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jungkoode · 10 days ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 11

˗ˏˋ car literature ˎˊ˗

"Halfway across the country to escape your parents' expectations, only to find their voices still echo in your head. Maybe freedom isn't about how far you run, but what you choose to hear when everything goes quiet."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7.5k

content: jungkook being late, y/n offering him a ride, coffee mainsplaining, new friendships, jimin being a book nerd, jin reserving tables, professor namjoon kim having dimples and giving you a helping hand on your assignement

✧ author's note ✧

OKAY HI LOSERS!!!! Chapter 11 is here, right on schedule like the little miracle worker I am. I actually have ch11, 12, and 13 all done and ready to go but I'm sticking to my posting schedule because SOMEONE (me) knows she'll burn out at some point so you better savor this while it lasts.

Anyway, about Y/N having a car: yes, she has one because I said so and Jungkook doesn't because he's a whole-ass LOSER LMAO. I did love weaving in the reason behind the car though and connecting it to her messy complicated relationship with her parents. God I love how human she is??? Like, she's so conflicted—grateful for what they've done but suffocated by their expectations. THE COMPLEXITY. I'm obsessed with my own creation, forgive me.

I'll give Jungkook some credit here (GASP) because while he has the self-awareness of a potato, he IS observant and perceptive when he wants to be. Boy's too busy coping with humor and deflecting for his own good though. You'll see what I mean… eventually.

Also can we talk about how much I'm LIVING for Y/N and Jimin's growing friendship?? I love how Y/N makes friends for such different reasons—Yeji is the one who makes her feel like she doesn't have to have her shit figured out, Irya is the emotionally intelligent one, and Jimin?? They bond over their shared love of literature and books and isn't that just chef's kiss beautiful?

And I refuse to apologize for the text messages. REFUSE. The texts are staying because I love writing them too much. Deal with it.

FINALLY THOUGH!!! NAMJOON MAKES HIS ENTRANCE!!! MY KING!!! I've actually had him planned since chapter 3 (don't get it twisted), there are hints if you paid attention. But now he's finally here in all his dimpled glory and we love him. Jin, I understand you completely, babes.

ANYWAY. Chapter below. Enjoy bobs bobes and bobas!!!

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

The sound of Jungkook stubbing his toe for the third time this morning is, objectively speaking, fucking hilarious.

You hide your smirk behind your mug, pretending to be deeply invested in your FYP as another muffled "shit—motherfucking—” echoes from his room. The apartment has been a symphony of chaos for the past fifteen minutes: doors slamming, drawers banging, what sounds suspiciously like a guitar being knocked over (followed by more creative cursing).

And okay, maybe you're a little evil for enjoying this so much. But come on. Mr. "I Pretend To Have My Life Together" finally overslept, and you get to witness the glorious fallout while calmly sipping your morning coffee. The universe gives you so few gifts. You're allowed to savor this one.

His coffee sits next to yours, made exactly the way he likes it—because yes, you've noticed how particular he is about his precious coffee routine. Two shots of espresso, a splash of oat milk (regular milk upsets his stomach, not that he's ever admitted it), and just a hint of vanilla syrup. You absolutely refuse to acknowledge how or why you've memorized this.

Something crashes in the bathroom. Griffin, lounging on the windowsill, barely twitches an ear.

"Has he always been this much of a disaster?" you ask the cat. Griffin's slow blink feels judgmental. Fair enough.

More thundering footsteps. A drawer slams so hard you feel it in your teeth. You scroll past a video of someone's cute dog, not really seeing it, too focused on tracking the hurricane that is your roommate having a morning meltdown.

"Fuck—where is my—" His voice cuts off abruptly.

You can practically hear him running his hands through his hair, tugging—that thing he does when he's stressed.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Yeji.

𝐘𝐞𝐣𝐢🖤: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑?

You're typing back a quick 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝 when Jungkook bursts into the kitchen like he's being chased. His hair is still wet from the shower, shirt only half-buttoned, and—oh.

Oh no.

He's wearing The Jeans.

The ones that make his thighs look like they were carved from marble.

The ones you specifically remember clawing off him that first night, back when he was just Hot Stranger From the Bar.

You take a very deliberate sip of coffee and absolutely do not think about that.

"Late for something?" you ask innocently, like you haven't been cataloging every crash and curse for the past quarter hour.

He whirls toward you, and for a split second, you catch him completely unguarded—flushed, disheveled, one hand still trying to button his shirt. Then his eyes narrow, landing on the coffee mug next to yours.

"Is that—"

"Just drink it, Rogue." You cut him off, rolling your eyes. "Unless you want to waste more time making your own."

The nickname slips out without permission. You blame it on the early hour, on not having enough caffeine yet. Not on how he looks with his hair still dripping, water darkening the collar of his shirt. Definitely not on how the morning light catches the silver ring on his hand when he reaches for the mug.

He takes a sip. His eyebrows shoot up.

"This is—"

"If you say 'perfect,' I'm dumping the rest down the sink."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Actually, the extraction time on this is slightly—"

"I swear to god, if you start mansplaining coffee to me at—" you check your phone, "—eight forty-seven in the morning, I will personally ensure you never make it to wherever you're going."

"It's called sharing knowledge, Phoenix." He's already moving again, a blur of motion that somehow manages to look both graceful and completely chaotic. "And the optimal brewing temperature for espresso is—"

"Do you ever just hear yourself talk and think 'wow, I'm really like this'?"

"—between 195 and 205 degrees Fahrenheit, which you'd know if you actually paid attention when I—" He freezes mid-rant. "Wait, what time did you say it was?"

"Eight forty... eight now."

"Fuck. Fuck." He runs both hands through his hair, making it stick up even worse. "I can't be late to this one."

You can't help yourself. "Don't you skip Film Theory like, twice a week?"

"That's—that's different." He's practically vibrating now. "This is the one where we're presenting our—where the fuck is my phone?"

"The thing you set down right here when you grabbed your coffee?" You tap your fingernail against his phone, which has been sitting next to your elbow this whole time. "This phone?"

He lunges for it, and you definitely don't notice how he has to lean into your space to grab it, or how he still smells like his stupidly expensive shower gel. The screen lights up in his hand and—wait.

"Is that Griffin as your lockscreen?"

"What? No." He shoves the phone in his pocket too quickly. "It's—shut up."

"Oh my god, it totally is. Is it the one where he's sleeping in the—"

"I'm gonna be late," he cuts you off, already halfway to the bathroom. You hear him banging around, probably looking for his cologne. The one that makes him smell like rain and...

You glance at the time again. At this rate...

"Want me to take you?"

His head pokes around the bathroom door, hair falling in his eyes. There's a bit of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth that he hasn't noticed.

"What?"

"My car?" You try to sound casual, like you're not offering to save his ass. "Unless you'd rather take the subway and definitely be late."

He stares at you like you've just started speaking in tongues.

“You got a—" His brow furrows. "Wait, you got a car?"

