaenim.” Ryujin approved, giggling. She motioned to the girls, pushing the two of you. “Get better! Rest well.” She wished Yunjin, and you wanted to kill her for laughing. Yunjin, who was having the time of her life clinging onto you, sighed as she saw Kazuha’s energy. She motioned to let go of you to get her friend, but you tightened your grip, instead and reaching for the ballerina yourself.

You said goodbye to the rest of your bandmates, explaining them you’d spend the night at Lesserafim’s dorm, and they promptly wished Yunjin a speed recovery, clearly too drunk to think much of it. In a few minutes, you were in a van with the rest of Yunjin and Kazuha’s members. They were such dears, and you already knew so much about them because of Yunjin, so thankfully the atmosphere was calm, with all the girls tired from the busy day and the party.

“It’s so cool that you’re sleeping over, Yn-unnie! Yunjin unnie talks about you all the time.” Eunchae had excitedly said, making everyone laugh. Yunjin stared at the window, muttering that the maknae was lying, but the blush in her face was proof enough.

“Yn will be busy taking care of Yunjin, though, Manchae,” Chaewon said, knowing exactly what her friend was up to. “Yunjin might even puke.” She joked, earning a general ‘ewwww!’ from the girls, and a laugh from you.

You saw that Yunjin was still with her head on the window, so you poked her to get the girl’s attention.

“You shouldn’t be looking at the window so much if you’re dizzy,” you gently pushed her head to rest on your shoulder, which she did. “I did that once after drinking and puked in our dorm’s parking lot.” You frowned, remembering how you didn’t even drink too much that day, but still ended up sick.

“That’s gross.” She said, laughing and focusing on your lap, instead. She grabbed your hands, playing with your fingers to distract herself from the fact that you had really accepted to take care of her.

Yunjin kept reminding herself she was your friend, nothing else. She couldn’t risk making a move on you and having to handle your rejection. She wouldn’t dare. Friends.

The van stopped to drop Sakura and Eunchae at their dorm, and Sakura smiled at you before leaving.

“Take care of her, Yn. Yunjin gets really whiny when she’s not feeling good.” She said, with playful eyes. Yunjin looked like she was at a staring contest with the oldest, but let her go with a sigh.

“Goodnight to you too, unnie.” She mumbled, a pout on her lips.

Soon, you were in Chaewon, Kazuha and Yunjin’s dorm, and you took a good look at it before going to Yunjin’s room. It was spacious, neat and very light, just like the girls. Chaewon and Kazuha bid you goodnight before retreating to their rooms, after giving Yunjin a hug.

When you entered her bedroom, she was riffling through her drawers, looking for something. You examined her room, too, as you’ve never been to her dorm before. There were plenty of posters on her walls, and a collage of polaroids hanging just beside her full-length mirror. You smiled, spotting the one you took at Music Bank, when you stumbled briefly across each other as you were running late— both of you looking flustered but with big smiles.

“It’s one of my favorites.” You’ve heard her say, behind you. “I just wished we had more pictures together.”

You turned to see her in a big T-shirt and small shorts, another set of clothes in her hands. You took it from her and quickly undressed from your sparkly skirt and black top, not bothering to go to the bathroom — you were friends, after all.

“We could go out more and take pictures, if you weren’t so busy all the time.” You whined, as she shook her head and threw herself in her bed, making sure to leave space for you.

“As if you weren’t busy yourself.” She answered, although her tone was still playful.

You left her room to get her a set of water and some painkillers — for if she had a headache from the drinks, and quickly came back. You wished she was in your room instead, so you could dote on her better.

“Do you have painkillers? And snacks?” You asked, standing still as she grabbed your arms to pull you to bed. You let her have her way, eventually, but scoffed as she hugged you close. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, unnie.” You reminded her, making the older girl giggle.

“You are taking care of me just by being here, Yn.” She said, sniffling your perfume. Seeing your glare, she sat on the bed, reaching out to her nightstand, “See? I’ve got the painkillers already, and there are some more in the bathroom. I’ve got some for nausea, too, but I don’t think I’ll take them. I think what was getting me all messed up were the lights and the loud music after having a full day of recording and rehearsing.” and seeing all of those people wanting you. Yunjin wanted to say.

She wouldn’t, though. She didn't intend to scare you away.

Yunjin finally relaxed, lying against her headboard as she closed her eyes and sighed. She didn’t fully lie to you when she said she didn’t feel so good back at the club. The group was going on a rollercoaster of rehearsals, promotions, photoshoots, and the anxiety of whether people were going to accept them or not. She was always feeling like she wasn’t good enough, and her exhaustion — both physical and mental — was starting to get her.

You embraced her, kissing her hair as you ran your fingers through the way you knew she liked it. The touch soothed her, and you slowly felt her relaxing.

“You’ll do great, Jen. All of you.” You told her, holding her a little bit tighter to reassure her of it. “You’re more than worthy, too. You’re talented, kind, and beautiful in all the ways that are possible. There’s simply no possibility of your fans not falling in love with you, with what you’ll inspire them with.” like I have.

It pained you that she didn’t believe in her herself, the years of training and not being chosen making her insecure. You wished she could see herself like you see her.

You two stayed like that for a while, with Yunjin tracing circles in your shirt and you running your hands through her hair and her upper-back, as if you’ve been doing this forever. You noticed her desk, all messy with empty cups and a pile of crumpled papers that also filled the small trash can on its side.

“You’ve been writing again.” You commented, feeling her tense for a second before she stared at the desk, too. She’d always told you about her songs, and you loved listening to her talk about their meaning for hours when you were facetiming. It did upset you a little that she hadn’t shown you any of her latest works, but you understood: with both of you so busy, it was hard to share stuff like that in such little time.

Forcing herself to relax, Yunjin tried to sound careless as she shrugged. “They’re not finished yet, not even the first chorus. I just have the melody and a few words that don’t make sense at all. I’ll show them to you when it’s not… you know, a total mess.”

I can’t show you the lyrics because they are all about you.

You mumbled an “okay”, happy to be included in her life.

“Are you feeling better?” Yunjin nodded, and you continued, “We should watch a movie. The girls and I always watch something to sleep when we’re drunk, but not too drunk to simply pass out in our beds.” You explained, and she grabbed her laptop to abide to your wishes.

“Good idea.” She smiled, typing her password. “Disney movies?” You loved those, so you smiled brightly at her.

“Disney movies.”

-

You did try to watch the movie, but you’d never sleep while Yunjin was by your side. You could feel her breath hovering and the subtle glances she’d send you while she thought you were focused on the movie. It was too much, to be around her so close and still not be able to truly touch her like you wanted to, and the feeling of not having her for yourself started to suffocate you. You paused “The emperor’s new groove”, hearing her protests as you shut the notebook down.

“Do you feel better?” Your polite tone didn’t quite reach your eyes, and you cut her before she even had the chance to answer, “Because I think I should go. We also have a tight schedule tomorrow and I don’t want to intrude your dorm either, so maybe it’s best if I—“

“Wait!” Yunjin said, exasperated. She took a deep breath before speaking, clutching her hands. “No, I don’t feel better. I need something.”

And she kissed you.

Her touch was hungry and intense, as she gathered her hands to your face, scared you’d push her away and tell her you hated her, or that you didn’t like her like that. However, her worries subsided when you immediately corresponded, starved for her touch yourself. Yunjin only pulled away when there was no air anymore, and rested her forehead on yours.

“Please, please don’t go.” She pleaded, pecking your lips delicately, almost unsure. You melted, surrendering to her as you’ve only dreamed of doing.

“I won’t.” You promised, finally kissing her back. “I’ll do whatever you want, Jen.” And you truly would, if she such as whispered for you to.

You pushed her back onto the bed, sitting on top of her without placing your whole weight on her abdomen. Your fingers toyed with her shirt as you occupied yourself with sucking her lips, ravishing her taste. Yunjin tasted like cherries, such as her perfume and her favorite lip-gloss— the one you’ve taken so much effort not to stare at whenever she applied it around you, not wanting to make it obvious.

“Are you really good, though?” You murmured, searching for any signs of drunkness or discomfort in her eyes as you’ve distanced yourself to take a proper look at her: beautifully settled on her bed, with messy hair from the making out and her mouth slightly bruised, marked in a deep crimson that also adorned her cheeks. She was so beautiful, like a painting.

You never wanted to forget such a sight.

Yunjin took your hands, her touch strong and decided as she stared at you with her big eyes, her tone nothing but serious.

“I’m perfectly fine, Yn.” She giggled a little when she realized she was caught in her lie, but her expression quickly went serious again. “I want you. I think I’ve wanted you for a while, actually…” she was shy, tracing circles in the palm of your hands as she took another big breath to steady herself. “I like you. I really, really like you. And it’s ok if you don’t like me back, either. I’m sorry I kissed you so suddenly but I jus—“

You silenced her with another kiss, laughing it through to shake the urge to cry from relief. You truly couldn’t believe she felt that way towards you, not when you’ve been trying so hard to be her friend, worried to fuck it all up.

“I like you too.” You answered, trailing kisses down her face as you made your way to her exposed neck, “I’ve wanted you since the first time we talked, at that stupid music award.” She was moaning under you, as wet as the kisses you placed on her fair skin, and you couldn’t get enough of her. “God, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You licked her neck, sucking and marking it to your liking as you felt Yunjin’s fingers grab your hair, pushing you down with urgency. You laughed, stopping completely to admire her desperate face.

“Do you want me down here, baby?” You murmured in her ear, cupping her cunt through her shorts and feeling how wet she was. It pleased you to get those sensations from her body, and her whines aroused you even more; you could feel yourself so wet from simply kissing her, too.

“Please, Yn.” She pleaded, humping herself against your hand to try to have more friction, anything against her pussy to have her relief. “Please f-fuck me.”

You wanted to have her completely at your mercy, a mess of whimpers and begs until she was crying out your name so loud for all the neighbors to hear. But she looked so exasperated— almost in pain, when you weren’t touching her, so you quickly decided to give her whatever she wanted you to. To adore her body as much as you adored her soul.

“Very well, then.” You quickly got rid of her clothes, lowering yourself where she needed you the most, but Yunjin got up before you could move, placing her hands on your shoulders.

You shot her a glare, stopping to see if she wanted for you to cease completely, but she clumsily tried to take out your shirt instead, her neediness making you smile. You intercepted her, locking her wrists gently in front of her before kissing her jaw. “Try again, princess? Talk to me, this time.”

She looked away from your stare, embarrassed by how the nickname aroused her and how hot you looked, towering over her frame as you corrected her. She tried again, this time, tone unsure as her long fingers plucked the ends of your shirt.

“Take yours off too, please?” You smiled at her gentleness, stripping for her as you made her lie down once again.

“Good job, babe.” You placed yourself between her thighs, loving to see how she shivered at every deep breath you took, the breeze reaching her aching pussy as she clenched her muscles to try to get some relief.

You gathered her slick from her slit and used it to rub on her clit softly, with barely enough pressure, but it was enough for her to moan loudly, closing her eyes to maximize the feeling. It encouraged you to keep going, tracing faster circles in her clit as you kissed and sucked on her thighs as you wished.

“Fuck, Jen. You’re so beautiful like this.” You murmured, watching her lost in pleasure as you entered her with one finger. She lost her air, and you let your hands hover through her body before giving her your thumb to suck on, which she gladly did.

Having her displayed like that, bare and so responsive to your touch, was heavenly, so special. It was greater than you’d ever imagined it.

You added a second finger in her soaked entrance, but she was still whining as she stared at you with her hazel eyes.

“What do you want, love?” You asked, taking your hand from her mouth. “Say it, and it’s yours.” You didn’t ease your rhythm, still going in and out as you touched her clit now slowly, wanting to build the pleasure rather from taking it from her so fast.

It was difficult for Yunjin to think: her whole body was on fire, and you kept talking so sweetly her head was a mess of nothing and everything and the way you touched her was just so good, making her so full, but at the same time, she needed more.

“Just take a deep breath and the words will come up, babe.” She was reminded by you, as your hands gripped her thighs in the gentlest way you could, grounding her back.

She did as told, taking a couple seconds to gather herself.

“I-fuck” She let out a loud pitch she so wished Kazuha hadn’t heard as you curled your fingers inside her, reaching a spot that made her see little starts in her ceiling. “I n-need your mouth.” Yunjin frowned when you didn’t comply with her immediately, vaguely annoyed before she remembered, “Please, Yn. I want y-you down.”

You smiled against her cunt, giving it a long lick as you watched her shake strongly.

“You’re learning, Jen. We’ll get you all obedient soon enough.” You murmured, and Yunjin wanted to ask you further about it, but your mouth finally made contact with her cunt, your tongue entering her hole along with your fingers, making her curl her toes, drunk in pleasure.

Yunjin’s moans were delicious to hear, now more than ever, as she had given up on being silent for the girls not to hear. Surely, they expected it. She’d make up to them later, buy Kazuha a new plushie and Chaewon that purse she was whining so much to get all week. For now, the only thing that mattered was your mouth and fingers on her, making her so full and loved it hurt.

Your mouth let her slit to give attention to her clit, licking it fast as you alternated it with moving your tongue in zigzag to maximize her pleasure. You had Yunjin feel her pleasure come to her in a strong wave, clenching furiously as you gripped her hips to hold her into place. With a high cry, she came, and you kept fingering her until she came down from her high, her bare chest going up and down fast to steady her heartbeats.

“That was strong.” You murmured, taking your hands off her pussy to lie down next to her. “Are you okay?” You asked, cupping her cheek as she gave you a small nod. You tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears, to keep it away from her face. Yunjin’s face was adorned with a thin coat of sweat, and she reached for you to taste herself.

“I’m okay. So okay, thank you.” She hugged you, now clingier than ever, and you embraced her tightly as she relaxed, kissing you slowly as she ravished her own salty taste in your mouth.

You thought she’d sleep, too worn out from the whole day, but you felt her fingers teasing your thighs soon enough, brushing at your cunt gently.

“Jen, you don’t have to—“ You stood half-up to look her in the eyes, protesting.

She wasn’t looking at your face, though. Her eyes were focused on your body, drinking every inch of it with lust. Only after a minute she stared back at you, with a pout.

“I want to touch you, too. You’ve made me feel so good, Yn.” She said, giving you her best puppy eyes. “Let me make you feel good, please?”

Never denying her anything, you positioned yourself between her thighs, so she could have better access to your pussy. You couldn’t resist touching her, even though she was the one giving you pleasure, so you’ve placed quick kisses on her chest, making your way to her hardened nipple as you sucked on it.

She moaned loudly at the feeling of your hot mouth against her skin, her fingers losing rhythm on your clit as she tried to wriggle out of your touch. You placed both of your hands on her hips, gently forcing her into place.

“It’s not fair, Yn-ah.” Yunjin complained, as you laughed. You guided her hand back to your cunt before lowering yourself against her again, as she got her focus back on you.

“You’re a smart girl, Jen. You can keep your focus.” You smirked, sucking as your other hand left her hips to squeeze her other breast. “That’s it, baby. You’re—fuck, you’re doing so good. You’re so good with your fingers.” You praised her as Yunjin glowed at it, gaining rhythm as her thumb applied pressure on your hardened bud each time she thrusted in your pussy.

She was skilled with her fingers, the ones you’ve daydreamed to have knuckles deep in you so many times before, when she played for you through your FaceTime calls, and you were quick to have your pleasure building up on your lower abdomen, already so aroused from her reactions to your touches and just the sight of her at all.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna c-cum.” You sucked harder, both of you moaning together as you arched your back, reaching your high. She pulled you towards herself, kissing you passionately as you corresponded with equal fervor, grabbing her closer until there wasn’t a single molecule between you.

“I can’t get enough of you.” Yunjin told you, kissing your cheeks, your nose, your neck. She made herself busy there, making sure to mark you as you’ve done to her. So everyone would know who you belonged to.

“Lucky for you, Huh Yunjin.” You said, feeling fully loved and complete by being by her side. “I can’t seem to get enough of you, either.”

Now, every time you danced, Yunjin wouldn’t be bitter anymore: she knew where you’d be looking. Your eyes would always be on her.

-

“Unnie, why do you have such a thick scarf on? It’s barely autumn yet.” Eunchae was the first to speak as Yunjin entered the van, late as they were making their way to the company for rehearsals.

“And the glasses, too. There’s no sun, unnie.” Kazuha motioned to her face, trying to mask her laugh, as Eunchae got even more riled up, babbling about the weather and her worries towards her unnie.

Yunjin only shushed the younger girl, brushing her hand in her mouth to make her stop talking so loudly.

“Quiet, Manchae. Unnie is sick, remember? I think I drank too much last night. I’m hangover.” She managed to say it seriously, making the maknae finally tone herself down. The girls were laughing freely now, but Yunjin only glared at them in hopes they’d stop teasing, too tired to argue it out.

“You guys are ridiculous.” She muttered, ignoring the kissing sounds they were making, like 5th graders.

Yunjin couldn’t help but smile, though. And to think about you. Her songs were definitely going to be finished as soon as she got home again.