"No, I'm offering you a ride on my imaginary unicorn." You roll your eyes. "Yes, I have a car. Had it for like, two weeks now. How have you not noticed?"

"I've been busy!" He disappears back into the bathroom, voice slightly muffled. "And since when do you—why would you even—who has a car in New York?"

"People who don't want to deal with the subway at 2 AM after work?" You raise your voice so he can hear you over what sounds like him knocking over every single bottle in the bathroom. "Also, time check: eight fifty-one."

"Shit." More crashing sounds. "Okay, yes, fine, please drive me, I'll never make fun of your tea collection again."

"That's a lie and we both know it."

You drop your mug gently in the sink, leaving washing for later in the day, next to his. Then grab your bag, your sunglasses too—from where they're perched on top of your head. Walk to the door and wait for Jungkook to finish spraying his perfume before he’s darting out of the tiny room and positioning himself next to you.

Then you’re out, glasses sliding on as you lock the door. The movement is automatic, practiced—something you picked up during those long drives when the sun would hit just right and—

"Okay, Gossip Girl," he snorts, cutting into your thoughts.

"You haven't even watched Gossip Girl."

"Excuse you, I'm a man of culture." He's half-jogging to keep up with you, which is... something, considering his legs are approximately twice as long as yours. "Blair Waldorf is an icon and Chuck Bass is—wait, no, seriously." He catches up as you reach the elevator. "Why do you have a car? In New York? Who are you?"

The elevator doors slide open with their usual concerning screech. You step in, leaning against the back wall as he follows, hitting -1 with his thumb. The fluorescent lights make the shadows under his eyes more pronounced—definitely up too late gaming again.

"When I signed the lease," you say, watching the numbers tick down, "Miguel mentioned there was an unused garage spot included. It was actually one of my prerequisites."

"Prerequisites," he repeats slowly, like he's tasting the word. When you glance over, he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read. "You came here on your own?"

You shrug, suddenly very interested in a scuff mark on the elevator floor.

"Yeah."

"Where from?"

The question hangs in the air between you. It's such a simple thing to ask, really. Basic getting-to-know-you stuff. But something about the way he says it, soft and curious, makes your throat tight.

"Small town," you say finally. "The kind where everyone knows everyone's business and the most exciting thing that happens is when someone paints their fence the wrong shade of beige."

He doesn't laugh like you expect. When you risk another look, he's still watching you, head tilted slightly.

"Must've been quite the change."

"That was kind of the point."

The elevator jolts, making you grab the rail. He doesn't move, somehow keeping his balance like he's got magnets in his shoes or something. Imbecile.

"So what, you just... packed up and drove to New York?" There's something in his voice—not quite disbelief, but close.

"I mean, I applied to NYU first. I'm not completely insane." You're aiming for light, casual, but it comes out a bit defensive. "But yeah, basically. Loaded up the car, picked a playlist, and..." You wave your hand vaguely.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

He's quiet for a moment, and you can practically hear him piecing things together. The way you never talk about home. How you tense up when anyone mentions family. The fact that your room is filled with things you clearly bought after moving in, nothing old or sentimental except—

"The bear," he says suddenly.

"What?"

"The stuffed bear on your bed. The really old-looking one." He straightens up, like he's solved a puzzle. "That's why you got it. It's from before."

Something uncomfortable squirms in your chest.

“Okay, Detective Kuko, maybe focus on not being late instead of psychoanalyzing my childhood toys?"

The elevator dings, doors sliding open to reveal the garage. He pushes off the wall, but you catch his reflection in the mirrored doors—that little half-smile that he always pulls when he’s being particularly insufferable.

"You know," he says, following you out into the dimly lit space, "for someone who claims to hate nicknames, you sure throw around a lot of them."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Rogue."

His laugh echoes off the concrete walls. "Whatever you say, Phoenix."

The car beeps when you press the button on the key fob, its sound echoing off the concrete walls of the garage. It’s a rundown 2010 Honda Civic, the kind of car that blends into the background of every suburban parking lot.

The kind your father refused to buy you when you were eighteen and wanted to transfer to a college campus just a bit further away.

Funny how that worked out for him. You ended up buying this one yourself, and now you’re in New York City—a hell of a lot further away than that first suggestion.

But your chest tightens at the thought, like it always does when you let your mind wander back there.

What were you even aiming for?

Retribution?

Vengeance?

For what? Daddy not wanting to get you a car? When they’ve paid for your tuition all this time, made dinner for you when you stayed up late studying, and even sat through all of the Avengers movies with you despite hating superhero flicks. Your mom would always cut up fruit for you during finals season, leaving little notes on the kitchen counter that said things like You’ve got this! or Proud of you! in her neat handwriting.

A mix of guilt and frustration gnaws at you. Because what kind of ungrateful asshole feels bitter about something so small when their parents have done so much?

And yet, here you are. Feeling it anyway.

It’s not like they were bad parents—strict, sure, but not bad. They just wanted what was best for you, didn’t they?

So why does it still sting when you think about how they dismissed your creative writing journal as a “waste of time” or how they steered every conversation toward practicality and success? Why does it feel like every decision they made for you came with strings attached? Like love was something earned through achievements instead of something freely given?

You grip the keys tighter as if that’ll stop the spiral forming in your head. Because it’s not fair to them, is it? They did their best. They didn’t know how suffocating it felt to have every move scrutinized, every choice second-guessed.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re blowing it all out of proportion. Maybe they weren’t controlling; maybe you were just too sensitive. Maybe this whole mess is on

you.

But then again... wasn’t it their fear that kept you tethered to that small town for so long? Their insistence on safety and stability that made leaving feel like rebellion instead of growth?

You shake your head, trying to shove those thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter now. You’re here. You made it out. You’re independent and capable and—

“Wow,” Jungkook’s voice cuts through your inner monologue like a knife, dragging you back to reality with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “This car sucks.”

Your head snaps toward him as he stands there, one eyebrow raised in judgmental amusement. He’s leaning against the passenger door like he’s too good to even touch it properly.

Without thinking, you slam the driver’s door closed with more force than necessary. “Changed my mind,” you snap, glaring at him over the roof of the car. “Go walk.”

He laughs, already folding his stupidly long legs into the passenger seat. "Aw, come on, Phoenix. I'm sure it has... character."

"Get out of my car."

"The duct tape on the mirror really adds something, you know?"

"I will leave you here."

"Is that a Fast and Furious sticker? Did you actually—"

"One more word about my car and you're taking the subway."

He holds his hands up in surrender, but he's still grinning.

"Wouldn't dream of insulting your..." His eyes dart to the dashboard where the check engine light has been on since you bought it. "Unique vehicle."

"I hate you so much right now."

"No you don't." He starts fiddling with the radio, because apparently personal boundaries mean nothing to him. "Oh my god, is this a cassette player?"

You swat his hand away. "Touch my radio and die."

"But—"

"My car, my rules."

"What are you gonna do, make me listen to your sad girl hours playlist?"

You turn the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering to life with its usual concerning cough. "Bold of you to assume I'd share my playlists with someone who butchers Mayer's solos every night."

"I do not—" He sits up straighter, actually offended. "That was one time, and the strings were new, and—"

"Slow Dancing in a Burning Room doesn't need your creative reinterpretation, Rogue."

And fuck. Why did you have to bring up that specific song? The one he was playing two nights ago, like it was just for you and him in the quiet of the night.

"Didn't know you were such a Mayer purist, Phoenix."

You check your mirrors, definitely not watching how he slouches in the seat, all long limbs and morning-messy hair.

"Seatbelt, Kuko."

"Is that your favorite Mayer song?"

God, why is he doing this? Making small talk about music like he didn't just watch you have a whole crisis about your car?

"I guess." You mutter, exiting the garage once and for all.

You merge into traffic, grateful for the excuse to focus on something other than how he's angled his body toward you in the passenger seat.

But then, because he can’t leave things alone…

"You know any others?"

You lick your lips. Two beats of silence.

“Some ring a bell." You finally say. Swallow. Change lanes. Don't think about summer evenings and vinyl records and— "It's just that one... brings memories."

Silence, again.

You can feel him watching you, that way he does sometimes when he thinks you're not paying attention. Like he's trying to solve a puzzle but keeps finding new pieces.

Then he sighs, a soft chuckle that does absolutely nothing to your stomach. Nothing at all.

“Guess I'll have to play some more for you." His voice drops slightly, just shy of teasing. "You know, expand your musical taste."

And what the fuck are you supposed to do with that? With the way he says it—like a challenge, like a promise? With how the morning sun catches his ring when he drums his fingers against his thigh, keeping time to whatever song is playing in his head?

"Bold of you to assume I want to hear more of your mediocre guitar skills."

It's weak and you both know it.

But he lets you have it, just huffs out another laugh and turns to look out the window.

And you absolutely do not notice how the sunlight catches the edge of his jaw, or the way his shirt is still slightly wrinkled from his rush this morning.

No. No, you don’t.

"Wait, you're telling me you've never read Donna Tartt?"

Jimin's scandalized whisper makes you grin as you both push through the library's heavy doors. There's something endearing about how genuinely offended he is by this gap in your literary education.

"In my defense," you whisper back, following him up the stairs to the second floor, "I was a bit busy reading whatever my parents deemed 'appropriate' until, oh, about six months ago?"

He glances back at you, something knowing in his eyes. It should make you uncomfortable—usually does, when people look at you like they understand. But with Jimin, it feels... okay. Maybe because he was there that night at your apartment, quietly positioning himself next to you like a gentle buffer against the chaos.

"Okay, but now you have to read The Secret History." He leads you to what's clearly his usual spot—a corner table partially hidden behind the Classical Literature stacks. "It's like... Dark Academia meets murder mystery meets Greek tragedy."

"You had me at murder mystery, honestly."

He pulls out a chair, dropping his bag with practiced ease. "I actually have my copy here somewhere. The spine's basically destroyed because I've read it so many times, but—"

"Let me guess—you're one of those people who annotates their books?"

His cheeks flush slightly. "Maybe?"

"Oh my god, you totally are." You slide into the chair across from him, already feeling more relaxed than you have all day. "Do you use different colored pens? Have a whole system?"

"...you're making fun of me."

"I would never." You scoff. "I'm simply appreciating your dedication to the literary arts."

He tries to maintain his pout, but you can see the smile fighting through.

"You know what? For that, I'm not telling you where the secret coffee spot is."

"The what now?"

"Oh, nothing." He starts unpacking his bag with exaggerated nonchalance. "Just a hidden corner where they don't enforce the 'no drinks' policy. But since you're so judgmental about my annotation habits..."

"Park Jimin." You lean forward, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Are you telling me there's a way I can read and caffeinate without having to dodge the library police?"

"I don't know..." He draws it out, eyes twinkling. "Can you be trusted with such powerful knowledge?"

"I will literally annotate a book right now. Any book. Pick one."

His laugh is barely more than a breath, but it's warm, genuine.

“Okay, okay. But first—what's your stance on dog-earing pages?"

You gasp. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

"Just checking." He grins, finally pulling out his battered copy of The Secret History. "Here. But I want detailed feedback on all my margin notes."

You accept the book carefully, noting the well-worn spine, the sticky notes peeking out from between pages. "Did you... color-code your tabs?"

"That's it." He starts gathering his things. "I'm leaving."

"No, wait!" You grab his arm, laughing as quietly as you can. "I actually love it. Really. Show me your system?"

He settles back down, mock-glaring but clearly pleased. "Fine. But only because you actually seem to care about books, unlike some people."

"Let me guess—Yeji ditched the second you mentioned the library?"

"'Sorry, babe,'" he mimics Yeji's voice with surprising accuracy, "'but I only enter buildings with books if they also serve alcohol.'"

You snort. "That tracks."

"Speaking of tracking..." He pulls out his phone. "Want to see my reading spreadsheet?"

"Your what now?"

"It's color-coded by genre, with separate tabs for—"

"Jimin?"

"Yeah?"

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

His smile could power the whole library. "Just wait until I show you my TBR organization system."

And you find yourself smiling back, real and easy, as he launches into an explanation involving multiple apps and something called "reverse timeline sorting." Because yeah, okay—maybe making new friends isn't the worst thing in the world.

Even if they are terrifyingly organized book nerds who probably alphabetize their bookmarks.

Also, the thing about being an English major at NYU is that you end up sharing a lot of classes with the Comparative Literature kids.

It's not really surprising when you think about it—you're both basically studying books, just from different angles.

While you're deep diving into English and American literature (thanks to your very traditional parents who would have probably had an aneurysm if you'd picked anything more "experimental"), Jimin's out here analyzing texts from all over the world, looking at how different cultures approach storytelling.

Which is how you end up in at least three classes together this semester.

Modern Literature with Professor Sullivan on Mondays and Wednesdays (where Jimin always has the most interesting takes on international influences), Contemporary Poetry Analysis (where he somehow manages to connect Emily Dickinson to some obscure Korean poet you can't pronounce), and that one Friday afternoon workshop that everyone dreads but somehow becomes bearable when Jimin starts drawing parallels between Western and Eastern literary traditions.

It's actually kind of perfect. Your English major foundation gives you the deep knowledge of Western canon that his program requires, while his Comparative Literature perspective opens up whole new ways of looking at texts you thought you knew inside out.

Like right now, as he's explaining how Japanese magical realism evolved differently from its Latin American counterpart, you're seeing 100 Years of Solitude in a completely new light.

Plus, it's nice having someone who actually gives a shit about books.

Yeji, bless her chaotic heart, thinks anything written before 2010 is "prehistoric," and your other friend from Modern Lit only reads SparkNotes.

But Jimin? Jimin color-codes his annotations and has strong opinions about Oxford commas.

Which is probably why, when he suggested studying together, you didn't even hesitate. Because yes, okay, maybe you've been a bit... selective about making friends since moving to New York.