[fluentmoviequoter]

I love love looooveee your Victor Vale fics, you depict him so well! Can I please request another (angst to) fluff with f!reader? Plot is up to you. Thank you and keep up the good work!

I am so glad to hear you love them!! Thank you so much; Victor is a character that I really love so I try especially hard to portray him at least somewhat accurately, and you just made my week! I hope I portrayed him well in this; apologies for its relatively short length, but I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Summary: You side with Eli after Victor kills Angie, and it takes you ten years to join the winning team, unable to think for yourself at the hands of Eli and Serena.

Warnings: spoilers for Vicious, I changed a lot of events, angst to fluff, vague depictions of injuries, kind of open ending (if anyone wants part 2 lmk)

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

A/N: This is my last fic of 2023! I am so thankful for each and every one of you who has read, requested, and commented. I appreciate you more than you know and look forward to another year of writing! Happy New Year!✨

Picture from Pinterest

The Winning Team

Victor Vale is one of your best friends at Lockland. Or he was until he killed Angie Knight. While your emotions wage war within you, wondering how and why Victor would or could do that, Eli approaches you. He tells you about Victor’s mindset and how he tried to kill Eli.

“I’m leaving,” Eli tells you at the end of the shocking story. “And I think you should come with me.”

Someone moves in the shadows behind Eli. It feels like your intended answer is just out of reach in your mind, but you answer before you can find it.

“Okay. I’ll come with you,” you say.

“Go pack and meet me outside my dorm at 1,” Eli commands before leaving.

“You’re leaving with him?” Victor asks, suddenly standing behind you. “Don’t. He’s not telling the whole truth. You know just as well as I do that he is not who he pretends to be.”

“I’m going with him, Victor. You’re not who I thought you were, either.”

You brush past Victor, determined to get your things together and to Eli’s side as quickly as possible. Victor watches you go, aware that you’re in danger but unable to do anything about it.

✯✯✯✯✯

Ten years after leaving Victor, you know you made a mistake. You’re constantly aware that you can’t make your own decisions, especially when Eli tells you to do something. When he introduced you to Serena, you felt like she could see a bit too much of you, and things began to click into place.

“Run the search again, see if Victor has been found yet,” Eli demands, not even bothering to look at you anymore.

You stay in place, willing yourself to say no. Eli glances up, his brows furrowing as he repeats himself.

“Run the search.”

You nod, fighting each movement as you approach the computer and search again. Sleepless nights make it harder to fight back, but whenever you lay down, somewhat free to think for yourself, all you can think about is Victor. Wishing you’d listened and chosen to go with him instead brings tears to your eyes, but you aren’t strong enough to change anything now.

��✯✯✯✯

“Call the police and tell them you were Victor Vale’s accomplice. Serena will help you get into the same room with him, and you can get some answers for us,” Eli says.

Your brain screams for you to refuse, but all you can do is cry and agree to do what he says. Maybe Victor will have found some answers and can help you. Your optimism doesn’t go far, slipping from your grasp as you’re put into the back of a police cruiser and transported to a questioning room.

When you’re put in the second car and driven to the far side of Merit, something loosens, and your thoughts come a little easier. Perhaps your optimism wasn’t entirely unfounded.

✯✯✯✯✯

The police let you go, angry that you switched your story and admitted that you’d only heard about Victor in passing. Narrowly escaping an obstruction charge, you walk out of the station and onto the streets of Merit. A blonde girl and a large black dog catch your attention, and you smile, deciding to talk to her to see if you can speak for yourself.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What do you mean she’s out of reach? Powers don’t work like that!” Eli screams.

“Don’t yell at me,” Serena replies. “And don’t throw another temper tantrum.”

Eli sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Find her and I can get her back on our side.”

“If it isn’t too late,” Eli mumbles.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Victor?” you ask, glancing up from your conversation about Dol.

“Sydney, go back to Mitch,” he says, looking directly at you. “Now.”

“But she-“

“Now.”

Sydney drops her head, whispering goodbye to you as she leads Dol away. Victor looks as dangerous as ever, but you’re glad that shrinking away is your choice.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “I should have listened to you. But I know things that can help you, Victor.”

“You didn’t believe me. Why should I believe you?”

“It’s a really long story. I am so sorry, I know you were right and I’m sorry I left. Please just let me try to make up for it. At least a little.”

You step forward, and Victor steps back, keeping the distance between you. Your heart falls as his eyes remain impassive, and he refuses to listen to you.

“Vic, please,” you whisper.

“Not this time,” he says, convinced that you’re trying to get close to him for Eli.

Turning up the dial, he watches you drop to your knees in pain before he leaves. You watch his trench coat blow behind him, blurring with your tears until you can’t see anything, finally succumbing to the pain.

Victor wishes he could trust you, but he’s learned his lesson. People aren’t what you think. Anyone willing to trust Eli once is too far gone to be saved.

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor and Mitch stand in the shadows, waiting for Serena. Unknown to them, you’ve followed Serena since she arrived in Merit. You know that if she finds you and talks to you, it will be over, so you wear earplugs and keep your distance. Tonight, though, is the night everything ends.

Stepping through the fence, you grab Serena’s coat and pull her back.

“This is my decision,” you whisper in her ear.

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor throws his arm across Mitch’s chest to stop him when he surges forward. They watch Serena slump before falling to the ground. Her killer disappears into the shadows before Sydney screams, and they run into the Falcon Price project.

✯✯✯✯✯

Hearing a scream, you have a paralyzing fear that it’s Sydney. You just killed her sister, but the brief conversation you had with her created a soft spot. Rushing into the building, you realize you’re willing to give your life for Sydney. And, given the choice, you’ll do it. Tears grow in your eyes as you make the first important choice in years, running headfirst into danger.

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor stands over Eli’s body, a knife dangling from Victor's blood-stained hand. You slide to a stop, not expecting such a gruesome scene.

“Where’s Sydney?” you ask, breathless from running through the construction site.

Victor’s eyes lift to yours before he steps over Eli and takes your face in his hands.

“What happened?” he demands, looking at your blood-soaked front.

“She’s gone,” you whisper. “I’m me again.”

Victor immediately knows what you mean. You’re the one who killed Serena. You watch his eyes move as he realizes that you didn’t choose to abandon him, that you did the right thing, that you were telling the truth, and worst of all, he hurt you for no reason.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer than usual as his hands drop to your shoulders.

It isn’t much, but you think it’s Victor’s form of an apology. He’s exactly the same as he was ten years ago, or as close as he can be following ten years of fighting for his life and inflicting pain.

“Let me help,” you say, resting your hands on his chest. “With everything.”

Victor nods, and you smile for the first time in too long.

✯✯✯✯✯

As the adrenaline drains from your system, you begin to feel every injury you’ve encountered doing Eli’s dirty work. Victor notices your limp and offers an arm, letting you lean on him as he supports you. Mitch, Sydney, Dol, and Dom await Victor when you arrive. He ignores their questions, leading you to a private area before helping you sit. 

“What happened?” Victor asks, setting an open first aid kit beside you.

“Serena, I guess,” you answer quietly, bracing yourself as he cleans your wounds. “I know Eli was manipulating me, but there was this tugging in my mind from the moment Eli asked me to go with him. Serena has been around longer than we knew, at least that’s what I think.”

Victor nods, working silently. Your pain numbs with each of his gentle touches.

“You’re numbing my pain,” you accuse.

“It’s my fault. Least I can do.”

“It’s not. Vic, you need to forgive yourself, you didn’t know.”

“I should have. I know how Eli is - was, so I knew what you were up against, and I still left. That’s on me.”

“I forgave you,” you whisper, “as soon as I left. And then again when you left.”

Victor hums, closing the first aid kit and kneeling before you.

“I can’t forgive myself,” he murmurs, “not without your help.”

Victor brushes his lips against yours, but the door opens, and he pulls away too quickly.

“This isn’t over yet,” Mitch says, tossing a newspaper to Victor. He smiles and winks at you while Victor picks up the paper.

You read the headline over Victor’s shoulder, wrapping your hands around his bicep.

“I’m glad I’m on the right team now,” you say.

“Me too,” Victor says, tossing the paper aside and cupping your face. “You were always meant to be on my side. The winning team.”

[lgcshion]

hello, new friends ! my name is rover — yes, like kai’s latest cb, thank you, kai — & i’m here to introduce you to my muse, 櫻田詩音 ( sakurada shion ) ! he’s a 2005 liner — the only one in the group rp now heheh ( ^^ ; ) — & an aspiring vocalist from tokyo, japan. for reference, he’s in the male junior evening training group, & male dorm e, & he also attends sopa atm, too ! you can find more information about him below the cut, but please check out his DETAILS & OVERVIEW pages, if you’d like some extra reading material. lmk if you want to plot & i’ll reach out via tumblr dm. i’m primarily plotting through tumblr right now — i’m so sorry (╯_╰) — but if that changes, i’ll let you know. anyway, thanks for having me, & thanks x2 for the welcomes !

& M I S C

shion has this really bad habit of scribbling new song lyrics & lines of poetry he thinks of on literally anything he can get his hands on. this includes the whites on his sneakers, the corners of old newspapers, the palms of his hands, the notes app in his phone, & sometimes even the backside of important paperwork the company gives him. it bums him out so bad whenever he forgets what pops into his brain, so anytime inspiration hits him like a ton o’ bricks, he needs to write it down & carries at least one pen with him at all times.

on his pages, i’ve described him has “slow-paced” many times, & there’s a reason for that. he will never rush to do anything, no matter how important it is. he’s a firm believer in slow & steady wins the race — acting more like a tortoise, but resembling a hare... i see you, shion — & takes his sweet time with everything. whether it’s getting ready in the morning, eating his dinner, learning a song, or even cleaning his side of the dorm, he works sluggishly. things will get done, & his work will often be great, but he does it on his own terms.

branching off from above, he can be somewhat stubborn & stuck in his ways. he takes a long time to make decisions & that’s because he puts way too much thought into them, but once his mind is made up, it rarely changes. if people disagree with him, he’s comfortable with that as he’s patient enough to hear out & respect different povs, but he’s not known to budge from his opinions. this has gotten him into some light trouble in the past, but nothing major.

shion is a huuuuge sucker for romance, & themes of all types of romance, love, passion, heartbreak, etc. are explored in his poems & lyrics. however, the kicker here is that he’s never actually been in a relationship himself. ╥﹏╥ it’s something he’s always wanted, but ya know — being a gay kid in japan ( & now in south korea ) isn’t easy, & his shyness works against him here, too. he daydreams about what it’s like to have a boyfriend all the time, & his sweet little heart falls for people very easily. he’s kinda pathetic in a way, but it’s outta his control.

really, he’s still very young & he’s very much still figuring himself out, & he’s making mistakes, & learning lessons, & flopping, & failing, & basically doing literally everything he should be doing at his age, & i’m just here to help him grow in this verse. if your muse wants to take part in his journey in anyway — like literally anyway i mean that; the good, the bad, & the ugly, i want it all — lmk & we can figure it out together ! (*>ω<*)

& P L O T S

i love the idea of shion having a found family, if you will. people in his life who he’s not related to, but who feel like sisters, & brothers, & cousins, etc. those he can lean on if he needs a breather from training, those he can cheer up when they’re feeling upset, & those who can help him become the person he’s meant to be. if your muse has, like, parental instincts, even, they could just “adopt” shion as their own, like ig it, he is pretty babie in the grand scheme of things. (⋟﹏⋞) gimme gimme !

as it’s a dream of his to become a main ( or lead ) vocal of a k-pop boy group someday, shion wants to make sure that his efficiency with the korean language is up-to-par, especially his pronunciation while singing. he knows it’s crucial to have clear diction, & since korean isn’t his native tongue, he’s really leaned on your muse to pick up the basics. he’s very patient & will take these lessons seriously, but you’ll have to forgive him if he nods off from time-to-time. maybe this could even turn into real friendship !

maybe your muse & shion got into an argument when they were working on something together, & ever since that moment, things have never really been the same. shion is admittedly really awful with confrontation, & his stubbornness can sometimes make him hotheaded if he does lose his patience. it’s rare that he does, but it happens once in a blue moon. to make the scenario more broad, the point of this is that i think it’d be great for shion to have some conflict in his life. it’ll be interesting to see how he responds, so if you have other ideas for how this could happen, lmk. up for anything !

i would adooore for shion to have a big dopey crush on someone (─‿‿─)♡ this also doesn’t have to turn into anything deep, i just think it’d be fun for him to think the world of someone in that way, & write silly songs/poems about them, & be all (´♡‿♡`) when they’re around. feelings could be mutual, not returned, or it could even end in some kinda confession/heartbreak scenario, like, idc... give him something to write ab, please ! literally begging you rn, #shameless ! c’monnnn just think of how cute it’d be... 

other japanese muses that remind him of home would be awesome tbh. he’d love being able to be homesick with them, & think about their childhoods, & dip into some good ol’ fashioned nostalgia here & there. maybe they can go out to traditional japanese restaurants in the city whenever they can or something cute like that, too; bond over shared cultures & stuff !

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results). 

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be. 

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children. 

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy 

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim. 

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do. 

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point! 

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus. 

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping. 

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex. 

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him. 

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red. 

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!! 

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling. 

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” 

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you. 

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage. 

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her. 

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.” 

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos​ - @fairywriter-oracle​ - @tsukishimawh0re​ - @ofstarsanddreams​ - @bbecc-a​ - @annshit​ - @leahh19​ - @letsloveimagines​ - @bellomi-clarke​ - @wineandionysus​ - @guiltydols​ - @onephootinfrontoftheother​ - @liamakorn​ - @thirstyfangirl​ - @lilysdaydreams​ - @pan-ini​ - @mxqicshxp​ - @tanchosanke​ - @yoshinorecommends​ - @flightsandfantasy​ - @liljennyx3​ - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible​ - @sinister-sleep​ - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit​ - @unstableye​ - @simonsbluee​ - @shinyshimaagain​ - @ppopty​ - @siriuslystupid​ - @crapimahuman​ - @ofthedewthesunlight​ - @mythicalamphitrite​ - @artsyally​ - @corpsesimpp​ - @corpsewhitetee​ - @corpse-husbandsimp​ - @hyp-oh-critical​ - @roses-and-grasses​ - @rhyrhy462​ - @sparklylandflaplawyer​ - @charbkgo​ - @airwaveee​ - @creativedogs​ - @kaitlyn2907​ - @loxbbg​ - @afuckingunicornn​ - @fleurmoon​ - @yeolliedokai​

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[biisexualemma]

pretend pt.3. oscar diaz

word count: 1583

warnings: not really, a little sad and angsty, a bit of language but happy ending dw!

requested: 'Pretend pt.3?'

plot: oscar loves you, but you’re not convinced it can work

a/n: um thank u to those few who have waited literal months for this last part! i am struggling to write oscar atm but it’s here! and i hope you like it! oop ‘cause i kinda hate this and it took me months to figure out how to end this— anyway it’s here lol read and lmk what you think even if ye hate it

pt.1. / pt.2.

masterlist

"i think i'm falling in love with you."

you blinked, the rest of your body seemed frozen for a moment afterwards. that had been the last thing you'd ever expected from him. you could feel your head throbbing, whether it'd been from the aftermath of the party, or just your mind trying to keep up with what was happening. you furrowed your brows, your hand retracting from his palm, pushing yourself back against the seat of his car.

you couldn't process his words fast enough to respond straight away. instead you shifted your gaze out through the windshield, your mouth opening and closing every couple of seconds. you didn't know how to answer him.

oscar was watching your every move, his stomach twisting when you pulled away from him. your expression was changing ever so slightly every second, he could see you processing the information. he gulped, suddenly thinking the worst, shifting his eyes down to the space between you two. he should have kept his mouth shut and sat on his feelings. he should have let you out of the arrangement and left it at that. he hadn't thought any of this through. you had given no inclination over the past few weeks that you'd felt the same way. you were just helping out a friend.

you cleared your throat after a long silence. "you think?" your voice was still pretty quiet, like your mind was still working through what he'd said. "you don't know if you love me or not?" you were trying to make sense of it in your head, not able to meet his eyes yet.

"y/n—"

"i just think that's something you should be sure about before saying it out loud," you gulped. you were kind of annoyed with him for telling you this. a little part of you inside wanted to revel in his words, the part of you that had been in love with him for years when you were younger. but you'd moved on. you would have never had agreed to do his fake dating scheme if you'd thought you'd fall back into those feelings, you knew you wouldn't be able to put yourself through that again.

you had loved oscar for a long time, and you watched him for years treat women like they were nothing. delusional, you thought you were different and that oscar would never treat you this way, you clung to him. it took a long time for you to accept the reality, to fall out of love with him and realise he would only ever see you as a friend.

so oscar's confession now, wasn't as simple as you feeling the same way or not, it was far more complicated.

"the past few weeks weren't real oscar," you reminded him, you felt like he needed it. "you don't love me— you just love how i've been treating you. if you loved me, it wouldn't've taken you this long to realise."

he shook his head. "i was an idiot," you shifted so you were facing him again, watching how his eyes darted between yours desperately. "i was really fucking stupid— i didn't— i don't want to go back to how it was. i can't."

you shook your head barely, your eyes closing for a split second. oscar had been your best friend for years and he'd never lie to you like this. you just didn't want it to be true.