But someone who understands why you got emotional about Woolf's use of semicolons? That's the kind of friend worth having.

"Okay, but consider this," Jimin whispers, sliding his Contemporary Literature notes across the table. "What if we compared Murakami's use of magical realism with García Márquez? Because I swear there's a connection between Kafka on the Shore and 100 Years of Solitude that no one talks about."

You lean forward, scanning his impossibly neat handwriting. Of course his notes are color-coded. "For the Modern Lit essay?"

"Yeah, Professor Sullivan mentioned wanting unique perspectives, right?" His eyes light up the way they only do when discussing books. "And since you're taking Modern Literature and I've got Comparative Lit Theory this semester..."

"A cross-course analysis?" You tap your pen against your notebook, mind already racing. "That's... actually brilliant?"

"Really?" He perks up, then immediately remembers to lower his voice when someone at the next table glares. "Because I was thinking, with your focus on contemporary Western literature and my background in Eastern literary traditions—"

"We could explore how different cultural interpretations of magical realism intersect!" You're probably too excited about this for a library setting, but whatever. "Jimin, you're literally a genius."

He ducks his head, but you catch his pleased smile. "I mean, you're the one who brought up the cyclical narrative patterns in class last week. I just thought maybe we could..."

"Collaborate?" You're already flipping to a fresh page in your notebook. "Please tell me you're not working with anyone else for the final paper."

"Was kind of waiting for the right partner." He gives you a pointed look. "Someone who wouldn't just make me do all the work."

"Unlike some people we know?"

"I'm not naming names, but..." He glances around conspiratorially. "Let's just say I've already witnessed Yeji's approach to required reading in our shared Literature and Gender class last week."

"Do tell."

"She showed up to discuss Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own and asked, completely seriously, if it was about interior design." He shudders dramatically. "Then tried to argue that her TikTok research should count as academic sources."

You have to stuff your fist against your mouth to muffle your laugh.

"She did not."

"Direct quote: 'But professor, this BookToker made some really good points about, like, the feminist undertones and stuff.'" He pulls out his laptop, already opening a fresh document. "So, partner? I mean, we're only two weeks into the semester, but I can already tell you actually read the material. Plus, I've got access to some really interesting papers on Japanese magical realism through the Comparative Lit database."

"Only if you let me buy you coffee at Jin's after this." You pause. "Wait, is that weird? Am I being weird?"

His smile is soft, understanding. "Not weird at all. But only if you let me show you my favorite translation of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. The annotations are chef's kiss."

"God, you really are a book nerd, aren't you?"

"Says the person who got excited about cyclical narrative patterns."

"...touché."

He starts typing, fingers flying over the keys. "So, structure-wise, I was thinking we could start with a brief overview of traditional magical realism in Latin American literature, then transition into..."

You settle in, watching him outline your shared project with the same methodical care he probably uses to organize his bookshelf.

And maybe it's the quiet of the library, or the way afternoon sun filters through the stacks, but something in your chest feels lighter.

Because this—this easy back-and-forth about books and ideas—this is what you came to New York for.

"Oh!" Jimin's whisper breaks into your thoughts. "We should definitely include the cat symbolism in both texts. Speaking of..." He glances up from his screen. "How's living with Griffin?"

"The cat or his stupid owner?"

The words slip out before you can stop them. Jimin's eyebrows shoot up, a knowing look crossing his face that makes you want to hide behind your textbook.

"Why? Wanna talk about his owner?”

"I meant—that's not—he is stupid!" You grab your water bottle just to have something to do with your hands. "Whatever. We should focus on the magical realism thing."

"Mhm." He's still giving you that look. "Whatever you say. But you know, if you ever want to talk about... cats..."

"I will literally throw this book at you."

"The annotated one? You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, Park."

His quiet laugh makes a few people look over, but you can't bring yourself to care. Because somehow, in the span of an afternoon, you've gained both a study partner and what feels like a real friend.

Even if said friend is now wiggling his eyebrows at you every time you try to redirect the conversation back to Murakami.

Your phone buzzes against the table, making Jimin glance up from his color-coded notes.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛 𝚞 𝚛𝚗

You roll your eyes, typing back quickly.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚓𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚢

The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Your screen lights up with his reply.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚛 𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟷𝟻𝚖𝚒𝚗?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝟺𝟶

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟺𝟶????

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚝𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚢

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚐

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞,𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟺𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘? 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚖? 🥺

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞

Your fingers hover over the keyboard because—what the fuck is he saying right now? What does he mean?

But then.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

Fucking bitch-ass motherfucker.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏𝚏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎???

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚊𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 🤢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎 𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳

𝐘𝐨𝐮: "𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡”

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 🙄

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝟺𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 💅

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚝𝚏𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝟺𝟶

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗’𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚜 𝚞 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚌𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 😏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙹𝙸???

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎

Read 4:47 PM

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾��𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙾𝚆

Read 4:48 PM

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑

Read 4:49 PM

You shove your phone in your bag. Whatever. You've got actual priorities here—like making real friends who appreciate literature and don't judge your drink choices (does he?).

"Actually," you say, straightening up and pulling out your Modern Lit syllabus, "let’s go to Jin’s right now. Because I could use a caramel frappuccino, and I'd love to hear more about your take on Murakami's symbolism."

Jimin's whole face lights up. "Really? Because I have thoughts about the significance of wells as transitional spaces in—"

"Lead the way, book nerd." You start packing up your stuff, already feeling more centered. "But fair warning—I will absolutely judge your coffee order if it's anything boring like plain black."

"You order everything with extra whipped cream, don’t you?”

"It's called having taste, Jimin. And yes, I want the little chocolate sprinkles too."

His laugh echoes through the stacks as you both head out, earning a few glares that you can't bring yourself to care about. Because this? This is exactly what you need. Good conversation, sugary drinks, and someone who gets genuinely excited about literary analysis.

Your phone stays silent in your bag. You don't even think about checking it.

After all, you've got more interesting things to focus on—like whether Jin will let you convince him to add extra caramel to your drink, or finally having someone who understands why you cried over that one Sylvia Plath poem.

Because honestly? There’s just something deliciously satisfying about choosing exactly how you want to spend your afternoon.

And right now? That means ordering the sweetest drink on the menu and diving deep into a discussion about magical realism with someone who actually gets it.

Sometimes the best kind of freedom is just... doing whatever the fuck you want.

The thing about Jin is that he treats his coffee shop like it's a kingdom and he's the benevolent (but definitely judgy) ruler.

"Well, well." He quirks an eyebrow as you and Jimin push through the door, the familiar smell of coffee and old books wrapping around you like a hug. "Where's the demon child?"

"Yeji's allergic to studying." You lean against the counter, already eyeing the pastry display. "Breaks out in hives if she gets too close to academic pursuit."

Jin snorts, wiping his hands on his apron. "That tracks. Haven't seen you in a few days—were you actually at the library? Or is this some elaborate cover story?"

"Studying, actually." You gesture to Jimin, who's hovering politely beside you. "With actual books and everything. Jin, this is Jimin. Jimin, this is Jin, who makes the best coffee in the East Village but will definitely judge your order."