"i've seen firsthand how you are with girls, oscar. and i don't wanna pretend that you see me any differently—"

"no— this isn't— it's not the same," he was pleading at this point, desperately, feeling you slip away. "y/n, you know me," his eyebrows furrowed but his voice was soft, you didn't often hear him talk like this. it was hard to not get wrapped up in his words. "this ain't like those other girls."

you held his stare, breaking it only for a second when you felt your throat tighten. you couldn't bring yourself to fall into it, something was holding you back. it was too much to have him sat in front of you, begging you to believe him when it was too late.

"oscar, i loved you for a long time," your voice was quiet, all those years your feelings went unrequited. "and you fucked girl after girl, and i watched thinking one day you'd pick me and it'd be different but you never did, and it never was."

his lips were pursed, his hand gripping the seat of his car, knuckles white. he could hear the waver in your voice and it was hitting him like a brick. he ignored you for years, oblivious to anything you felt for him. he didn't realise, until now, how awful you must have felt.

"so, i'm sorry, if i'm not ready and willing," you tried to play off your confession, feeling the lump in your throat grow larger the longer this was strung out. "but i have been telling myself for years to move on— so it feels a bit late for you to be having this realisation when i've loved you my whole life."

he nodded. he understood, of course he did. he couldn't ask you to reverse years of heartbreak because he realised too late that you were the only thing that really mattered. he would just have to live with his mistake.

his eyebrows had knitted tighter together after sitting and listening. "if i could take back some of the shit i've done— mami— i'm sorry."

"yeah, well, me too," you shrugged, your lips tightening. you gulped when he shifted his hand over to yours, letting your palm set on top of his. he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. you were quiet for a while, enjoying the warmth of his hand against yours, finding comfort in his touch for just a little while longer.

"what made you realise?" you were almost whispering when you spoke again, everything was so quiet now.

oscar had to force himself to look at you. it was dark but the light from the streetlamp illuminated just half of your face, your eyes glossy. he clenched his jaw before speaking. "i talked to my ex."

"you did?" surprised he'd waited this long to bring it up. that had been the end goal all this time.

he nodded gently, his grip loosened on your hand, his thumb grazing the back of your hand now. his eyes were drawn to your hands, while your eyes remained on him. "yeah— made me realise she just wasn't you," he refused to shift his gaze. as did you. you felt your chest tighten. his sincerity made everything feel wrong about your decision.

"'cause you— you have these freckles on your nose that only come out in the sun," you watched the corner of his lips tug into a small smile as the image of you, sitting in front of him, sun in your eyes and wind blowing through your hair flashed through his mind. "and you make the same face every time you tell me off— your nose scrunches and you get a crease on your forehead," your eyes drooped listening to him talk as openly and honestly as you'd ever heard him talk about anything. it wasn't a side you saw often, but you could feel yourself soften, and your defence weaken. "and cesar— you love him like he's your own brother— i love that— that kid is everything to me— and he is to you too."

he huffed, the smile slipping from his face when he drew himself out of his head. he pulled away from you finally to run a hand over his face. he was angry with himself for messing this up. "and you're never gonna' forgive me," his heart was beating harder with the thought of losing you. "and i'm on' lose my mind without you."

you were quiet for a while, soaking in his words.

you hesitated, but moved your hand to his shoulder, your fingers grazing his skin, moving to the nape of his neck, urging him to look at you again. edging closer, you rid of the space between you two. oscar's eyes moved between yours, his eyebrows furrowed together softly. you moved both hands to his neck, carefully edging his face closer, your breath fanning against his lips before you kissed him.

oscar reacted, his body shifting closer to yours, his hand grazing your thigh to pull you nearer. your mind was racing, your hands curling around his neck and cupping his face as you leaned into the kiss. you were breathless when you pulled back, finally. his hand gripping your thigh now, scared you might retreat to the passenger seat again.

"you keep talking like that and i might love you forever," you mumbled, almost incoherent. your mind was foggy from this kiss and all you could feel was his thumb was now grazing softly over your thigh. his free had lifted, his forefinger and thumb touching your chin, tilting your head up so your eyes stayed locked with his.

"i swear, i'm in this until you don't want me anymore."

you shook your head, you bit your lip remembering the kiss. your eyes trailing to his lips again as you remembered the feeling. "never gonna happen."

oscar cracked a soft smile, his fingers moving to trace your jawline gently. "it's settled then."

you revelled in his touch, letting him trace over your skin, slowly feeling yourself lean further into his embrace. he pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering for a minute before pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. you tilted your chin up, kissing him for a second before pulling back again.

oscar's hand slipped from your jawline to the back of your neck, pulling you back and kissing you again. his lips moved softly against yours, for a few seconds until you reacted and kissed back. when he pulled away for air you felt yourself longing for more.

[kafka-ish]

jealousy is a disease, get well soon | r.t.

richie gets a new girlfriend. she’s smart, popular, and pretty. but where does that leave y/n?

word count: 4,657

warnings/included: nsfw (smut, public sex), cliffhanger, kinda angsty, fem!reader

request: (from anonymous) “jealous richie tozier x reader smut?”

a/n: i feel like richie is ooc in this one but lmk what you think

-

Three months, eight days, and six hours. It had been three months, eight days, and six antagonizing hours since Richie Tozier started dating Vicki Horowitz.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Richie would still make his usual appearance at the lunch table with the Losers. He’d crack his usual jokes, then be on his way. He’d still walk with y/n to the library after school and he’d still make googly eyes at the cheerleaders who frequented the young adult section and hadn’t bothered to change from their uniforms yet.

But as the days got shorter and the timeline of Richie’s relationship got longer, something changed. Richie’s mouth became less trashy. He found the way his hairline was supposed to part. And along the way, the graphic tees he wore were now button-ups in a solid shade.

“What are you thinking about?” y/n asked. The question wasn’t foreign to Richie, but his answer was new to her ears.

They were sitting in the school library, as opposed to the public one they’d usually go to. Richie’s head rested in her lap; his mess of hair strewn all over the skirt of y/n’s dress—but she didn’t mind. He was sneaking a smoke even though there were no windows and offered her one of his cigs even though he knew becoming one step closer to death wasn’t something y/n was particularly fond of.

y/n accepted the cigarette anyway. She didn’t light it but tucked it behind her ear for safekeeping—a souvenir. Because this was the first time they’d hung out in weeks. Just the two of them; skipping their lunch period in an empty library because who even reads anymore?

“Nothin’ I really wanna tell you about, kid.” Richie stopped calling y/n sweetheart and babe long ago. Icky Vicki—a name y/n came up with without Richie’s knowledge—had requested she be the only babe or sweetheart in his life. And that’s how it was so on and so forth.

The heart beating in y/n’s chest grew increasingly louder because Richie used to tell her everything. Her hand left his scalp which she was once massaging under the tangles that were somehow still soft and lush. His eyebrows furrowed when she started to pull away from him.

“You’re disgusting, Tozier.” y/n then realized she didn’t have to ask Richie what he was thinking about. He was thinking about his girlfriend and the nights they’d shared on multiple occasions.

“What did I do?” He was now sitting up and facing his friend. Could he even call her a friend anymore? When was the last time they hung out? Richie stomped out his half-smoked Marlboro on the rug of the library, not caring that it would leave a mark, with the brand-new sneakers Vicki bought for him. His hands dug around in the front pocket of his jeans, searching for the Altoids container he kept on him at all times. Cinnamon. He downed half the box, the same way you’d chug a beer at a frat party because I hate it when you smoke, Rich echoed in his ears everytime he contemplated the pack of Marlboros that burned a hole in his other pocket.

y/n didn’t say anything. She got up, smoothed out her dress where Richie had left wrinkles, and stalked off.

It wasn’t like y/n to be jealous. When Bill got his first girlfriend, she jumped for joy and asked for her contact info so they could have sleepovers and give each other makeovers. When Mike started flirting with the new girl who moved into the plot of land next to his, y/n didn’t bat an eye.

So what was different this time?

y/n didn’t waste her precious time thinking about it. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t let Richie Tozier consume her thoughts, at least not consciously, during her restless nights and grey days. She assumed it wasn’t worth it to let Richie and his icky girlfriend get the best of her. Because that would mean they won.

The two hadn’t hung out since then.

They weren’t in a fight, but they weren’t on each other’s good sides. Necessarily.

Richie opted to spend the rest of the week with Vicki and y/n managed to get by the way she usually had for the past three months.

“Maybe you’re jealous?” Beverly offered. y/n found herself spending a lot more time with Bev now that she marked out Richie’s name with a red marker from her list of friends.

y/n scoffed and handed Beverly her right hand for her to paint. Jealous? That’s absurd. She admired her newly painted left hand. The dark green color surprisingly complimented her undertones perfectly.

“Why would I be jealous?” y/n couldn’t bring herself to look at her friend. She didn’t want her eyes to give away a reality she wasn’t ready to face, and she didn’t want to find a look in Beverly’s that only confirmed what she was suggesting.

“Oh, come on.” Beverly’s head threw back—a sign that she was becoming annoyed with her friend’s stubbornness and groaned. “Put two and two together. You and Richie used to spend every day together.” Her hands left y/n’s to make a sort of sandwiching motion. “Now you don’t.” They spread apart. Beverly shrugged nonchalantly as y/n started to realize something it seemed everyone already knew.

“I can’t believe you think I’m jealous of Richie.” Was all y/n could bring herself to say. But her thoughts wandered exactly where Beverly predicted.

To Richie Tozier, who was expectedly hanging out with one Vicki Horowitz. They were walking the cement of the strip mall. It was something Vicki did often, even before she had a boyfriend, and something Richie did often now that Vicki had attached himself to her like a dog on a leash.

“What do you think about that dress?” Vicki stopped outside of a small boutique. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground and her right arm was linked with Richie’s left while her free hand pointed to a small, black dress that allowed for practically no breathing space.

“’S cool,” Richie said with no sign of interest. He’d sworn they passed that dress three times by now and the pavement under his feet felt like the entryway to Satan’s humble abode.

“Cool?” Richie didn’t notice his girlfriend’s trimmed eyebrow shoot up in disbelief at the boy whose arm she held onto. “Well, what do you think of the dress on me?” Her voice dipped an octave lower and her eyes had that knowing look they always did before she was about to take a standardized test. Or when they were about to do it. Maybe that’s how Vicki roped Richie into this relationship.

Four months ago, Richie would have never thought of dating Vicki Horowitz. Not because she was out of his league. Every girl was out of his league, according to the dopes he called friends. But Richie never thought about batting an eye in Vicki Horowtiz’s direction. She was a governor’s scholar and the school’s class president ever since 1990. She was also a member of the same student council y/n was on, but to think he could score both of them would be a page from a fairytale.

It was a fairytale the day Vicki Horowitz had come up to him and the Losers at lunch, asking if she could have a word with him, no not you, him.

“What’s cookin, good-lookin’?” And Richie scolded himself for those being the first words spoken to the Vicki Horowitz.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Her blazing blue eyes rolled playfully, and Richie smiled because the only other time a girl had called him anything remotely close to cute was when y/n straightened out his collar and fluffed up his hair at homecoming. Don’t you clean up nice. “I want you to go out with me.”

“What sorta charity case are you workin’ here, hot stuff?” In Richie’s mind, he had every right to be incredulous. Girls didn’t ask him out. Girls didn’t even say yes when he asked them out.

And maybe it was a charity case when, a month in, Vicki had convinced Richie to iron his jeans and wear shirts that were only one color. Maybe it was a charity case when Richie found himself eating lunch with Vicki’s group of friends instead of his—talking about scholarship programs and studying abroad instead of the new werewolf movie that somehow scared the cripes out of him and when Batman’s new comic issue would be released. Maybe it was a charity case when Richie no longer used words like fuck and shit and began popping mints like they were drugs because Vicki wouldn’t let him smoke around her.

His white lace-ups kicked mindlessly at the sidewalk he stood at. He pondered the question even though there wasn’t much to ponder about. “Then I’d say that dress just got hot,” Richie smirked, and Vicki slapped him in the side.

Of course, you would were the words he expected to hear. But as much as Richie wanted her to be, Vicki wasn’t y/n and instead said, “Did you go over the vocab packet I slipped in your locker?

“I got it.” Richie’s free hand took residence in his pocket. He felt around for the box of Marlboros there and wondered if he should light one in front of her. Three months—almost four, he’d been in this relationship, and ever since a month ago he was beginning to think it was one-sided. “I, uh, didn’t get the chance to go over it.” He coughed and looked down at her, not expecting to see her eyes burning through his.

“You smell like cinnamon,” Vicki said. Her gaze softened but Richie wasn’t impressed. What was it about her? Was it her who changed, or him? Richie’s mind couldn’t wander any further—his thoughts sliced by Vicki’s voice. “What’s up with you?” She wasn’t usually the concerned type, but Richie knew she was being genuine when her eyes started hopelessly searching his.

“I’m tired,” Richie lied. “Y’know, we’ve been walkin’ so much. Ye ole feet need a rest.” Richie laughed but Vicki didn’t. She didn’t usually find him funny. She didn’t usually find anything funny except for small dogs in purses and grammatical mistakes.

“You could’ve just said so.” It was one of the few times she let up, but she was good. She was good at a lot of things, actually.

Vicki drove him home in silence. It wasn’t a talking kind of day and the radio was left untouched since neither of them could agree on a music station.

“Call me.” Were her last words to him before he stepped out of her daddy’s Mercedes.

Richie didn’t say anything. He stepped inside his house, his back slumped against the front door as he finished his thoughts from earlier that day in the comfort of his own home.

Why, out of everyone in Derry, would Vicki Horowitz choose to date someone like Richie Tozier? Of course, he’d be an idiot—which he wasn’t (that’s debatable)—to pass up an opportunity to go out with someone as eclectic as her. His thoughts betrayed him, finding their way to Vicki’s long, blonde hair and always rosy cheeks.

Obviously, he’d miss her if he broke things off between them. But there was something else that twisted his gut, telling him to do so.

And Richie always trusted his gut. He’d trust it if it told him to pick C on his math test or if it told him to jump off the golden gate bridge.

It was Monday, in the corner behind Derry High where everyone smoked, where the breakup took place. Richie had the decency to break it off somewhere private and Vicki had the decency to not cry or beg him to stay.

“Hey.” Richie’s voice was soft. His back stabilized by the bricks behind him and Vicki didn’t need to question what this was about.

“Hi.” Her tone held the same solemnness as his. “The least you could do was invite me somewhere nicer to break up with me.” It was the only time Richie laughed at one of her jokes and the last time he would. And though he wanted to, Richie couldn’t be surprised that Vicki already knew what he called her over for. She was a smart girl with a smart mouth to match.

“You know?” He stood up straight and took a drag from his cigarette.

“If you weren’t smoking, I would’ve thought otherwise,” Vicki said truthfully. Just then, a flood of students burst through the doors of Derry High. School was out. “I’m not fond of it, but I’m not going to hold you back.”

Richie wanted to scoff. He thought of the one afternoon when Vicki spent an hour combing through his hair, so the strands laid straight and naturally began to part to the side. He thought of how she scolded his unhealthy use of recreational drugs to the point he had to live a double life. He thought of how his time was no longer spent with his friends, but with her.

I’m not going to hold you back my ass.

But this was no time to argue.

Richie put out the cigarette, barely smoked, and walked away. Away from button-up shirts. Away from vocabulary packets and the debate of the use ‘impact’ in place of ‘effect’. Away from Vicki.

His rough footsteps hit the ground under him with a thump. Richie knew exactly where he was going. And maybe it was wrong that his first instinct was to cross the path of a certain someone after he had just called things off with his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend. But maybe Richie didn’t care.

It took him approximately ten minutes to walk to the Derry Public Library and approximately two minutes for an indescribable feeling to tear through his stomach. His feet lurched forward, but Richie steadied himself by reaching for one of the wooden shelves of the bookcase he stood behind.

It was y/n. As he expected, she was sitting at one of the desks. But her nose wasn’t stuck in her chem book, cramming for tomorrow’s test. It was pointed towards Matt Brimmer, upturned, along with her crinkled eyes and dazed smile. Was Matt Brimmer really that funny?

Richie knew he could make her smile like that. He knew he could make her smile even wider. So, he didn’t know why he was having seconds thoughts right now. The other voices in his head, telling him how inferior he was to so-called Matt Brimmer. Matt Brimmer on the football team. Matt Brimmer with the golden hair. Matt Brimmer the golden boy.

Everyone knew who Matthew Brimmer was; it’d be a crime not to. Although he wasn’t the Quarterback, he was the main reason Derry High’s football team got any of the wins they had. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but his prince charming smile and locks that reminded Richie of that Rapunzel story made up for it. He got by.

Richie had two options. He could go home and feel sorry for himself or he could wait for y/n and confront her after her study session. Was what they were doing even considered studying?

He opted for the second since he had already spent enough time feeling sorry for himself. And one dreadful hour later of mindlessly picking at his shoe and flipping through various pages of children’s books, Richie caught y/n alone, about to leave the already dark library.