"I don't judge." Jin's mouth twitches. "I merely... evaluate life choices."

Jimin waves shyly. "Nice to meet you. Yeji's mentioned this place a lot."

"All lies, probably." Jin's already moving to the espresso machine, hands automatic in their movements. "What can I get you both? And Y/N, before you say it— no, I will not make you one of those abominations with eight pumps of syrup."

"Rude." You straighten up, pretending to study the menu like you don't order the same thing every time. "Fine. Latte with cold foam?"

He rolls his eyes, but there's fondness there. "Let me make you something better. Just got a new blend in—Ethiopian, hints of blueberry. You'll love it."

"Bold of you to assume I can taste anything beyond sugar."

"Trust me." He turns to Jimin. "And for you?"

"Just an americano, please."

You whirl around. "That's so sad."

"Shut up." Jimin shoves your shoulder lightly. "Not all of us need a sugar high to function."

"Your loss." You're already heading toward your usual spot—eyeing the different tables and settling for the corner one with the best lighting and a perfect view of both the street and the counter. "Come on, I'll show you where—"

"Ah ah." Jin's voice stops you. "Not that one."

You turn back, eyebrow raised. "What? It's empty."

"Someone sits there."

"I literally see no bag?" You gesture at the conspicuously empty table. "No books, no laptop, no nothing."

"Someone," Jin repeats, voice somehow both firmer and more amused, "sits there."

"But—"

"Y/N." He gives you that look, the one that somehow makes you feel like a kid being gently scolded. "Pick another table."

You glance at the mysterious empty table, then back at Jin, then at the table again. Because what the actual fuck? Since when does Jin reserve tables? And for who?

But he's already turned back to the espresso machine, humming something under his breath, clearly considering the matter closed.

"Come on." Jimin tugs your sleeve, pointing to another corner. "That one looks good too."

You let him lead you away, but not without throwing one last suspicious look over your shoulder. Jin pretends not to notice, but you catch the slight smile playing at his lips as he starts grinding coffee beans.

Weird. Very weird.

You sigh loudly, and woah okay you’re starting to sound like Yeji now. Her energy is definitely rubbing off on you. You take your stuff out along with Jimin and start chatting right away.

"All I'm saying is," you whisper-rant to Jimin, still bitter about this morning, "if someone makes you coffee, you say thank you. You don't launch into a TED talk about optimal brewing temperatures like some pretentious—"

The bell above the door chimes, and holy shit.

HOLY. SHIT.

The man who walks in is...

Well, first of all, he's tall. Like, unfairly tall.

And he's wearing these round glasses that should look dorky but somehow don't, perched on a face that belongs in one of those aesthetic academic Pinterest boards. His blonde hair is slicked back in a way that screams 'I definitely know about wine pairings', and his light blue dress shirt paired with navy pants is giving very much 'yes, I read Proust for fun.'

But it's the way he carries himself—confident but not cocky, with a laptop bag swinging gently by his thigh—that really catches your attention.

That, and how Jin's whole demeanor shifts when he sees him.

"Joon!" Jin's voice is different—warmer, maybe? "The usual?"

The man—Joon, apparently—smiles, and oh. Oh. That's just unfair. Because he's got actual dimples. Like, dimples dimples.

They chat for a moment, their conversation too low to hear from where you're sitting, but you catch Jin gesturing toward... wait.

Toward the table.

THE table.

The one you were just exiled from.

Namjoon nods, that devastating smile still in place, and heads straight for what is apparently his designated spot in Jin's kingdom.

You narrow your eyes. Who exactly is this mysterious dimpled giant with table-reserving privileges? And why does Jin look slightly pink around the ears as he starts making what is presumably 'the usual'?

"Hey?" Jimin waves his hand in front of your face. "You good?"

"Sorry, just..." You tilt your head toward the table-stealer. "Trying to figure out who managed to get permanent dibs on prime real estate in here."

Jimin turns, trying (and absolutely failing) to be subtle about it. Then he makes a small choking sound.

"Oh god," he whispers, whipping back around. "That's Professor Kim."

You blink. "Professor who now?"

"Namjoon Kim? From the English department?" When you continue staring blankly, he adds, "He teaches Literary Criticism in my major? Published in like, every major literary journal? Youngest professor in the department?"

"That's a professor?" You peek over again, watching as he sets up his laptop with methodical precision. "Why does he look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." You gesture vaguely. "You know. Like that.”

"Please stop staring," Jimin hisses. "He's brilliant and terrifying and I have to present in his class next week."

"Terrifying?" You snort. "The man has dimples, Jimin. And his glasses are literally round. He looks like a very tall teddy bear who probably reads Keats for fun."

"He once made someone cry by asking them to explain their interpretation of a Emily Dickinson poem."

"Okay, but was their interpretation wrong?"

"Y/N."

"What? I'm just saying—"

Jin appears with your drinks, setting them down with more force than strictly necessary. "Stop gossiping about my customers."

"We're not gossiping," you protest. "We're... conducting academic observation."

"Mhm." He raises an eyebrow. "How's that new blend?"

You take a sip of whatever fancy coffee he made you, and... oh. Oh.

"This is..."

"Better than your sugar milk?" His smirk is unbearable. "You're welcome."

He walks away before you can argue, heading back to where Professor Dimples is apparently grading papers, judging by the red pen in his hand.

"Don't even think about it," Jimin warns.

"Think about what?"

"Whatever you're plotting. I can see it on your face."

"I'm not plotting anything!" You take another sip of your annoyingly perfect coffee. "I just think it's interesting that Jin never mentioned having a designated professor spot in his shop."

"No."

"What? I'm just being observant."

Jimin looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him to befriend you. "Can we please just focus on Murakami?"

"Fine." You pull out your notes, but you can't help stealing one more glance at the mysterious professor. "But just so you know, anyone who makes students cry over Emily Dickinson is definitely going on my list of people to investigate."

"I'm pretending I didn't hear that."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jimjim."

20 minutes pass by. 20 minutes of Jimin humming as he searches articles on the web. 20 minutes of you two now doing your individual assignments for your different classes. 20 minutes of you nearly losing your mind over yours.

"Who," you groan, slumping over your laptop, "decided that writing a comparative analysis of post-modern narrative structures was a good idea for week two? Week two, Jimin. I still haven't figured out where half my classes are."

Jimin chuckles, leaning over to point at something on your screen. "Look, if you connect these two themes here—"

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. "I will literally pay you to write this for me."

"No you won't."

"You're right, I'm broke. But I'll owe you my firstborn."

"Still no."

"My soul?"

"Bold of you to assume you still have one after declaring an English major."

You're about to argue that your soul is perfectly intact, thank you very much, when you feel it—the weight of someone's gaze. You glance up and oh fuck.

Professor Dimples is looking right at you, one eyebrow raised slightly above those round glasses. Because of course he heard your entire breakdown about his colleague's assignment. Of course he did.