The lights were dimmed, and the sun outside had already set. There was no sign of the librarian or her volunteers when y/n’s worn in high-tops came into his eyeline. He was sitting cross-legged, with a book in his lap. But his mind wasn’t on the pages.

Richie’s doe eyes widened under his magnifying lenses when they trailed up the skin of his friend’s bare legs that had stopped in their tracks. y/n was wearing a denim mini skirt in the middle of winter and how she hadn’t attracted goosebumps yet was a question he’d save for later.

“H-hey!” Richie bounced to his feet, standing at his full height.

“Hi.” y/n eyed him skeptically. She was holding a book in one hand. Her other hand was attached to the strap of her backpack.

“I saw you with Matt,” Richie blurted out. His own words surprised him because although he wasn’t shy—far from it—he wasn’t confrontational either. No. That was Bill. Bill would be the type to ask about the guy you had just got done cuddling with at the football game even though he was your boyfriend. But y/n and Richie weren’t dating, and Richie didn’t like her like that. Did he?

“Okay.” Was all y/n said. Her face was blank, void of any emotion. A sign. And her eyes bore into his, the way a police car’s emergency lights catch you when you’re speeding.

She was about to leave, probably to return her book, until Richie’s hand coiled around her wrist.

“What?” The irritableness in y/n’s tone became slightly more palatable. The one word struck Richie’s core and the voice in his head telling him telling him that this would be a good idea was now making its retreat.

“Matt Brimmer, eh?”

“Please.” Her expression grew more disgusted by the second; eyebrows raised; lips puckered as if she had just sucked the life out of a lemon. “You’re the last person who gets to commentate on my love life.”

Richie’s heart panged at the last words. Love life. If this were true—if y/n were dating Matt Brimmer—Richie quite literally wouldn’t know what to do with himself. His face didn’t show it, but right now, he was a guest at his funeral. Everyone was wearing black except him and Stan was giving the eulogy.

Only Richie would do what Richie did next. It was an awful act of…whatever because this newfound feeling in his chest was too much for him to take. Both of his hands cupped either side of her cheeks which were now hot, but not from embarrassment. He dove in for a kiss, both of his lips capturing her bottom one. The quietest moan rolled off her tongue, but before any more noises could be made, she pulled away.

“You have a girlfriend,” y/n said, as much as she didn’t want to. “and I’m—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re with Wonderboy.” Richie heaved out a sigh loud enough for y/n to forget what had just happened moments ago and raise her eyebrows, only to ask what’s wrong. In fact, she did oh so conveniently forget about his actions from earlier, and her right eyebrow quirked.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked and Richie didn’t realize how much he missed that question until now. How much he missed her.

The color in his eyes seemed to darken—like they were hooded by a shadow—and she was sure it wasn’t the doing of the lack of lighting in the room.

But Richie didn’t reply. His lips trailed back to hers again. The two melded into each other like iron being welded. This time y/n didn’t pull away. She lingered long enough to taste the cigarette he’d hardly smoked earlier and mints he didn’t swallow whole this time.

It was Richie who broke the kiss, only to press one onto her neck. The tip of his pointed nose tickled as it grazed the skin of her cheekbone and his chapped lips felt new and exciting when they left kisses below her ear.

“Richie.” y/n would be ashamed to admit this was something she’d been waiting for. That this very moment was a scene from her dreams that she hadn’t got the proper amount of time to explore because she’d awoken before the climax.

“You’ll have to be quiet, doll,” Richie mumbled against her skin. y/n could’ve fainted right then and there, but she refrained; wanting to experience this moment fully conscious. His fingers found their way to her side, gripping the fabric of her white mock neck casually as if this were something they’d done hundreds of times before. There was something about the way he handled her that made y/n insecure. Just knowing he had practiced these types of moves on girls before her had sparked a light in the pit of darkness that was her stomach. Her hands flew to his cheeks. The pad of her thumbs ran across his pale skin now blossoming pink.

Richie twisted their position, backing y/n into the case of books behind her—full to the shelf. His hands ghosted their way under her top, brushing her bare midsection. It was soft but cold, even under the sweater textile. It didn’t help that his hands could substitute for ice.

y/n giggled—a sound so sweet he’d cherish ‘til the end of time. A sound he’d never heard from Vicki’s lips. Her breath, smelling of lemon lozenges, fanned his face in a hot cloud. Richie wanted more. If he had any less dignity, he’d beg for more.

It’s not like y/n wanted to giggle during this new act of intimacy between them. To be frank, she was…upset. Who was Richie Tozier to leave her hanging for a girl who wore frilly chiffon blouses on Wednesday only to wear her jeans low rise so everyone and their grandmother could see her pink lace thong peeking from them on Friday? Who was Richie Tozier to leave her hanging at all? The late nights she’d spent at the Derry Public Library alone, in hopes the certain someone she snuck glances at during their passing period and her Pre-Calculus class only left an empty feeling in her heart and a rotten aftertaste in her mind. To let Richie know he was the reason for her pleasure and the hand between her thighs at night would be letting him win.

But what’s life without a few losses?

Richie’s movements never stopped—they were quick, but enough to send sparks to the one place y/n needed attention the most. His hands traveled lower, eventually reaching the hem of her skirt that ended just four inches above the knee. Distractedly, he pinched the thick material between his thumb and index finger. The roughness of the denim somehow satisfyingly scratched the edge of his fingers—drawing him out of his trance.

He lifted her skirt—revealing y/n’s ballerina pink underwear Richie only got to see at the quarry. There was no time for them to completely undress—and if they did, it’d be far too scandalous (as if what they were doing right now wasn’t already sinful).

Richie’s head whipped away from y/n’s neck; his eyes frantically darting around the space around them, seeing if anyone was nearby. y/n’s hands once again took his face in them, directing his attention back to her. Richie smiled as soon as her features came into view: black mascara smudged on her bottom lash line and the lipstick previously on her lips found a new home on her frenulum. She was mind-blowingly good looking even in a disordered state.

His hands left her upper thigh—where he had been leaving feathery strokes. y/n presumed he was about to unbuckle his belt. But he didn’t. He stood there, silently appreciating the scene displayed before him, and also wishing they had more time or had a setup more comfortable. His hands rested at the silver clasp of his belt, daring to make a move but also frozen in time.

“What are you waiting for?” y/n sniped, and Richie’s confidence level was found through the roof; like the green health bar when you first slip a quarter into the Street Fighter machine.

Nimbly, Richie’s fingers went to undo his belt and slip off his jeans and boxers underneath. It didn’t take long for his lips to crash against hers. A bruise would be left later for memories’ sake. His tongue swiped her bottom lip, tasting birthday cake in the process.

y/n’s own hands were small, but they made an effort to run through his hair, feeling the left-over gel from yesterday and the abnormal amount of times it had been brushed through. She tugged at the roots, eliciting a groan from him that was luckily muffled by y/n’s mouth.

His hands found their original place on the curve of y/n’s hips. But first, he made quick to strip her of her undergarments. An innocent shade for a not so innocent act. Richie was fast to slip in—not giving y/n the time to adjust around him. She whimpered and he swore he could feel a tear against both of their cheeks.

“You’re dripping.” Richie didn’t address the quiet tears that rolled down the slope of her face, too concentrated on the feeling of something else rolling against him. y/n’s hips perked up, a desperate attempt to meet his; ardent and needy. He took it as a sign. His thrusts sped up, coated in her silk.

The substance shared between them was like glue holding their bodies together. Richie’s hands surprised y/n when they squeezed the back of her legs, urging her to jump up, and stabilizing her when she did. Her legs coiled around his, allowing for Richie to find a deeper spot none of her other hookups could.

“Can Matt Brimmer fuck you like this?” Despite the shivers his words sent down her spine, y/n finally knew what this was about. She had her suspicions, but his words only confirmed them.

His voice was hushed, only for her to hear, but she supposed if he screamed it no one would hear them in the seemingly vacant building.

y/n didn’t reply. She felt her eyes roll back and his hips snap in unpredictable paces against hers. It was rare—exceptional, even—that y/n found release this fast. She could blame it on the thrill of potentially getting caught. Their bodies covered yet splayed out inappropriately for anyone to walk in on. She could blame it on Richie; that she was finally attached at the hip, literally, with her lifelong best friend and not-so-guilty pleasure fuck whenever Beverly and she ran out of sleepover games. Her grip on his hair tightened as well as the walls around him. The prolonged whines she had been biting between her teeth turned into heavy pants—her breath mixing with his.

Miraculous, it was, that Richie was able to remain noiseless when he came. He stayed inside her for a second more, dwelling in the ecstasy the two had shared for as long as he could. It was only until y/n’s eyes greeted Richie’s when he pulled out and redressed his half-naked body.

She wasn’t glaring this time, but she didn’t look happy either. Usually, girls were supposed to be happy after sex. Second thoughts started to litter his mind. Richie couldn’t help but think he came short. But he was relieved when y/n spoke up.

“Can Vicki Horowitz make you feel that way?” Her skirt was now properly covering her thighs and she must’ve pulled her underwear up and Richie hadn’t noticed. y/n left him with a quick peck to the lips, smirking into it as she did. It was dominant. Possessive. The last of what Richie saw of her was the back of her now messy hair when she picked up her backpack and walked out—through the maze of books and out the glass doors.

Richie was in awe. Still in a post-orgasmic condition, his fingers ran to his neck, tracing over the newly forming blemish y/n left as a trade for the dozens he gave her. Richie stood there a few minutes more. His palm pressed against the mark only to leave so his index finger could trace his lips that a gracious residue of berry lipstick and saliva mixture tacked onto.

He’d catch her tomorrow.

[foryourdiary]

[ TOM HOLLAND, HE/HIM, CISMALE ]  —  [ TYLER PRUITT ]  is a child of  [ TYCHE ]  with the power of  [ JINX and LUCK ABSORPTION ] .  they were born in  [ 1997 ]  and have been in nemean lion since  [ 2017 ] .  with the change, they  [ ARE TRAINING IN ]  the  [ STANDARD ]  role which makes sense since they’re usually  [ CHALLENGING PEOPLE TO STUPID BETS and OVERALL BEING THE WORST ] .  if you’d like to meet them try the  [ MOON ]  building .  —   [ JINX ]: the power to make other people unlucky. (cannot be used on oneself, the longer the effects, the more exhausted the user becomes) [LUCK ABSORPTION]:   the power to absorb luck energy from one’s surroundings. (requires great concentration and effort, can only absorb whatever limited potential luck is in the objects/people/surrounds in their vicinity)

tw: car accident, death

though tyler’s father, an already incredibly successful lawyer, knew exactly what his son tyler would be after knowingly having an affair with tyche, the goddess of luck, that didn’t mean he was all that excited about having a child to begin with.

his father enjoyed being a single man, using his wealth to attract women, usually women significantly younger than him, in their 20s to his late 40s.

when tyler was born, the luck that emanated from his son excited mark pruitt, and suddenly being a father didn’t seem so bad.

it was an inconsistent thing, until tyler grew old enough to start controlling the absorption of luck around him, to bring it into himself, and share some of that with his father: a missing piece of evidence in a case would suddenly turn up, the opposing side’s star witness would slip up on a lie on the stand, things like that.

but just like his father, tyler was also selfish, and started using these powers for his own good fortune as he entered his preteen and teen years.

making other people unlucky allowed him to win every baseball game, taking in the luck around him helped him be the guy all the cute girls noticed first, and it meant that when his father finally settled down, he at least chose someone tyler could tolerate.

tyler was 16 when his father married his 24 year old “girlfriend” who happily confided with tyler that she was here to pay for medical school, just like tyler enjoyed the fruits of his father’s labor (or lack thereof) with his expensive cars and big house to throw parties in every weekend.

the two became allies, a woman tolerating a loveless marriage for the sake of getting through medical school to pay for her father’s medical debt, and a boy who, as he got older and older, resented that he was used as a pawn by a man who didn’t love him. 

tyler was in his second year of college when his family was attacked by a monster, and in a moment of fearing for his own life, his father did nothing to try and protect his wife or his son, instead protecting himself when he got in the car and drove away. It looked like the end of tyler and his stepmother who was more like a big sister when he was protected by fighters from nemean lion.

they hadn’t been fast enough to protect tyler’s father though, who in his haste to escape, ran a red light and was killed instantly in a head on collision. it was almost laughable, if it hadn’t hurt to know that tyler’s father died worried about only himself, with no love spared for his son.

and he lost his stepmother, who actually did step in the line of fire for him, just moments before he was rescued, just seconds short of saving her life.

so he headed off to nemean lion with more inheritance than he could ever spend, and no concept of what it was to care about anyone, or be cared about in return.

personality:

persuasive

venturesome

unfoolable

arrogant

judgmental

inconsiderate

headcanons:

tyler learned absolutely nothing about being a better person from watching his father die, if anything it’s just made him more “what’s the point” about life and doing whatever he wants

he’s obscenely wealthy, his dad had a lot of wealth from using tyler to manipulate investments

slut alert

he’s not cruel so much as he just doesn’t care much about how his actions affect people and he definitely will not call you back in the morning

potential connections:

disclaimer: i am not interested in plotting with or interacting with members who are under the age of eighteen. sorry <3 anyone wishing to do anything romantic with tyler should be over the age of twenty. just a personal boundary of mine, thank you for understanding.

sighs deeply…. hookups

a bestie

a roommate pls

someone tyler hits on all the time who constantly rejects him but lowkey flirts back… you know exactly what i’m talking about

this is super random but i was thinking tyler’s stepmom could have had a younger sister who blames tyler and his family for what happened to her (they wouldn’t be entirely wrong???) so like if anyone ever brings in a new char and wants to hash out that connection lmk

i’m open to most things, let’s hash some stuff out!

[hase0k]

[eric andre vc] and WE’RE BACK hey everyone omg i’m miya & you may recognize me and this piece of shit from charmed!! :’) haseok has only changed somewhat; he’s the son of the f*ckin president of the country, is 27, last name is hong and now does day trading aka the kid buys tesla call options on robinhood all day!!! i’ll still include a tl;dr under the cut for all his basic info but anyways i am HYPED to be here and have him again so tysm rhi admins for helping give haseok life once more ♡ feel free to like this post if you’d like to plot! i prefer discord for msging so if you’d like to add me there as well, u can @ miya#8158 !!!

                                                       ( FULL BIO / STATS ) — hong haseok (listen i hate the double h as well but we’re gonna have to live with it ok), 27 (where all my 94liners at???), stupid dumb virgo, doesn’t want to talk astrology with u because he’s not fun and will tell u to shut up — born in london, sorta grew up there until high school and moved back to attend saebom high school (grad. 2012), double majored in finance & economics from hanbit university (2016) / not able to run for any sort of govt position because he technically doesn’t hold korean citizenship 🤷🏻 — TW: BULLYING he probably bullied u in hs :’(  — hobbies include playing football (he’ll literally hate u forever if u call it soccer to his face), getting his shoes shined, being forced to go to church by his parents on sunday mornings when he’s hungover af, throwing good ass parties but half the time nobody can ever find where he is — was raised quite religious but that’s his struggle bc he 🤫 refuses to accept he likes men and tries to be the most str8 passing person to ever exist — may or may not secretly L word @taekangs but you’ll have to stay tuned to find out ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 — is pretty dysfunctional with any members of his family and because of his upbringing he struggles to see himself as either the golden child or the black sheep of the family — also gonna put another TW: HOMOPHOBIA here and just get it out of the way he is also a gay hater (bc he’s in actual denial) and i apologize in advance for his behavior...... i know this is a touchy subject so please don’t ever hesitate to lmk if anything is ever too much and i’ll tone him down!!! sorry he’s rly such a problematic asshole but ofc his thoughts and opinions do not reflect my own!!! — ps it’s canon that he has a fat ass so don’t forget it thank u — i feel like i’m forgetting 3458973584 things so in case i am that’s why u should come plot with me :’) thanks for reading this far if u did, ily<3

[crescentsteel]

Just Friends - Part 6

plot: fubu set up with Kuroo , model fem reader warnings: a bit spicy at the end word count: 6.7k 

A.N:

I’m putting a short pause on this series. because it’s October: 1) kinktober; 2) Halloween drabbles

next part will be j u i c y

I listen to Erutan while writing

THANK YOU SO MUCH to those who leave wonderful comments in the chapters. I always read them and get silly happy

Lmk if you want to be part of the taglist

I accidentally deleted this chapter. I hate myself

Part 5 | Part 7 |  m.list 

Your eyes alternate among the four men who are blathering in front of you. You’ve been in events like this before, so interacting with guests isn’t a problem for you. But this. This is mayhem. Much of what they’re saying doesn’t make sense to you. You’re pretty sure that they introduced themselves, but their names didn’t stick because one would interrupt the other before they’re even comprehensible.

Despite them towering over you (except for the orange-haired guy who’s a tad shorter than the rest), they seem like boys squabbling over who gets to talk to the pretty girl first. You had to press your lips together as a disguise of a civil smile, but in reality, you’re stifling a laugh from leaking out. It would be rude since they’re guests as well.

The laugh stuck in your throat instantly evaporates when you see a familiar figure approaching, a figure you know all too well. You try to get a clearer picture, but he turns to the blonde-haired guy, only revealing his side and back profile to you.

You lose awareness of the other four from before. Your eyes are solely focused on him, waiting for him to face you so you can confirm that you aren’t daydreaming. Before you left Japan, it was frequent that you saw him in certain places you go, but it was just actually your brain conjuring his images to fill in the void you felt.

Being out of the country, the daydreams stopped. And now that you’re back, right on your 1st day in Japan, you’re back to seeing illusions? That can’t be. It’s been months for Christ’s sake. You’ve moved on. Maybe it was just someone with the same build, or ..

“I’m so sorry about th-”

Or it really was him.

You definitely aren’t hallucinating. But damn. You aren’t prepared for Kuroo to appear before you, and more so, you aren’t prepared for how he’s looking exceptionally good tonight. He’s donning a formal black suit with a red tie which you haven’t seen him in before. It was always shirt and pants. In his graduation party, it was just long sleeve polo in navy blue and black denim that he wore. You didn’t think much of it. You thought ruggedness was part of his charm. But no. This refined ensemble also suits him. It suits him too damn well.

You can’t believe it. It’s been months and yet, the sexual pull he has on you is still intact.

“Sorry about them.” He says with the signature mischievous grin he has.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ was what you want to say, but you’re on official business. You peek at the four boys, and just as you thought, they’re staring.

You give your rehearsed smile and bow. This is not the time and place for a reunion. You pray that he gets the drift.

Of course, he doesn’t. You become alarmed when he advances directly face to face with you. You take a step back to provide enough space between you two. You can’t have him too close. However, he still catches up. Before you can even react, his hand is already in your hair as his fingers tuck the strands behind your earlobe.

“How’re you, kitten?”

The feel of his skin directly on yours, despite being the lightest of touch, stirs something wistful in you. It gives you unwanted and unnecessary recollections of his graduation party.

You scold yourself mentally. Like you told yourself a while ago, this is not the time and place. When you look around, you see that the blonde and black and white guy was gaping in shock while the remaining two look puzzled.

He hasn’t changed. Still an expert on taking advantage of a situation to make you lose composure. Does he think that you’re going to let him do as he pleases?

Hell no.

You give your best goody-girl impression and beam at him.

“I’m sorry. Who are you?” You say in perfect English, your pitch higher than your usual talking voice. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”  You add. Kuroo’s brows raise at your trivial retort. You peek at the boys to see their reactions. It was priceless.

The blonde guy is slouching, his face buried on the shoulder of the orange boy while his own shoulders are shaking. Orange boy is shushing him. The black and white guy doesn’t bother hiding his boisterous laughing. The black-haired stern guy looks repulsively at Kuroo.

You can’t tell if they understood the whole phrase, but the ‘who are you’ is basic. You’re sure they got that one at least. You turn your eyes to him again and purse your lips to the side. You tilt your head a bit and flutter your eyes in a demure manner.

He grits his teeth as he shoots daggers at the four. “Scram now. Before I report you to your manager.”

“Introduce yourself okay, Kuroo?” Black and white calls out and laughs while walking away. The blonde guy joins him, letting out his suppressed laughter while hitting black and white’s back.

After they’re out of sight, Kuroo’s attention is on you again. His irritation is gone and is replaced with amusement that twinkled in his eyes.

“I didn’t know you spoke English.”

You look down and drop the doe-eyed act. In just one blink, your eyes are sharp and your lips curled into a corner. You cross your arms before meeting his gaze.

“Since childhood actually.” You say proudly with your normal voice. Then, you dive straight to the point. “What are you doing here, Kuroo?”

“I’m working. What’re you doing here, y.n.?”

“I’m working.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the devilish smirk on his face doesn’t leave his face while his eyes are glued on to you. You don’t falter. You hold his gaze with the same daunting expression. Just like before, you always find yourself wanting to topple his presumptuousness. You don’t back down. You’re always ready for whatever remark he’s going to throw at you.

But instead, you’re met with a change in his demeanor. His face softens up - his eyes glint with yearning while his previous smirk dwindles down to something that looks equally sad and glad at the same time.

You’re ready for anything, but this. You didn’t think you’d see him again, but you’ve held up well. You will not let yourself get carried away with Kuroo’s musings, be that sexually or emotionally. So you look away, breaking the spell that held you both captive. You clear your throat before speaking.

“Let’s do what we should be doing here then. See you around.” You try to dismiss yourself from the situation as quickly as you can, but your attempt to walk past him is useless. One pace and he’s already blocking your way entirely.

“Why the rush?” Something about the way he dominates the space in front of you tells you that you won’t escape.

“We’re both working right now.”

“Dinner after this, then?”

You let out a defeated sigh. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Not a chance.” His eyes are gleaming in success when he hands you his phone, just like he did that morning after you had sex the first time. You know that he’s thinking the same. You share the same meaningful gaze at how familiar this scenario is.

You shake your head while typing the number you just got this afternoon.

–

You sit across Kuroo at the coffee shop he took you to.

“What’s this about, Kuroo?”

“What? Can’t I invite an old friend to dinner?

“Mmmhmm.” You browse at the menu and decide which tea you’ll have. You can’t have caffeine right now. You need to be able to sleep after this very long day.

“You look good, y.n.”

You scoff at the comment. Is this his attempt of a small talk?

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you sneer while still browsing.

“Oya? Let’s see then hmm.” You feel the table vibrate as he taps it with his fingers.

“It was shitty the way you left.” The tapping stops in unison with how you feel your heart skip a beat.

Your eyes snap up from the menu. His one arm is on the table while his hand rests on his chin, his eyes piercing yours with a serious intensity you’ve never seen before. Are you ready for this conversation? You still don’t want to tell him what really happened then. You might not feel the same anymore, but it still doesn’t sit well with you. It was your own naivety that got you in that situation. After a while in the US, it registered to you that you did not have any right to be angry at him. He hurt you, yes, but it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t even owe you an explanation for that night. He could have sex with anyone he wanted without letting you know. Your inexperience led you to believe that you two had some kind of exclusivity.

But you can’t have him know that. You both have nothing to gain from letting him know. He’d probably laugh at you, or worse, feel bad about it. Despite your relationship, you know he’s a good person. He might feel obligated to do something about it. You don’t want that. You don’t need that.

“Are you ready to order?”

The waiter came at the right time. Your thoughts were about to go somewhere bleak. You smile at the waiter.

“Green tea, please.”

Kuroo doesn’t move and lazily tells the waiter, “Whatever she’s having.”

You face Kuroo again, ready to answer him this time.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. I tried to tell you at the bar, but…”

Unpleasant memories surges in your head. You shake your head to chase them away. “I wasn’t feeling very well suddenly. Then I just got busy the following days. I had to process a lot of papers. Next thing I knew was I was about to leave.”

You hope the lies sounded real to him. You didn’t need to process papers. Your visa and passport are ready. You’ve always flown to other countries, courtesy of your family trips. The miserable truth was that you were wallowing in misery in your apartment.

“But I did try again, right? I mean I asked to meet up before I left.” You add casually, a tad cheerier than your earlier tone.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you leave?”

‘Because of you.’ That answer is still crystal to you, but of course, he’ll never know that. “Modeling,” was your answer instead.

His brows knit together in confusion.

“I thought you didn’t like it. Weren’t you doing it only cause you’re cut out for it?”

What. You told him that? You don’t remember doing so, yet he did. You think fast, racking your brain for something believable to back up your lie.

“I wanted to know what would happen if I actually tried.”

He just keeps staring at you as if he knows something you don’t, his eyes searching for any trace of doubt in what you just said. But you just meet his stare firmly, refusing to lose ground.

“Is it worth it?” It shouldn’t be a strange question, but the way he said it is. You must’ve imagined it, but it sounded like it quelled an inkling of loneliness. Perhaps you’re getting tired and projecting the feelings you had at him.

“It is.” The only truth you’ve stated in this coffee shop. You still saw modeling just as a job, yet you presently enjoy the hustle and bustle of making a name for yourself. But back then, it was what you hopelessly clung on to so your head isn’t full of him. It diverted your thoughts from Kuroo until you no longer thought about him, until the feelings faded.

“But enough about me. What happened to you after graduation?” You shift the subject to him so you’ll have to stop talking.

He removes his arm from the table and sits up straight. He takes his wallet out and hands you a calling card that read:

Japan Volleyball Association, Sports Promotion Division

You stare at it with amazement as you read it once again in your head. Holding the same expression, you gape at him.

“You don’t have to look so impressed, y.n.” He says that but he’s grinning too wide.

“It’s just I-I. Uh. Wow.” You struggle for the right words to say. You don’t know how to express the happiness you feel for him. You couldn’t think of a better career for him. He was so determined at university, to the point that he dropped out of its volleyball team. Yet, his laptop background was a volleyball stadium. He’s also kept his volleyball jerseys. You know because you once rummaged through his drawer to look for a shirt you can borrow. He worked hard and in the end, he was able to keep volleyball in his life in his own way.

You don’t have any passion for anything and you never had to work hard for anything. Witnessing someone strive at something and succeed, especially Kuroo who you were with at the last steps before his success, you can’t be anything but happy and proud.

Unhesitantly, you get up from your seat and sit beside him. You loop your arms arounds his neck and haul him in a congenial hug. You couldn't resist it. You had to do something to let out how you feel.

Before Kuroo can even react, you let go. Your arms drape until it is only your hands that are touching his shoulders.

“That’s great to hear! You’re perfect for it.”

He’s once again immersed in the marvel your orbs hold. Your smile reaches your eyes, and what a vision it is. He witnesses it again, how you truly value his accomplishment. You’re an international model, but you never showed this much enthusiasm when you talked about your career. Compared to yours, his job seems mundane. Yet, you celebrate it like it’s a really wonderful thing.

Rather than saying anything, he pulls you back to his embrace, wanting to feel your body against him for the second time. You gasp at his action, but he doesn’t let go yet. Only now does he become aware that he missed you this fucking much.

“Glad to have you back, y.n.” No haughtiness, no games, only sincerity. He can feel your uneven breathing and your chest beating wildly. Suddenly, he’s conscious of how good you feel like this, how you seem so perfect enveloped in his own body, how you should belong to him.

He releases you and looks straight at you, your eyes mirroring the yearning on his own.

“Let’s take this somewhere private,” he says softly. You lower your eyes. But before you do, he catches the pained glimmer in them. You push him lightly away, effectively breaking the contact.

“I can’t,” you say sternly, which winds him up.

“Why? Are you dating someone?”

“No. I just,” you suspire before carrying on, “ don’t want to go back to what we were, Kuroo.”

“And what were we exactly, y.n.?”

That’s when you return your gaze at him, but no remains of the sad glints he saw previously. He waits for your answer to the question he’s been asking in his head before you left.

A dry smile forms in your lips.

“Fuck buddies is how they call it.”

So that’s all it was to you. Can’t say he’s surprised. Disappointed, but not surprised. He wished it was something more.

“But I think that we did become friends at some point, you know,” you add, which gives him a sliver of hope. 

“And what are we now?” he presses on.

He sees weariness setting in your pretty face. As much as he wants to keep the conversation going, you look like you should be taking off already.

“You okay?” he asks.

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then proceed to rub your eyes, smearing your eye make up a bit. “Sorry, I just flew in this morning.”

“Let’s go then.” He calls the waiter and asks for the bill.

“I’ll drive you home. You still live there?” He asks, referring to your old place at Roppongi Hills.

“Yes, but I don’t have my car yet. I’ll just take a cab.”

He smirks at the misunderstanding. “What I meant is I’ll drive you home with my car.”

“Tch,” you say, but you smile softly. “To Roppongi Hills then,” you add.

He hands the bill to the waiter and doesn’t wait for his change. He gets up to which you follow. “This way, maam,” he says mockingly while leading you to his car.

He let you rest on the way. Your eyes were closed the whole time. You must be really worn out, so he just focused on driving. But the whole ride was only short. In no time, he’s already at the parking area of your place. He stares at you for a while, just taking in your presence, savoring the idea that you’re really back.

He leans in a bit to caress your cheeks. So soft and warm.

His eyes trail to your lips, which is not the best thing to do at the moment. It just fueled his hunger to claim that luscious mouth so he can taste you again. What he’d give to feel you melt in his arms again.

He lets out a harsh breath at where his thoughts are taking him. He wakes you up before he loses control.

You blink a few times and compose yourself rapidly. You unbuckle the seatbelt, but do not move after.

“I think it’d be cool if we stay like this. No sex. Friends without the benefits. Just friends.” Even though you aren’t looking at him, he knows how serious you are. 

“Yea, yea. I kinda got that already. I’m not an idiot.”

“Really? I beg to differ most of the time.” The short nap seems to have gotten some of your sassiness back.

“Well this idiot just gave you a ride home. Be a little grateful?”

“Aww. Did I finally tick you off?” you taunt teasingly, to which he mischievous grins at.

“Of course not. If anything, I’d love to accompany you to your room since you’re too tired. As a friend and all that jazz.”

You smile sarcastically and roll your eyes. “Goodnight, Kuroo.” You open the door and hurriedly step out. He immediately opens the window and yells.

“Night, kitten!” which echoes at the parking lot.

You don’t look back, but you flash your middle finger as a response while you keep walking.

He’s bawling at his seat. You’re not a person who curses. Doing so cracked him up even more. The both of you still enjoy trying to get under each other’s skin. And he’s won tonight’s round. Jesus Christ, you’re really something. When was the last time he laughed like this?

Just friends? He snickers to himself. Fuck that shit.

–

Your encounter with Kuroo somehow put you at ease. You won’t deny that something is still there. You definitely felt it, but it wasn’t as chaotic and messy as it was before. You believe they’re just tailends of the past, and now that you made it clear to Kuroo that it’s not going to be the same as before, you can have some peace of mind. All the times you both said you’re just friends, now you can actually say that without pretense.

You like Kuroo. He’s cool and you two share the same humor. With the recent lack of communication and absence of sex, you’re sure that your feelings will completely go away very soon.

But aside from him, you also want to reconnect with another friend.

You press the doorbell on Kenma’s new home the second time. What is he doing? He said he was home. You get your phone to call him, but the door opens all of a sudden. Instead of Kenma, it’s the 6’2 counterpart of the duo.

“Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

You two utter the same words the same time, which earns a raised eyebrow from you and a smirk from him.

If he’s here, then you’re at the right place. But why did he have to be here? You want to talk to Kenma alone. You don’t mind Kuroo, but there are things that only you and Kenma know about.

“I think I’m allowed to be at my friend’s house.” He said.

“You’re not his only friend, you know.”

Your peripheral sees something shuffle at a distance behind him. “Let her in, Kuroo.” You hear the familiar nonchalant voice. He looks at where the voice is coming from.

“Haa? I thought it was just us today.” Even though he says that, there’s a knowing tug in his lips.

“Huh? You’re the one who came here all of a sudden.”

Kenma’s annoyed voice reached your ears. You use your fist to cover your mouth from laughing, to which Kuroo pouts at.

“If you’d excuse me then.” You say teasingly while you let yourself in.

Kenma waves languidly at you with a warm smile, as warm as Kenma can possibly be. He still looks the same, except that his hair is longer now and the black roots are more prominent. He’s still wearing the regular baggy clothes, but something about his eyes seem keener.

“Heeey. How are you?” All the saltiness with Kuroo is gone, replaced by amiability exclusively for Kenma.

“All good. My channel and company are doing well recently so I moved out.”

You squint your eyes a bit. Did you hear him correctly? His channel and company?

“Sorry, I don’t quite get it. What do you mean?” He frowns, also looking confused as to why you’re confused.

“You didn’t know? He already founded his company before you left. He also has shit ton of viewers on his gaming channel. Pfft. You really call yourself a friend?”

You ignore Kuroo’s side comment. All you can think about is why you didn’t know the information he just said. You thought Kenma was just a regular student who comes over to play sometimes. Not only that, he’s nothing like the CEOs you’ve met. And he’s as young as you are!

The other night it was Kuroo, now it was Kenma’s turn to amaze you.

And just like with Kuroo, you don’t hesitate to give him the congratulatory hug as well. It’s so gratifying to know that these two you consider friends are successful in pursuing their passion.

Kuroo is a bit shocked at your gesture. He didn’t know that you two were that close for you to hug him like that. Still, he finds it nice that you and his childhood best friend get along swimmingly well. Kenma always had this aversion to people in general. He doesn’t speak much and usually won’t talk until spoken to. More specially, he’s not any good at physical affection.

So naturally, Kenma’s stunned as well. Kenma’s eyes fly to him for a few seconds, but looks down before he can figure out what Kenma was thinking. But he can imagine Kenma awkwardly pushing you away while looking uncomfortable. He already has a plan. He’ll mockingly offer you a consolation hug with open arms since Kenma will refuse to let you. He can’t wait to see you riled up.

Only to be taken by complete surprise when Kenma puts a light hand on your back while patting your head. For someone like Kenma, this is already more than just a friendly hug. What the? And to deliver the finishing blow, Kenma has this almost affectionate smile while doing those.

Goddammit.