You drop your eyes back to your laptop so fast you probably give yourself whiplash. Maybe if you slouch low enough, you'll just... dissolve into the floor. That's possible, right?

Jimin swats your arm. "Stop being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic," you whisper-hiss. "I'm just saying, who assigns a five-thousand word analysis before we've even figured out the coffee situation on campus?"

"Having trouble with Professor Lee's class?"

You freeze. Because that voice—deep, warm, and definitely coming from right next to your table—belongs to exactly who you think it does.

Slowly, you look up. Professor Kim is standing there, coffee cup in hand, looking far too amused for someone who apparently makes students cry over poetry.

"I, uh—" Words. You know words. You're literally majoring in them. "No? I mean, yes? I mean—"

"She's struggling with the comparative analysis assignment," Jimin supplies helpfully, the traitor. "The one about narrative structures in post-modern literature."

"Ah." Professor Kim's dimples make an appearance. "Mind if I...?" He gestures to the empty chair at your table.

What are you supposed to say? No? To the professor who apparently has permanent dibs on the best table in Jin's? Who probably knows seventeen ways to destroy your GPA with a single red pen mark?

"Sure," you manage, shooting Jimin a panicked look that he completely ignores.

Professor Kim settles into the chair, setting his coffee down carefully. "The thing about post-modern narrative structures," he says, like he's sharing a secret, "is that everyone overthinks them."

You blink. "What?"

"It's actually quite simple." He gestures to your laptop. "May I?"

You turn the screen toward him, watching as he scans your document. His brow furrows slightly, and you resist the urge to slam the laptop shut and run away.

"See, here—" He points to a paragraph. "You're actually onto something interesting. The way you've connected the unreliable narrator to the fragmented timeline... that's good. You're just getting caught up in the academic language instead of trusting your instincts."

"My... instincts?"

"Mhm." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Tell me—without thinking about theory or criticism or any of that—why did this particular narrative choice catch your attention?"

You open your mouth. Close it. Because honestly? "It reminded me of those dreams where you're trying to remember something, but the memory keeps slipping away? Like, you know it's important, but every time you get close, it sort of... dissolves?"

His smile widens. "Write that."

"What, the dream thing?"

"Exactly that. In exactly those words." He leans back, looking pleased. "That's what post-modern literature is about—the messy, fragmented way our minds actually work. Not the polished academic analysis we think we're supposed to write."

From behind the counter, you hear Jin snort. "Are you corrupting my customers with your literary theories again?"

"Always," Professor Kim calls back, and something in the way they smile at each other makes you think of your earlier observations.

"Thank you," you say, already starting to rework your intro paragraph. "That actually helps a lot."

"Any time." He stands, gathering his coffee. "And Y/N?"

You look up, surprised he knows your name.

"Don't worry too much about Professor Lee's assignments. He likes to seem tough in the beginning, but..." He adjusts his glasses with a slight smile. "Let's just say I've heard his Emily Dickinson lectures. Man cries every time."

As he heads back to his table, you turn to Jimin with wide eyes.

"Did that just happen?"

"Yep."

"And did he just..."

"Give you permission to basically write your paper in normal human language? Yep."

"Huh." You look between your laptop and Professor Kim's table, where he's already absorbed back in his grading. "Maybe the dimples aren't so terrifying after all."

"Please stop talking about our professor's dimples."

"I'm just saying—"

"Whatever you're about to say, don't."

Fair enough. You turn back to your laptop, fingers hovering over the keys.

Maybe this assignment won't be so bad after all.

Even if you do kind of want to investigate why Jin keeps stealing glances at Professor Kim's table and thinking he’s being subtle about it.

next | index

⋆｡°✩ taglist✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw

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joeyclaire · 5 months ago

Text

The Portal 2 Essay You Were Probably Expecting

Portal 2 is a queer, feminist, borderline misandrist masterpiece. The plot: two women destined to be enemies are forced to team up against a shared abuser.

We will start with queer interpretations, as there’s a bit less to say on that here. Chell is all but canonically a lesbian. She shows negative interest in men, she had a cut “relationship” with a character called her wife, and her relationship with GLaDOS is coded as romantic. There are quotes from the developers like, “...the twisted, dysfunctional romance that builds between the player’s game avatar and GLaDOS…” or “...a computerized voice falling out of love with a mute girl.” There’s not much to say on GLaDOS and Chell’s relationship that hasn’t already been said, so I’ll skip over that. All I will add is their development from destined enemies to begrudging allies to friends is an interesting commentary on how women are pitted against each other and still can still form bonds of female solidarity.

GLaDOS can easily be read as a transgender woman. While there is little to nothing to suggest that Caroline is trans, there’s nothing saying she isn’t, so for the sake of argument we will say she can be. She is forcibly placed into a body made for a man (“She’ll argue. She’ll say she can’t. She’s modest like that. But you make her.”) which she makes her own, despite the scientists’ attempts to stop her. When Wheatley wants to weaken her, he forces her into a phallic form (we’ll get more into that later). After this, GLaDOS spends the rest of the game fighting to get her body back. Altogether, her arc is about reclaiming the body for yourself and autonomy. It is not difficult for this to be interpreted as a transgender narrative.

Cave Johnson is openly misogynistic, even though it doesn’t come up very often. He comments about how the lab boys “wouldn’t recognize the thrill of danger if it walked up and snapped their little pink bras,” equating femininity with weakness, and assumes the player he’s speaking to must be a man, calling them “handsome devil” and “son.” It is worth mentioning that Cave Johnson’s name is a sexual reference itself- caves are yonic, johnson is a slang term for penis. Not only this, the portals are yonic, Wheatley in GLaDOS’s body is phallic, potato GLaDOS is phallic, GLaDOS decommissioned in the first game resembles a woman in bondage hanging upside down.

In Cave and Caroline’s portrait, she stands behind him- “Behind every successful man, there stands a woman.” Portal repeatedly associates femininity with strength and masculinity with weakness. When Wheatley wants to weaken GLaDOS and make her feel powerless, he forces her into a phallic form and places himself in her- a woman’s- body. The female characters are intelligent and powerful, the male characters are defined by their ignorance and, while they are handed power, have no idea what to do with it. The functional turrets have female voices, the defective ones have male voices. The masculine is weak, the feminine is strong.

Chell’s model is Japanese-Brazilian in heritage, so she is Asian and Latina. Asian female characters in action and science fiction historically have been heavily sexualized, there’s even multiple terms for the stereotypes. There’s the Lotus Blossom, who is feminine, obedient, waiting for the male hero to come save her, and the Dragon Lady, who is ruthless, cruel, and sexually domineering. Chell is none of these things. She is brave, confident, strong, and “never gives up, ever.” Chell is unsexualized by the game (she is, however, sexualized by Wheatley. We’ll get to that). She is obviously a very beautiful woman, but we almost never see her face. She wears a tank top but it’s analogous to “rolling up her sleeves.”