Kuroo was feeling fuzzy earlier, but now he’s stumped and irritated at the scene taking place. Kenma never motherfucking ever hugged someone, let alone a girl. A smoking hot girl who, ironically, he’s pining after. Is something between you and Kenma that he doesn’t know about? You seem to share a deeper bond that he’s not aware of.

He’s counting the seconds in his head. When the hell are you two gonna stop this mushy touchy session?

He exhales when you finally broke off from the seemingly not ending contact.

“Wow! And I thought I was rich.” You say jokingly.

“You still are, y.n. By a lot more.”

You ignore Kenma’s last remark and let your eyes travel at his new home. Kuroo can tell what you’re thinking. He thought the same at first. It was big and homey, but a little too humble for his pay grade.

“When did you move?”

“Two days ago.”

“You should’ve told me. I could’ve hooked you up to other options.” Yep. You do share a similar opinion.

“Like Roppongi Hills?”

You look at Kenma inquisitively. “Hmm. Yeah! That’s actually where I live.”

“Kuroo told me the same thing. I wonder why.”

You and Kenma look at him simultaneously. “What? It was cool. You should see her unit. It screams ‘I’m hella loaded’.”

“Maybe I should. Can I drop by some time, y.n?”

Tsk tsk. Unfortunately for Kenma, you’re way too uptight about the privacy of your home. He practically had to force himself in. And he only stayed less than 10 minutes cause you were so uncomfortable and on the edge the whole time.

“Sure! Tell me when. I just finished unpacking my stuff.”

What.the.actual.fuck. Are you shitting him right now? With him, you were all ‘JuSt a PeeK oK?’ but with Kenma, you might as well throw a freakin tea party when he visits.

“Oy, y.n. Why is it okay with Kenma but you couldn’t wait to kick me out when I was there?”

“Uhh.. Ermm.” Your eyes drift around the room, obviously thinking of an excuse. It better be a good one because this is bullshit to him.

“I’m just kidding. I like this best. I don’t need the fancy stuff.” Kenma blurts out.

That made him snap out of it. He let out a deep breath to calm himself down. You laugh nervously but still avoid any eye contact. He turns to Kenma and finds a subtle grin on his friend’s face. It was nothing worth noticing, it only looks like a lazy smile, to a normal person that is. But he has known Kenma since childhood. That was far from a subtle grin. That was the grin of a plan being executed well.

He never told the guy what was going on between you two back then. And even before something beyond than sexual relations took place, you left, so he didn’t see the point in telling Kenma. But of course the former brain of Nekoma isn’t just for games. He has already been figured out even without saying anything.

And just now, he was being played at. Kenma was deliberately baiting him until he does something out of jealousy that could possibly advance his relationship with you. He’s almost touched at the idea, but it’s too twisted for his taste.

He moves to where Kenma is and heavily puts an arm around him.

“Ayt. Scrutinize his house all you want. We’re movin to his game room.” He drags Kenma before you could react. He strides longer to create some distance between them and you.

When you’re out of earshot, he speaks in a piped down voice.

“Since when did you know?”

“Even before you did.” They’ll have a discussion for that later, but he needs to get to his point before you catch up.

“You don’t have to do anything. I can handle this.”

Kenma gives him a disagreeing look. “This has been going on for too long. It’s getting painful to look at you two.” Since they no longer spend as much time together, he sometimes forgets that Kenma is frighteningly intuitive.

“Heh. Don’t worry about it.” He already made up his mind about it the other night. He’s just going to verbalize it for his friend to hear.

“She will be mine.”

–

Work has increased more than you’ve expected. Because of your international experience, you’ve been getting more and more offers. There were days that you’ve been in two to three shoots in a day. That didn’t happen when you were in the US. Yes, you like being busy, but it’s beginning to be too much.

It’d be weird to say that you crave for a work-life balance, since you don’t really have that much of a life. Whenever you’re free, you try to get together with Kenma and Kuroo, but Kenma’s almost never free these days. Because of it, you develop a certain appreciation for Kuroo because in contrast, he always takes up your invites. Though they’re nothing big, just casual dinner, casual chat, and then he’d drive you home. Still, it was some sort of break from work. Kuroo’s become your go-to breather when things get hectic.

At first, you’re a bit wary to spend too much time alone with him. He’s Kuroo Tetsurou, your scheming ex-fuck buddy. He might pull something similar to what he did in the coffee shop, so you’re always on guard. But so far, he’s been behaving. The conversations you usually share are work-related and the times you spent in American and him in Japan. That’s all. He barely even touches you, so you feel stupid for being so cautious.

K.O

The videogame prompt brought you back to the present. You realize you were only absent-mindedly pressing the buttons while your mind was floating ingame.

“Are you even trying, y.n.? You suck more than usual today.”

“Ha ha.” You laugh monotonously at Kuroo’s insult. You put down the controller and leaned back. You stare blankly at the ceiling. “Work’s turned me into a noob.”

You feel him shift his weight in the soft cushion, so you look at him. He puts an arm on the backrest of the couch and pulls in his left leg so he can face you. He’s wearing a loose black muscle tee that did its job perfectly. You see his toned biceps stretched out. You’ve almost forgotten how immaculate he looks underneath that suit he’s always wearing. The outline of his toned chest is also more prominent because of the thin fabric. What about his thighs? They must be as glorious as the last time you straddled him.

What are you doing? Were you seriously gawking at him just now? Your eyes almost dropped down to his lower half if you had not caught yourself. Did he notice? You pray to whoever’s in charge out there that he doesn’t. You won’t hear the end of it if he did.

You focus on his face instead, but it doesn’t help. Your mind can’t stop thinking how ridiculously sexy of a man he is. That’s saying something since you’ve worked with international male models.

God, the lack of sex for almost a year must be hitting you only now.

“That’s just an excuse.”

“What?!” You flip from your seat. Did you say that out loud unconsciously? You’re tired, but you won’t slip up like that.

Kuroo grins from ear to ear. How could he not notice? You didn’t even try to be discreet about it. He’s sure you were thinking of something sexual based on your agitated reaction. And also, it’s still engraved on his mind how you look when you’re horny. Although, it wasn’t explicit, you gave him that look. You want him.

Oh man, he’s tempted to do something about it. Very tempted. He’s willing to bet his car that if he made his move now, you’d actually let him. He just needs to get rid of the tiny space separating you two and he can touch you, feel your softness, trace the silkiness of your skin with his hands, and … ah no. He shouldn’t. He can’t lose control now. He’s been playing nice and keeping his hands to himself for a while, and he’ll keep doing so until you completely put down the walls you’ve held up against him. He can’t lose sight of his true goal, and that is for you to want him beyond sex. If he fucks you now, that might be jeopardized. No can do. He needs you to know that to him, you’re more than just a bed warmer, than just a friend.

Rather than teasing you for being so worked up, he comments on your disarrayed state.

“Work’s really whacked your brain, huh?”

You stay still for a few seconds, then groans harshly. You put your hands on your face and squeal, probably your way of releasing some pent-up stress.

“Yes! God, they just keep on coming. And I just want to relax you know. Like come on. Give me a break! I only have one body. And yes I get it that it’s up to me if I accept the job. But then it’d be a waste to refuse since I’m only starting to be known here. Can they at least not have the same schedule?”

He stares at you having your monologue and starts to feel bad for you. You never had this kind of episode even at your busiest days in university. You had good time management, but now you really are a wreck. No wonder you were carelessly eyeing him a while ago. You’re too drained to keep yourself in check. It was good to know though, that deep inside you still desire him, despite the no-sex barrier you established. Still, it troubles him to see you like this.

“Turn around,” he tells you.

“Um. Why?”

“Just do it. I’m doing you a favor, mkay?”

You glance at him doubtfully, like he’s planning to do something shady. This he laughs at.

“I’ll just give you a back massage. It’s the least I could do.”

Your eyes gleam at what he just said. “Wow. Who knew you were this thoughtful?”

“Shut up and turn around.” You comply.

“Hmm. You should take off your shirt.”

You fiercely look at him from the instruction he just gave, verifying that he is indeed going to do something suspicious. “Say what now?”

He replies with a haughty smirk, “I’ve seen you without anything, y.n. Seeing you in your bra doesn’t mean shit.”

You were about to flip. But he has a point. Also, the massage will feel better without your shirt. You sigh as you pull up the white shirt you were wearing. You slouch to cover your front. You do have your bra on and it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but still. You feel exposed.

‘This is a bad idea,’ you thought.

Kuroo thinks so too. Seeing your bare flesh like this makes him want to put into actions what he was just fantasizing earlier. He shouldn’t have suggested it.

To shake it off, he shook his hands in the air, literally, before placing a firm grip on your shoulders. You tense up at the contact, making your shoulders more stiff than they already are.

“Can you fucking relax?” he snaps. But he meant that to himself more than you. You still heed his direction anyway. When he feels you loosen up, he kneads the tautness in your muscles. Your eyes closed shut as he works on your shoulders for a bit.

“Mmmm,” you groan in relief.

He moves his hands on your arms, applying just the right amount of pressure to alleviate the tension in your body. You sat up straight when he found the rhythm and motion you liked. He tries to focus, but he constantly betrays himself. The plumpness of your chest is now for his viewing pleasure. That and your slightly parted lips and closed eyes aren’t helping the budding arousal in his shorts.

He accidentally squeezes harder which makes you throw your head back and,

“Ahhhhh”

At that moment, he can confidently attest that this is what hell is. Pure fucking torture.

He stops massaging your arms and pushes to make you slouch again. But he unknowingly does it a bit forcefully from the testosterone coursing in his body.

“Heey!”

“My bad,” he says coldly.

He continues on to your back, but does it more gently this time. He might hurt you if he’s not mindful of his strength.

From the absence of the sinful scenery, he thought he was finally safe from the lust about to rage in him. But you provided a different temptation this time. Your uneven breathing is loud enough for him to hear. Your tiny moans tainted the air, filling his head of images of you under him, writhing in a different kind of pleasure, one that will wrench out a louder, wilder moan.

“Harder, Kuroo”

His dick follows obediently. He feels his restraint ebbing away at every passing second. Damn it. He’s glad you’re enjoying this, but why the fuck does he need to suffer for it. Nuh uh. You need to have a taste of what he’s having as well.

He pulls you so your back is against him, your head resting on his chest. No complaints were heard from you. You probably thought he’s still massaging you. Well, he is, but with some extra service.

His hands move to your nape. He gives it gentle strokes with his thumb.

“That feels good,” you whisper.

“Does it now?” he answers with his voice a bit deeper than usual.

He replaces his thumbs with his middle fingers. Instead of rubbing, he slowly trails both fingers up to the back of your ears. Your reaction is immediate. You gasp as your body suddenly braces up. But he expected it. He knows those were your sensitive spots.

“Didn’t I say relax? I’m going to massage your head now.”

You abide quickly and lose the stiffness. You probably thought you just misunderstood the gesture.

He proceeds to rub your forehead with his fingers while his thumbs circles the back of your head. After a while, he caresses the sides of your face down to your neck. He does it like it’s part of the massage, until he’s delicately stroking you more than actually massaging. You remain still, but with every stroke, he feels your body getting warm. He also sees the goosebumps in your skin.

Oh yea. Precisely as he wanted.

He won’t do anything further than this, but he still has to add that cherry on top of his little seduction game.

His left hand stays on your neck while his right hand cards your hair through his fingertips. And exactly how he remembers you liking it, he fists his hand and tugs your hair.

“Hnnnnn” It was clear and crisp to him. That moan is the carnal kind that he’s been wanting to get out from your pretty mouth.

You should be yelling at him, telling him off, but you got so lost in it. Somewhere through it, you figured out that it was no longer a harmless massage. But it felt good. You couldn’t stop him. You reasoned with yourself that it was okay since technically, it’s still nothing. You aren’t even touching him, so you let yourself feel what small pleasure you could attain from it.

But the way he pulled your hair, it stirred up something in you that you’ve been suppressing arduously. And right now, at this moment, you’re willing to throw away your ‘just friends’ nonsense that you, yourself set up.

You’re about to face him when a loud thud catches both of your attention.

It’s Kenma who dropped his Switch on the floor while gawping at you and Kuroo. It clicks in your head how you two looked. You, on your bra, pressed against him with his hand on your hair.

Instantaneously, you move away from him and take your shirt to cover yourself with it. Your short-circuiting brain overlooks the fact that you should put it on rather than shielding yourself with it.

A blushing Kenma picks up his console from the floor.

“You shouldn’t have invited me if you had other plans” grumbling while heading for the door.

Part 5 | Part 7 |  m.list

[katie-writes24]

Should’ve Asked For A Name

Pairing: John Laurens x reader

Warnings: Language, lots of confusion, innuendos, fluff, just bro’s being bro’s, but wait-there’s more

Request: Oh shit, sure! I'd love to see what you would do with this prompt :) I'm thinkin like John and Reader met each other through social media and they're just vibin. John wants to get to know Reader more but has always thought Reader was a dude bc they're typing and sending memes like the absolute homesicle HAHHAHAA Then they meet up irl and he's like "oh shit--" Lmk in dms if ya need more shit jajajajaja or want to talk, I'm down to talk You should totally listen to Anthony's music - @yes-this-account-is-dead

So this took WAY longer then I meant for it to, but ngl I was struggling a little bit. But I hope this is what you were looking for, I even played with the fake text messages! So...yeah, I got some more stuff on the way I’m excited to share. Hope you all enjoy, let me know if you wanna be tagged!

July, 1st

@ johnlaurens33

If I see one more god damn thread on why turtles are useless I’m going to SCREAM!

@ y/u/n

I got you bud *insert thread of why turtles are magnificent creatures”

@ johnlaurens33

you made my night 🥺

July 3rd

@ johnlaurens33

Another day, another hour of telling Alex that coffee is not considered acceptable as an actual meal. Fifty bucks for whoever volunteers to babysit. Must make sure he is fed regularly and is in bed by 9pm sharp!

@ y/u/n

Where can I apply? And a further question: is it acceptable to use forceful methods to keep him in place? 🤔

@ johnlaurens33

Despite the innuendo, yes, you can. I will send you an application immediately.

July 8th

Via Direct Message:

@ johnlaurens33- so I gotta ask, Marvel or DC

@ y/u/n- You GOTTA ask?

@ johnlaurens33- I meannn it’s an ice breaker, you gotta admit

@ y/u/n- captain america can surely make me patriotic

@ johnlaurens33 - Really? But what about the comics?

@ y/u/n - Marvel HAVE comics. They have a better plot, too. You’re gonna compare justice league to the avengers?? Seriously dude?!

@ johnlaurens33- you know what?

@ johnlaurens33- i don’t think this friendship is gonna last very long.

July 16th

July 19th

@ y/u/n

I would kill for a drink right now. Like not the type of drink that will have me forget my problems, but the kind that actually makes me fix my problems...or at least care about them?

@ johnlaurens33

Do you mean...like alcohol? Or coffee? Or DayQuil? Or....

@ y/u/n

All of the above yes

@ johnlaurens33

Well that’s not therapeutic, or like promising if you actually care about your life.

August 2nd

@ johnlaurens33

@ y/u/n is a real one, knows just how to make the night better.

@ y/u/n

Damn :,)

August 5th

August 23rd

John looked around as he entered the bar. It wasn’t that busy, but he still had a hard time trying to find the guy he was meeting up with. John texted him ten minutes upon arriving that he was dressed in purple shirt and a black jacket, so that he would know where to find him.

John went up to the counter and ordered a beer, sitting at a stool on the end and watched the screen above him.

Ten minutes pass and he starts to get anxious; he was so excited to finally meet the person he was talking to for the past four months. They’ve grown close, and John likes that he can be so open about anything when they talk. There was something comforting about telling someone who doesn’t know about your past. It was a fresh slate.

“John?” He turned to find a woman approaching him. She had a soft smile and hopeful, kind eyes. Despite her beauty, he didn’t recognize her.

“Yeah?” John raised a brow and watched as her smile grew.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, it’s nice to finally meet you!” She pulled up a chair next to him and waved down the bartender to order a drink.

Frozen in his seat, John looked around the bar, just checking to see if there was a guy looking for him. Because this...this wasn’t right.

He’s been talking to a girl; he was so focused on how casual the guy- girl was that he didn’t even think twice about their gender.

Not that it really mattered, it just...he was so care free about who he was talking to. If he had known he was talking to a girl, then he would’ve probably been his usual cocksure self, talking more sufficiently or maybe even flirting.

“Sorry I was late,” Y/N pulled off her jacket and set it over the back fo her chair. “There was lots of traffic and I don’t really know this place well enough to walk alone.”

“No, no worries,” John stumbled with his words and scratched his the back of his head. “Uh...how was your trip up here?”

“Ugh, long,” She chuckled and sipped on her beer as the waiter set it in front of her. “The plane ride was exhausting. And I forgot how annoying the whole airport system is. I showed up an hour early just for my flight to be delayed for three hours.”

“Damn, that sucks,” John winced and she shruggedhopelessly. “So, what are you in town for?”

“For work, there’s a position that’s opening in one of the branches and my manager thought it would be the perfect fit for me.” Her smile was bright, John noticed that right away. “So, you know if all goes well, maybe...you might see me around more often?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be a bad thing, now would it?” John laughed and clinked his bottle against hers.