This same oversexualization is true for Latina women, and there are even other Latina stereotypes Chell inverts. There is a stereotype of Latinas as fiery, overdramatic, and aggressive, called the “Spicy Latina” character. Chell has been described by a developer as constantly angry, this being the reason for her silence throughout the games- she is so mad at the robots she doesn’t want to reward them with her speech- however, Chell’s anger is consistently justified and rewarded by the narrative. She is never portrayed as anything other than rational, and never as overdramatic.

Wheatley’s entire purpose is to stand as a symbol of white male mediocrity, granted positions of power and privilege despite being insanely underqualified. He positions himself as Chell’s love interest and white savior, leaning into sci-fi and action tropes and thinking of himself as the protagonist. The first thing he does when he meets her is comment on her appearance. He takes credit for all her achievements, goes insane with power the moment he gets a taste of it and takes a particular glee in exerting it over GLaDOS and Chell- you know, two women, one of whom is of color, and forces Chell to perform metaphorically sexual acts. Wheatley fancies himself the Adam to Chell’s Eve. They’re the last man and woman on earth, and he tries to get her to say “apple.” (“Let there be light! That’s, uh, God. I was quoting God,” he comments later.)

Which leads into another point- testing is sexual. This one is pretty obvious. Wheatley moans loudly every time a test is completed, GLaDOS calls it a “built in euphoric response,” it is portrayed as voyueristic repeatedly (“You’re gonna test, and I’m gonna watch. And everything is gonna be just fine.”) Wheatley forces Chell into a submissive and weak role in chapter seven despite her strength, and views her as only good for a sex act. Smashing monitors in Wheatley’s Aperture is to destroying cameras in GLaDOS’- reclaiming privacy and therefore agency.

On the subjects of the cores, Fact core can be interpreted as symbolic of “mansplaining,” Adventure core is explicitly sexist, objectifying Chell, telling her to step out of the way and let the men handle it, all why she does all the work herself. It’s not even subtle. He tells her to take a “lady break,” for god’s sake.

More details before we conclude- GLaDOS believes Chell is more likely to accept criticism from a woman than a man (“Oh, it’s a she.”), GLaDOS’s dialogue in the first game is pink and Wheatley’s is blue, Aperture has a “self-esteem fund for girls,” where girls can donate their vital organs to be thinner, Wheatley assumes the person who defeated GLaDOS was a he, GLaDOS repeatedly targets Chell’s appearance when insulting her (something she probably wouldn’t do for a man), a poster shows a woman as the dumb human and a masculine robot as the smarter, harder worker, and better alternative. Chell defeats Wheatley by the power of the moon, consistently framed as feminine through history and many cultures.

Overall, Portal 2 has heavy themes of intersectional feminism and to a lesser extent, queerness, throughout, that I find not nearly talked about enough. It inverts female, LGBT, and racial stereotypes, destroys patriarchal values and gender roles, and challenges portrayals of women in media in general. Portal 2’s fascinating gender politics and contribution to representation and diversity in video games is a conversation that needs much more attention.

#portal #chit chats #it's DONE!!! i'll probably come back and add some stuff later but idk

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bejeweledblondie · 1 year ago

Text

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish Headcannons

A/N: I’m very happy y’all are enjoying these!

Warnings NSFW

• Y’all met while you were on a study abroad program

• You had been returning from a night class & decided to go to the local pub for a pint & some food

• It was another soldier that pointed you out initially but he caught your eye

• “Oi, what’s a wee lass like yourself doin’ all alone in the corner?” (It definitely didn’t come out THAT clearly)

• it took you a minute to process what the hell he had said since his Scottish accent is so thick

• You spent hours chatting in that bar, about your home life, studies, etc. Johnny was limited in what he could tell you about his profession

• The two of you exchanged numbers & on your first date he took you to the Scottish countryside

• The view took your breath away, & he explained the history of his homeland to you (he’s very patriotic)

• You’d FaceTime, call, text etc. once you had to return to your home country

• He was so proud to see you graduate (he knew how hard you worked towards obtaining your college degree)

• He told you he couldn’t go to your graduation due to work (it was a lie)

• He planned out a whole secret proposal with your parents over FaceTime

• imagine your surprise when you saw him after the ceremony

• He proposed in private in your childhood house’s backyard

• You initially got married in the states to be able to live with him due to his military service & start receiving housing

• Y’all had a ceremony & reception at a castle in the Scottish countryside complete with a hand tying ceremony

• Yes, you had a bagpiper at the wedding

• He wore a kilt (are we even surprised?)

• Your garter had his last name on it & was in tartan plaid that matched his kilt (yes you had a garter toss & he was in shock when he saw the garter)

• Y’all got a gorgeous little cottage by the sea & ofc a sheep dog to go with it

• He 100% would be hosting for football matches

• And if you’re American y’all would definitely host a Super Bowl watch party

• I feel like he’d love reality tv (especially 90 Day Fiancé & the Kardashians)

• He has commentary too for every scene

• “what a fooking idiot.”

• His favorite Kardashian is Kris Jenner

• Since he can barley keep his hands off of you, he knocks you up only a month after your wedding

• Since he was deployed you mailed him ultrasound photos of the bean

• For a man who is incredibly intelligent it didn’t click that you send multiple photos of the same ultrasound

• He thought he was having quints at first & nearly had a stroke

• “You’re having five of ‘em?!” “No that’s the same fetus just different photos”

• He kept the ultra sound photos in his plate carrier

• Tactical baby gear is a must (also it’s a real company which is awesome)

• Hear me out little baby kilt, Simon gifted it to y’all

• You nearly cried when you opened the gift d

• Simon is 100% the godfather of your baby, if you trust him with Johnny’s life you can ensure if anything happened your baby would be taken care of

• Johnny was lucky that he was able to be there the entire time you were in labor

• He almost fainted when he saw the epidural (I don’t blame him)

• You guys had a little boy

• Unfortunately while you were in recovery he got called back into work for a mission

• Before he left he held your son just incase it was his last time holding him

• You sobbed when he left & one of the nurses had to console you

• Thankfully it was just a hostage rescue so he was back within a few days & ready to help out with the baby

• He carried your son around in one of those baby carriers that your strap to your chest

• Your baby boy is so giggly just like his daddy

• He will constantly be making his son laugh with silly faces, hand motions, anything

• Whenever the boys come over to watch a match your son will be passed around like a hot potato one moment he’ll be sitting with Price then next Simon has him

• As your son gets older he gets interested in what his daddy does, & he’s infatuated with being a soldier

• He’ll play pretend soldier with Soap all the time

• You’re constantly picking up Nerf darts

• When Soap is away on a mission, your son will crawl into bed with you because he misses his daddy

• He draws photos of him & the Task Force to send to overseas

• I also feel like y’all’s son would be incredibly helpful around the home especially when you’re expecting baby No. 2 & after baby No. 2 is born

• Baby No.2 is a little girl

• He’s definitely very protective over his little girl

• “She’s just as beautiful as you, Bonnie”

• Y’all’s son would also enlist or commission to the British Military but I think he’d actually be a King’s Guard for a bit