They fell into easy conversation after that, talking about their jobs, their dreams. Y/N didn’t bring up John’s family, which he had recently told her that things weren’t good at the moment. John made sure to remind Y/N that it was awful that she didn’t appreciate sushi. They laughed as they told stories about college.

John realized that he liked taking to Y/N, he felt she understood him in a way. Now that he knows that she’s a she, it doesn’t really change anything. It’s still the same Y/N he talked to on the phone. And he was himself when he talked to her.

When they were walking out hours later, John sighed and realized he didn’t want the night to end.

“Hey, I know you’re quite busy when you’re in town, but...I don’t know, if you’re free, maybe we could go see a movie or something?” He glanced at the sidewalk, avoiding her gaze.

Y/N smirked at his shy attitude, but nodded nonetheless. “I’d like that. As long as it’s the new Marvel movie.”

John scoffed, finally looking up, “Well, then you’d have to come over and watch a decent superhero movie. Like...any DC movie.”

Y/N laughed and nodded, “I’m down for that.”

She’d rearrange her schedule ten different times if it meant that she’d spend more time with John.

Let me know if you want to be tagged!!!

@dontblinkumightmiss @etjt1821

[yoon-kooks]

The Devil Writes Romance | myg

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, college!AU, fuckboy!AU, fanficwriter!Yoongi

Summary: When you’re assigned to work with Min Yoongi on a final project for your Writing Fiction course, you stumble upon the fuck boy’s secret identity as a sappy fanfic writer. With the heart and soul of an aspiring editor, you’re somehow convinced by the boy himself to help make his fictional romance more realistic and heartfelt. Before you know it, you’ve made a not-so-innocent pinky promise with the devil.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of sex :-)

A/N: this is basically a pilot that sets up a lot of plot for a potential series so lmk if you like the idea and would continue reading it as a series! also special shoutout to @chewymoustachio​ for the love & support 💖

As spring semester comes to a close, your only goal is to make it through finals week unscathed. Like many of your fellow English majors, most of your finals are extensive papers rather than traditional exams. Normally this would not stress you out, but your Writing Fiction course has thrown a curveball your way: half of your grade is dependent on your partner, Min Yoongi.

Personally, you’ve never been a fan of partner or group projects because you always somehow end up with incompetent teammates who either do a half-assed job or ghost you until the day before it’s due. Either way, you’ve learned and become accustomed to relying only on yourself.

However, as your Writing Fiction class has taught you, a writer’s world is not built upon independence. Rather, it’s built upon the opposite. Writers depend on others for support, feedback, and revision. That’s where your final project comes on.

For your final project, everyone in your class signed up for the role of either a writer or editor, and you’ve been randomly paired up with someone who chose the opposite. It’s no secret to anyone that you dream of becoming an editor in the industry. You love the idea of reviewing other writers’ works and providing them with as much feedback and constructive criticism as possible. Naturally, you signed up to be an editor.

As fate would have it, you find yourself paired with the boy who’s pretty much slept with the entire class, including the TA, and allegedly the professor. The only person left unchecked on his list is you. Somehow, you’ve heard more gossip about his sex life than his skills as a writer, which is why you believe you’re fucked for this final.

“Hey, Partner,” Yoongi catches up with you in the hall after class. His signature cedarwood cologne is too heavy to ignore as he strides beside you. “Are you free tonight?”

“To brainstorm some story ideas?” You tilt your head and add an innocent tone to mask the skepticism. Truthfully, you know what he really wants. It’s not your first rodeo.

“I actually already have a story in mind,” he says. “But I was thinking you and I could-”

“What’s the story about?” Because you’d much rather hear about that than one of Yoongi’s many excuses to get in your pants.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he shrugs as the two of you walk out of the building and into the beaming afternoon sun. You lift an arm to block the light out of your face, only to realize the boy’s shadow blocks it for you. Apparently, there are perks to walking with a buddy after class. “I’ll send you the draft tonight.”

“The professor literally just assigned the project and it’s not due for another week,” you raise an eyebrow. Weird, you’ve never seen a college kid so proactive and eager to get a head start on their final project. Something tells you the boy is just spouting bullshit and telling you what you want to hear. “You don’t have to rush and write all ten thousand words in a single night…”

“Well I don’t have any other plans tonight,” he says. “Unless you want to-”

“Nice try, Yoongi.” You start walking further ahead of the boy. You’re forced to squint as to not be blinded by the sun. “I guess you can have fun writing your story, then.”

“You really know how to play hard to get, Y/N…” Yoongi whines in that raspy voice of his, eliciting the tiniest smirk on your face. You might not approve of his fuck boy tendencies, but you’re also not opposed to teasing him a bit.

“If you really want to impress me, keep your word and send the draft tonight.” You spin around and wave farewell as you battle the sun. “Your editor will be waiting.”

As soon as you arrive home, you realize Yoongi isn’t the only one without any Friday night plans. With nothing to do, a large part of you hopes your partner keeps his promise so you can at least try to be productive over the weekend. But ten thousand words is a lot to write in one night. It’s more than likely that he won’t be able to pull it off.

In an attempt to wind down, you scroll through the blog feeds of your favorite writers. Many of them, such as @suga-fix and @jk-seagull, are college students like you, so you can appreciate all the time and effort they put into their craft on top of their school work. While the fan in you loves to shower them with sweet and supportive messages, the editor in you hopes to one day be able to also provide feedback on a professional level.

At the very top of your feed is a short post from @suga-fix, a romance fanfic writer whom you recently found while scouring the #jiminscenarios tag for something free of smut.

“Does anyone else struggle to ask their crush out or is it just me? Asking for a friend.”

You giggle at the innocent question. In addition to writing the sappiest Jimin fanfics, Suga is known to post snippets of his own nonexistent love life on his blog. From what you understand, he’s a boy who’s never experienced true love firsthand. Recently, however, he’s been gushing over his pretty classmate. You’re waiting for the day when he builds up enough courage and finally lands a date.

Until then, you’re satisfied with reading his ongoing fictional love story featuring the popular idol, Park Jimin, as a struggling romance novelist who finds inspiration in a skeptical wedding photographer. You absolutely adore the story, the characters, and the underlying narrative, but the editor in you can point out an area for improvement: his romance game. 

You notice the two main characters lack a certain level of chemistry to get the readers quaking and itching for more. Most of the time, the intimate scenes end with poor Jimin getting friendzoned, which certainly has its charm and humor. But truthfully, you expect a little more love from a romance fic.

You suspect that, to some extent, this is intentional as the characters are the type to dance around intimacy and have pessimistic views on romance overall. However, you also wouldn’t be surprised if Suga’s own personal inexperience with romantic scenarios is what holds him back the most.

After catching up on your socials, eating dinner, and hopping out of the shower, you sit in the darkness of your room and check one more thing before calling it a night. No email, no text, no draft from your partner. Not that you were actually expecting anything, but it would’ve been nice for the fuck boy to prove you wrong.

To be fair, you know how long and painful ten thousand words can be. If Yoongi is in fact sprinting through those ten thousand words and gets them to you by the time you wake up, you’ll consider him a man of his word.

[4:56AM] Yoongi💋 “I emailed you the thing”

[7:24AM] Y/N “Ooh, I’ll take a look 👁👁”

[7:25AM] Y/N “Btw I don’t appreciate you adding an emoji to your contact info on my phone”

After changing Yoongi’s contact name to something more appropriate, you go into your email and find the story draft that the boy had sent at exactly 4:55AM. The word count on the document says 10,382. Not too shabby, Min Yoongi.

You grab your morning caffeine and crack open your laptop to read your partner’s story on the big screen. Right away, you notice the document is titled “Untitled1” which is never a great sign, but you’re willing to forgive him if its content is stellar.

The first thing that puts a smile on your face is the main character, Jimothy. His name reminds you of your favorite idol, Jimin, with a playful touch. He’s the romance novelist who attends his friend’s wedding where he has a chance encounter with a pretty wedding photographer-

Wait. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard this story before. In fact, you know exactly where it came from. You pull up Suga’s Jimin fic and put it side-by-side against Yoongi’s version. While it’s not exactly a copy-and-paste situation, the romance novelist x wedding photographer premise is too similar for it to be a mere coincidence.

At first glance, you find it funny that Yoongi took the time to reword everything to not be caught by the plagiarism police. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he did a quick search of Jimin fanfiction and picked one that was moderately popular but not viral enough for anyone to notice. Jimin fanfic just so happens to be your guilty pleasure, so there’s absolutely no way you’d let a plagiarist slip one past you.

But upon further review, after digesting the entirety of the fic, you find that Yoongi’s flow and choice of words are eerily similar to Suga’s style without recycling a single line. Likewise, you notice the same lack of chemistry in both versions of the story. You suppose this can only mean one thing, and you need to confront him about it in person. Because the last thing you want is for him to ghost you like everyone else you’ve ever worked with.

[8:42AM] Y/N “I just finished looking it over”

[8:43AM] Y/N “Wanna get coffee & discuss? ☕️📖”

[8:45AM] Yoongi🐍 “Oh? I thought you weren’t interested in a date with me 🥺”

[8:46AM] Y/N “Let’s meet in about an hour at the coffeehouse on campus?”

[8:46AM] Yoongi🐍 “See ya there, my editor”

As you stir the oat milk into your second dose of caffeine for the morning, you wonder how you can bring up your suspicions in an appropriate and professional way. Should you confront him about it immediately, gently coax him in that direction, or take a more passive approach to see if he’ll mention it on his own? Because if you’re going to be this boy’s editor, you want to do it right.

“Thoughts?” Yoongi enters the chat with slightly damp hair and an iced Americano in hand. Your only thought in that moment is about how fucking good he smells, even in the presence of the rich aromas of your favorite roasted coffee beans. But you’ll leave those thoughts to yourself.

“My first thought was that you sent me a document titled Untitled1,” you say.

“I have a working title,” he assures you. “But I’m curious to hear what clever titles my editor has come up with after reading through the whole thing.”

“Pink Cheek Syndrome sounds appropriate.” Because that’s the title of Suga’s original fic. It’s also the term coined by Jimothy to describe couples who aren’t as in love as they’d like to believe. It’s a facade to fool everyone, including themselves.

“Great minds think alike after all.” Yoongi leans in to give you a high-five, but you just throw a balled up napkin at his palm. Confess. Just confess already.

“Can I ask what inspired the concept?” You bite your lip. “You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”

“Don’t you ever feel like people get into relationships just for the sake of being in a relationship?”

“Yeah.” All the time, in fact.

“It’s pretty shallow if you ask me,” he says with a nonchalant chuckle, as if he’s not the shallowest person on campus when it comes to established relationships. “PCS is just a commentary on people like that vs people like you and me.”

You and him? You’re not sure you have anything in common with someone who breaks hearts and sleeps around so casually.

“Sounds like something a fanfic writer would come up with.” Because it is.

“Sounds like something a fanfic reader would say,” he throws back at you.

“In fact, there’s a Jimin fanfic I read once called Pink Cheek Syndrome,” you say. The dose of coffee moving up Yoongi’s straw suddenly freezes. “You’re the original writer, right?”

He swallows hard and raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“The writing style matches even though you didn’t copy and paste,” you scroll back through Yoongi’s version for reference. “And besides, scrambling to write ten thousand words in one night is typical fanfic writer behavior. A true plagiarist doesn’t know what it means to put those hours in.”

“Nothing gets past your sharp eyes, huh, Y/N…” Yoongi sighs, failing to hide behind his Americano. “I’m equally impressed as I am scared.”

“Wait, so you’re really Suga?” Your eyes widen. Suddenly you’re overcome by a wave of emotions. Excited, nervous, star-struck. But most of all? Confused. “How?”

“Just don’t tell anyone.” He picks up his phone and starts typing away at something.

“I won’t,” you say, also pulling out your phone to check up on the @suga-fix blog. Sure enough, there’s a stream of several new posts from a few seconds ago.

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK”

“I feel so exposed 😔”

“Quick, everyone act like this isn’t a fanfic blog.”

“We can pretend to be like a porn blog or smth”

“I can read everything you’re posting, you know.” You show your blog feed to Yoongi, who’s still busy keysmashing. When he finally glances up from his screen to yours, the look on his face is both flattered and distressed.

“You follow me, too?” The boy takes a long sip of his Americano, shifting his beady little eyes and plotting his next move. “What’s your URL?”

“You’re totally going to block me,” you frown. “I already told you, I’m not going to tell anyone…”

As you continue to scroll through Yoongi’s blog, you notice his post is gone from the day before. Perhaps that’s what the boy is desperately trying to hide.

“By the way, is it true that Min Yoongi, resident fuck boy, has a crush on someone?” You get excited because that’s not something you hear everyday. In regards to Yoongi, it’s always been sex, sex, and more sex. He’s notorious around campus for having one-night stands and breaking hearts the morning after. You’d never imagine a boy like him having an innocent crush on anyone.

“Where’d you hear that?” The boy across from you gradually sinks deeper and deeper into his seat every time you open your mouth to expose him further.

“You made a post yesterday about not being able to talk to your crush properly,” you giggle. “It was kind of cute.”

“I was talking about my friend.”

“You can’t fool me, Yoongi. I’m not that oblivious.” You take a sassy sip of your coffee and lean forward. “So who’s your crush? Is it someone in our class?”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N,” he shoos you away and slides a hard copy of his draft in your direction. “Let’s not get distracted from why we’re really here.”

“Hold it, I’m not just being nosy for the gossip, you know,” you say. “From an editor’s perspective, I think the romance in your story could benefit from you interacting more with your crush.”

For a moment, Yoongi just gives you a look. You can see the wheels spinning in his head. “Well, that person doesn’t seem very interested in me, so…”

“Unrequited love?” you gasp. The plot thickens.

“Yeah,” he chuckles at your enthusiasm. “But you did give me an idea just now.”

You examine his handsome face for a hint of what’s to come. His signature Fuck Boy Smirk tells you he’s up to no good again. “I’m listening.”

“You’re my editor, right?” he asks. You nod. “And your main critique is that I should up my romance game, right?”

You nod again.

“What if you help me make the romance scenes more believable and realistic?” The boy watches as you blink your wide eyes, stunned at his suggestion. You know he doesn’t just mean that from an editorial standpoint. Surely there’s an ulterior motive here. “And before you jump to any conclusions, no, this does not include sex.”

Oh.

You’re reminded that Yoongi doesn’t write smut, despite how much of a fuck boy he is in real life. Because you’re sure he has the capability and personal experience to write some steamy and wild sex scenes. And yet, he chooses to focus on hardcore romance instead, something he himself is much less familiar with. It’s mind-blowing to think that a boy as experienced in bed as Yoongi could be so inexperienced elsewhere.

Why does he write the opposite of how he lives?

“I don’t think that’s how editors work,” you finally respond to Yoongi’s proposal, flipping through his draft and writing in the margins. You have to admit, the boy has a gift. His stories would no doubt skyrocket in popularity if the lovey-dovey scenes could draw out true, raw emotions as though you were there living in those moments. As a reader, you want him to pull at your heartstrings, smash your heart into a million pieces, and slowly put it back together. All of that can be achieved if the writer gets some hands-on experience in the love department. “But I get what you’re saying.”

“So is that a yes or a no?” He sips down the rest of his Americano as you continue to think your decision through.

Given what you know about Yoongi’s track record as a fuck boy, you’re hesitant. But at the same time, the ambitious editor in you knows what you want.

“It’s a yes,” you sigh. “But only if you promise me a few things.”

“Go on.”

“One, you’ll come to me if you’re struggling and need suggestions, advice, or someone to talk to.”

“Easy. You can be my editor-in-chief.”

“Two, if anyone asks, we aren’t dating.”

“Got it.”

“Three, help me study and prepare for the rest of my finals.”

“We can have study dates.”

“And lastly, please don’t sleep with anyone else while we’re doing this thing. Because that would be awkward.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were the possessive type, Y/N,” he smirks.

“Not trying to be That Controlling Bitch who forbids you from sleeping around, but I think it would defeat the purpose of what we’re trying to accomplish.”

“But what if this goes on for a while?” Yoongi strokes his imaginary Santa beard. “You expect me to practice abstinence forever?”

“It won’t go on forever, Yoongi,” you giggle at the boy’s silly remark. “Because eventually, you’ll find someone who can bring out those romantic feelings better than our faux intimacy ever will.”

“But you’ll still be my editor-in-chief?”

“If everything works out, then I don’t see why not.” You want to be optimistic about a long-term deal, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of the doubt stuck in the back of your mind. Because humans, not just fuck boys like Yoongi, seem to have a hard time keeping their promises. “I only ask that you don’t break my trust.”

Before responding, the boy meets his eyes with yours. You suppose tender eye contact is a skill he acquired from his flirty lifestyle. You, on the other hand, blink away. Eye contact longer than a glance has always made you feel vulnerable.

“I won’t, Y/N,” he says, coating his raspy voice with a layer of honey. It’s almost as intoxicating as his cedarwood cologne, but that’s another thought you’ll keep to yourself.

You watch as he slides his pinky into view, over the draft and coffees to make it official. After cracking a smile at his childish gesture, you wrap your pinky around his, thus marking the beginning of your deal with the devil.

[yougoodfahm]

I Won’t Say (I’m in Love) - 5/5

Part 5: Truth or Truth

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Pairing: Analogical (Virgil + Logan), background Royality (Patton + Roman)

Characters: Virgil, Logan, Roman, Patton, Janus, Remus

Warnings: none — lmk if I need to add any!

Summary: Patton and Roman plot how to get Logan and Virgil to admit their feelings for one another.

Wordcount: 1625 words

Read it on ao3!

-

“How about the power to kill a yak, from 200 yards away, with mind bullets!” Remus screech-sang, cackling maniacally.

“That’s telekinesis, Kyle! How about the power, to move you,” Roman sang mellifluously, sending a wink toward Patton who was curled up on the couch. The whole group giggled as the twins continued to belt the song, eventually collapsing on the couch with the others.

“Alright, so what game are we going to play this evening?” Logan posed to the group.

“How about some truth or dare?” Roman suggested. Patton nodded enthusiastically, which prompted the rest of the group to also agree.

Patton clapped his hands and announced, “Awesome! I’ll go first! Janus, truth or dare?”

Janus replied without missing a beat, “Lie.”

Patton was taken aback for a second before chuckling a little. He said, “Ok then, if you were invisible for one hour, what would you do?”

Janus thought for a moment, then said, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t take the opportunity to go into all of your rooms.” After a brief moment of surprise, the rest of the group shrugged and mumbled in sheepish agreement. Janus said, “Remus, truth or dare?”

“Dare, and make it a juicy one, Jan!” Remus bounced around in his seat, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Janus rolled his eyes and said, “Definitely don’t sit completely still for the next 10 minutes.”

Remus’s eyes went wide as he slid to the floor and went completely rigid. Janus facepalmed and said, “I meant– Wh–“ he sighed. “Ok, and you can talk but only to participate in the game.”

Remus started to nod but stopped himself quickly when he realized that he was moving. He carefully said “Roman, truth or dare?” trying not to move any part of him except his mouth.

Roman said, “Oh god, uhh truth?”

Remus grinned and said “Rank everyone in the room based on how much you’d like to fuck them! Start with the least fuckable, of course.”

Roman groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh my god, that’s horrible! Y’all are my friends, this is so weird!”

Remus cackled and said, “I know, right! Now suck it up and rank us, Prince Bince”

Logan tilted his head and asked, “Bince? I don’t think I know that one, what does it mean?”

Remus eagerly replied, “I was on Urban Dictionary earlier today as usual, and I just HAD to use it today! It means ‘an absolute wench of a man who likes to tronk around town showing his willy to all the ladies.’ Isn’t it such a wonderful word?!”

Logan nodded, a serious look on his face and said, “Hmm, I’ll have to make a flashcard for that later.”

Remus said, “Ok, now Roman, you’re up! Remember, start with the least fuckable.”

Roman held his head in his hands, then muttered, “Remus, obviously you’re the least fuckable to me since you’re my brother and that would be absolutely disgusting.” Remus giggled, and Roman quickly continued. “Then, uhh probably Janus, Logan, Virgil, Patton.” His face turned bright red as he took a sip of water from the glass that was by his side.

He glanced over at Patton whose face was also quite red. The other side was looking down at his hands, a mixed expression on his face. (Was he… happy? No, that can’t be right)

Roman blurted out, “ANYWAY! Logan, truth or dare?”

Logan said, “Truth.”

Roman asked, “Ok, which of us do you think is the most attractive?”

Logan sputtered for a moment before replying, “Well, objectively, Virgil.” He looked over at the other side, who was nestled in the corner of the couch. Virgil’s face grew red and he burrowed into his oversized sweatshirt.

Logan continued, “I mean, for starters, his face is the most symmetrical out of all of ours, which is commonly deemed to be an aesthetically desirable trait. Then, his eyes are in correct proportion and position with the rest of his face while the rest of ours vary slightly. He also has rather high cheekbones, which is generally deemed quite attractive. Plus, his eyes–“

Suddenly, Virgil stood up and ran out of the commons towards his room, his baggy sleeves raised to his face. Logan paused, staring down the hallway where the other side had just disappeared. After a moment, Logan asked the other sides who were sitting there in just as much surprise, “Should– Should I follow him?”

Patton nodded vigorously in response. Logan stood up, then turned back and asked, “Are you sure I shouldn’t wait a bit? I don’t want to invade if he’s needing space.”

Patton said, “No, go talk to him. If he truly needs space, he’ll tell you. But I have a feeling he’d appreciate talking with you right now.” Logan nodded and slowly headed down the hallway.

Knock, knock. “It’s Logan,” he said quietly.

After a moment, Virgil opened the door, wiping his damp cheek with a sleeve of his sweatshirt.

Logan asked, “Can I come in?” Virgil stepped aside to let Logan come inside, then shut the door behind him. “Did what I said cause you feel uncomfortable?”

Virgil gave a noncommittal shrug, then said “I mean, not uncomfortable I guess but just… I don’t know”

Logan asked, “Do you think talking about it would help?”

Virgil gave a sharp laugh and walked over to his bed, sat down on it and hugged a pillow. “No, it’s just my own issue to deal with. Not yours.”

Logan stood awkwardly by the door for a moment, unsure of what to say or do before he followed Virgil into the room and sat next to him on the bed. Logan said softly, “Well, whatever the issue is, it would be helpful to know so that I don’t upset you again”

Virgil mumbled, “No, really. There’s nothing you can do”

Logan replied, “I truly doubt that, I may not be able to fix the problem, but I can at least attempt to not trigger any of these negative feelings that you seem to be experiencing.”

Virgil sighed and hugged his pillow tighter, shaking his head. He whispered, “I can’t.”

Logan looked over at the other side and said quietly, “I… don’t like seeing you hurt, Virgil. You can tell me anything, I promise.”

Virgil shook his head once again.

Logan sighed and said “Alright. If you don’t wish to tell me, that’s up to you. However, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

He started to stand up, then Virgil panicked and grabbed his wrist, saying, “Wait— Uh. Just, oh god.” Virgil buried his face into the pillow and groaned, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Logan turned back towards him and softly touched Virgil’s cheek to lift up his face so they were looking at each other. “Virgil, you can tell me anything, but if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and blurted out “You.” He slowly opened his eyes and said “You, Logan.”

Logan asked, “What do you mean?” and tilted his head a bit. He moved his hand back slightly, worried that he’d hurt Virgil somehow.

Virgil ran a hand through his own hair and laughed nervously. “Oh my god I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Ok, uh.” He took a deep breath. “When you said all that stuff out there, it made me feel kind of sad, I guess. I just— I just wish that you really meant it.”

Logan, taken aback, said, “But I do mean it. I thought that was the point of the game, when you choose to say a truth then you are supposed to answer the question honestly.”

Virgil looked up at him in wonder, eyes wide. Logan asked, “Was I mistaken in that?”

Virgil shook his head, glancing down at his hands, and said, “No, yeah, that’s what you’re supposed to do, but like you said, you were answering objectively. Not about how you feel.”

Logan paused for a moment to process what Virgil meant. “What if how I feel also matches up with the objective answer?”

Virgil looked back up at him as Logan took a deep breath. He quietly said, “Virgil, out of all the sides I find myself drastically more attracted to you in nearly every way. There is no doubt about that.”

Virgil softly croaked, “What?” His face had turned quite red as he stared at the other side, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Logan continued, “I didn’t want to interfere with our friendship, but it seems that both of our feelings have become complicated despite my best efforts. I… have become quite fond of you, in a romantic sense, and although I don’t know exactly where you stand with all that, I thought—”

He was cut off by Virgil wrapping his arms around him and giggling. After a shocked moment, Logan returned the gesture and laughed slightly, albeit in confusion.

Virgil quietly said into Logan’s shoulder, “I like you, too, Lo. I’ve been worried about complicating things between us, too.” He pulled back and smiled shyly.

Logan smirked mischievously and said, “Well, I suppose I never got the chance to ask you, truth or dare?”

A confused look crossed Virgil’s face as he replied, “Uh, truth?”

Logan said, “Ok, would you like to be my boyfriend, Virgil?”

Virgil giggled and burst into a huge grin as he tucked himself against Logan’s chest. He nodded and said, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot, Lo.”

Logan smiled into Virgil’s hair and wrapped his arms around him, both feeling a wave of peace and contentment as they sat intertwined for several minutes, before eventually going back to join the others.

-

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

-

Taglist:

@the17thmeatball

@lunaloner

@aj-that-person

@lonelyanxiousbean

@ravenivy2079

@croftersjam15

[fearisthegoal]

heyo spike again w my new kid crane! if you want to hang out with a creepy incel lmk. my full app is under the cut!! 

full name: Jonathan Crane

face claim: Bill Skarsgard

age: 33

gender & preferred pronouns: cismale, he/him

MBTI Type: INTJ

occupation: Associate Director of Research, Star City Asylum

aliases (if any): Scarecrow

affiliations (if any): n/a

1. Is your character human, mutant, metahuman, alien, inhuman, or other? If other, please elaborate: Human

2. What are your characters powers/special abilities, if any?: n/a

3. Please provide three headcanons for your character:

Crane loves a good fruity drink. It’s kind of funny, seeing such a stoic, serious man sitting at a bar with a sugary drink, complete with the umbrella, but it’s a regular sight. He actually has quite the sweet tooth, and he’s constantly eating some kind of candy or chocolate.

He has tried and failed many times to move up in his career, but no one wants to push him past a certain point. He spent years as a therapist at Arkham, but everyone saw right through him and knew that he was just a creepy fucking dude. They gave him glowing references to Star City Asylum just to get him out of there.

(mental illness tw) The only person in the world Crane ever cared about was his mother. She was also severely schizophrenic and was often extremely paranoid during his childhood, leading to both his obsession with fear and his desire to understand the human mind.

4. List four personality traits (two positive and two negative) and explain how they influence your character.

+intelligent

Crane’s considerable intelligence not only makes him good at his job at the asylum, but also his shenanigans as his alter ego.

+collected

While Crane is certainly off putting, to say the least, he has never gotten overwhelmed or panicked, even when people got too close to figuring our the truth about his experiments. It’s a trait that has gotten him out of tons of trouble.

-vengeful

As soon as someone gets on Crane’s bad side, that’s it for them. He’s the type to hold grudges for however long it takes to get revenge.

-evil

The dude is just straight up evil like he just really wants to see the world tear itself apart because of his fear toxin.

5. Provide three potential plots you’d like to explore. The admins will do our best to accommodate your plot ideas, but we can’t guarantee all requests.

I want to see Crane both as his alter ego and as his secret identity. It would be super interesting if characters in game became his patients, giving him time to mess around with their minds and even lead to some plots with their characters maybe acting unusual or having some repercussions from Crane messing with them.

While Crane is keeping his villain stuff on the down low right now, it’d be super fun for him to start making connections with some of the other villains in town. Maybe he can even offer his services anonymously if he wanted to stay behind the curtain a little longer, which would let me keep up the duality of his identity as well.  

If y’all ever are looking for a villain for a small scale event, I’d love to offer up Crane! It’d be super fun to do something with him on a larger scope in the future.

character bio.

(tw mental illness, murder)

Seven years ago, a newly graduated Doctor of Psychiatry had just started his first clinical rotation at Arkham Asylum. At the time, he was still taking care of his mother, living in his childhood home in Gotham City. He quickly grew bored of this life, going from the monotony of treating patients at work to having to care for his mother at home.

This was when he started his experiments in earnest. When he was in school, they had just been abstract thoughts in the little journal he carried with him, but now he had the opportunity to conduct his research with real test subjects. Besides, no one cared about these forgotten inmates of Arkham.

People started to catch onto his strange behavior, however, leaving him stuck in the same clinical position he found excruciatingly boring doing the same thing over and over. The higher-ups at Arkham, however, didn’t see any harm in just leaving him where they could keep an eye on him.

Then his mother died. It was ruled a suicide, but no one was ever sure.

Unwilling to take the heat should anything happen, the director at Arkham grew desperate for a way to get him out of there, finally writing a near perfect reference for Crane to join the Star City Asylum a few months ago.

Crane was more than happy for the change of scenery. People in Star City were already afraid—Crane could practically hear the hum of potential victims in the air. This city was going to be good for him.

[terresdebrume]

Papa Mousesack - Snippet 9

Other snippets: In the tag

Note: So it’s been mentioned that I put those out really fast, and while I’m not sorry exactly, I do realize that can be A Lot, so I’ll try to space them out a little by queueing them when I remember. Also I want to reassure everyone that while I’ll keep tagging you unless you ask me to stop there is zero hard feelings if you don’t comment/read/acknowledge these! It’s really, really absolutely not meant as an obligation whatsoever so you do whatever you want with those, no problem :)

Also fyi we are now in “I’ve done a decent chunk in order and I have a plan for the future fic so I’m gonna do snippets for wherever I’ve figured the plot out” realm, so don’t worry if you’re confused with the timeline, it’ll be sorted out in the full fic version.

Lastly: this contains a mostly light discussion of the fact that Jaskier has been doing sex work since before he turned of age, and that Mousesack doesn't like that fact, even if he tries to be supportive.

Ping list: @theheirofashandfire @nyliekeo @flatlineghost @haselover @weresehlat  (Again, please lmk if you want off, or on, the ping list^^)

Mousesack knows, well before he opens his mouth, that he’ll loathe how fatherly he sounds. It’s in the words themselves, there’s just no way to say that and not sound like a bedraggled parent. He still steps out of the main room, almost bumps into Jaskier halfway up the stairs to the attic, and completely fail to sound casual when he asks:

“Any chance you’ll tell me who that was?”

The change in Jaskier is instantaneous. In the blink of an eye, the boy goes from decently relaxed to tense and sharp-eyed, the same as he was on that first day in the alley. He squares his shoulders, unusually wide for a pre-hormones boy, and raises his chin at a clearly defiant angle before he says:

“He’s a client.”

“A client,” Mousesack repeat, dumbstruck and feeling very much like he should know what Jaskier’s talking about. “What kind of client?”

“Well,” Jaskier replies with false cheer, “I started underage and I don’t want anything to do with drugs. Do the math.”

Mousesack is fairly sure he’s going to be sick. The boy isn’t even twenty yet! What kind of fucking world lets these things happen? Mousesack sighs, running a hand over his face. He wants to tell Jaskier not to do it again. He wants to yell and ask if he’s aware of the risks—for the bar, yes, but mostly for himself—and a host of other things besides. What he does instead is take a deep breath, then a second, and then ask:

“Did you tell Dr. Nenneke about this?”

“Did you know some doctors call the cops on whores?” Jaskier retorts, and Mousesack has to force himself to calm down again.

His heart is beating too hard in his chest, his breathing coming too fast, cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck, but if he makes Jaskier feel like he’s being blamed or chased away….

“Fair point,” he says through gritted teeth. “Would you like me to take you to a health clinic? They’re better trained to handle your situation.”

“Look,” Jaskier says with a click of his tongue, “I told you I didn’t need pity—if you want me out—”

“If I wanted you out I’d have told you so,” Mousesack snaps back, “and if I pitied you I’d be telling you to stop all of that right now.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, but Mousesack stops him with a raised hand. He has to breathe again, though it doesn’t work half as well as he’d want it to, before he can continue:

“I don’t like it, Jaskier. That man was twice your age, and probably your height too—if he’d decided not to pay, or if he’d disliked what you’ve got in your underwear—”

“I don’t market myself as a guy,” Jaskier groans, “I’m not that reckless.”

“Yeah, see,” Mousesack replies, hands clenching into fists, “now I’m even more worried about what the work does to you.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t need my pity, yeah, I know,” Mousesack sighs. “But I’m not pitying you, I’m worried about you. I…do realize…that you need income.” Fuck, but the words are hard to get out. “And I realize you don’t want to depend on me—though, again, you really don’t have anything to fear for me on the financial side—and I realize there’s not a lot of options for a guy in your position. So I’m not going to tell you to stop. I’m not even going to ask you to stop. But I am going to ask you to let me help you stay safe, alright? Please?”

Jaskier still looks mulish as anything, but there’s something shiny in his eyes now, and a tremble to his chin that Mousesack would never have expected. He turns his face away when Mousesack continues to look at him, and then after a while he shrugs, barely there enough to be seen.

“Thank you. And at the risk of making things uncomfortable again—if you do want to find a different job, I’m here to help. I can ask around if someone needs anyone—or you can meet Eist and he’ll give you pointers on how to spruce up your CV.”

“Without a single diploma in my pocket?” Jaskier challenges, jauntiness back in full force now that the moment has passed.

“I’m sure he’ll be able to think of something,” Mousesack promises. “If you’d like him to help, that is.”

Jaskier hums, noncommittal, but at least he didn’t say no. When he climbs back upstairs for a shower—“I was only going to lock the door behind him.”—Mousesack watches him go with something heavy in his stomach, and then he calls Priscilla to ask if she’s still got that camping bed her ex left behind when they broke up.