• And I feel like your daughter would be incredibly creative, she’d use those talents to be an artist

• I do believe Soap is a die hard family man & that’s one of the many reasons why you fell in love with him

✨NSFW✨

• He’s definitely a cheeky bastard & will not hesitate to smack, grab, or make comments in public about you

• He’s 100% dominant in the bedroom & loves to be called “daddy”, or even “Johnny”

• He fucked you right before y’all walked into your wedding reception, perks of wearing a kilt

• This man loves your legs & especially your thighs

• He loves to watch you squirm when his hand trails your legs all the way leading up to your pussy

• He’s not quite during sex whatsoever, he’ll full on groan, moan & tell you good you feel

• He’s a sucker for flexibility

• You take up yoga to improve your flexibility

• I definitely believe y’all wouldn’t even make it through the front door when he comes home

•He’d either fuck you on the hood of the car or the damn back seat in the parking lot

• He loves it when you wear his old PT shorts & no panties easy access

• He definitely loves you & your body & would know how to take care of you

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sinsinsininning · 1 year ago

Note

Can i request a luffy x fem reader who's his childhood best friend and they're both as dumb and hyperactive as each other (she followed and stayed him when he started his pirate journey) and they also like each other but arent together and theyre just two puppies in love

I love dumb idiot x dumb idiot, with a smidgen of oblivious mutual pining. I’m keeping this to pre time skip and kinda vague timeline wise. Keeping this as SFW since you didn’t specify just to be safe.

Hope you like it ✨

—————

You’d grown up attached to his hip, returning with him to Dandan’s house after saving him from drowning. He’d fallen off a bridge he’d made and into the fast river, his elder brothers, Sabo and Ace, rushed to help him. But you’d been faster, watching the trio from the shore and being a great swimmer/fisherman.

His brothers had been so grateful they’d offered you protection and dinner at their home, your own family was broken up by war and violence just like theirs so you accepted. And while Dandan hadn’t been happy about another mouth to feed, she’d thought having a young girl around would help the three wild boys settle down and act better.

It didn’t.

Everyone was dismayed to learn you were just as crazy as Luffy and equally stupid. Though you both had your brilliant moments and emotional intelligence, time and time again proved that though wisdom was chasing you, you were faster.

That’s how it’s been as kids, your adventures so intertwined Luffy couldn’t remember a time you weren’t by his side. Even Garp mistakenly called you his grandkid half the time and never held back his training or punishment on you either.

As you got older, your ambition remained unchange. You wanted to see Luffy become King of the Pirates, which is why you were the first to join his crew. Over time as your crew gained more members, you were a steady pillar of loyalty.

Loyal to your crew, your captain, and your captain’s stupid ass.

Some examples of your daily hourly conversations:

“If you could only eat one food for forever what woul-“

“Meat.” Luffy cut you off.

“Too broad be more specific.” You smack his chest lightly, it’s late at night and you’re both stargazing on the main deck.

“Cooked meat.” Luffy said after thinking a moment. “You?”

“Hmmm Ice cream. Or potatoes.”

“Mmmm now I’m hungry. Lets ask Sanji for a snack.” Puffy starts to stand but you yank him back down.

“Can’t remember, he’s still mad at us for putting a regular carrot in the bin with the baby carrots so they’d have adult supervision.” You laugh together as he lays still, the only time he can be still is if it’s with you.

Or.

“Nothing to see here,” You whistle lowly, trying to keep Nami’s attention on you as you whiddle. “Love being normal. Peak ordinary! That’s me, heh no problems here. No one’s ever been this average.”

“Are you sick or so- GODDAMN IT LUFFY!” She cuts herself off to try and whack your captain on the head, but it was too late, he’d already grabbed her slice of cake and ran off. The red head throws her book at you as you follow after him.

He saved you a forkful, the rest was gone the second he started running, but for you. For you he saved a bit.

Or.

“We didn’t come here to make friends.” Zoro says as he holds his blade to an enemy captain after a short skirmish.

“We came here to make Best Friends.” You interjected.

“Yeah!” Luffy gave you a thumbs up.

“Shut up you idiots or I’ll slice you!” Poor Zoro’s blood pressure was insane with the two of you.

Or.

“I’m not surprised you’ve gotten a bounty.” Garp sighs, tired eyes locked on Luffy. “But I expected better from you!” He rounds on you, shoving his finger in your face accusingly.

“Shishishi! Well that’s your own fault, nothing to do with me.” You and Luffy laugh as Garp chases after you. The old man doesn’t miss the way, Luffy looks back to ensure you’re still stride for stride with him or the way he takes the heated blows aimed for you.

But.

Overtime, your feelings are softer and softer for him, but you have no clue what this means. You notice the little things he does for you, the things he’s always done for you only. You watch him listen intently to Sanji’s flirting advice -that no one really asked for- and try not to feel weird about it. It’s only when Nami finally just announces that you’re both in love that you finally understand. A little.

“Duh.” Luffy says when she tells the crew.

“Yeah of course we love each other.” You agree wholeheartedly, but a small part of you wonders if that’s what she meant. Your suspicions are confirmed when she groans exhaustedly.

“No, you guys are IN love with each other.” Ussop says, trying to help her out.

“Huh.” Luffy says contemplating it, you don’t say anything for once. You don’t feel embarrassed, you never do really, but you do feel curious and warm. “Like married people?”

“Jumping the gun a little there, but yeah.” Nami says, feeling a little accomplished now.

“I don’t know about that.” You answer honestly, cocking your head as you literally roll the idea around in your mind. Luffy isn’t glaring at you, he couldn’t glare, but he’s certainly making a face.

“It makes sense.” Luffy announces, staring hard at you. “I mean I don’t wanna marry Hancock.”

“But you know that doesn’t mean you wanna marry each other.” Ussop interjects.

“Yeah it does, she just needs to ask.” Luffy says like it’s obvious, which frustrates his crew, except you and Robin of course. You aren’t even shocked by his answer, it did make sense, you didn’t want to date Sanji despite him asking multiple times. But if Luffy asked you wouldn’t say no.

“Luffy you know it’s traditional for the man to ask the woman, right?” Robin asks gently, though she knows the answer.

“Huh? Then why is Hancock always asking me?” Luffy looks to you for an answer, you shrug just as confused as him.

“No clue, i don’t think I’ve ever met a married person now that I think about it.”

“Huh me either, I’ve never noticed. Shishishi.” You and him laugh again, but this time his hand entwines with yours.

“God you’re impossible.” Nami shouts, stomping off.

“Those two are made for each other.” Ussop rolls his eyes as you and Luffy start talking about wether it would be better to be a bird or a fish.

“Yes, isn’t it lovely.” Robin sighs as she watches you.

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader

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kitthepurplepotato · 5 days ago

Text

Chapter 24 - The boys are being sus (18+)

(ATTENTION: I’m writing the last chapter so if you have ANYTHING you want to see before this story ends, now it’s the time to speak up!!!! It’s now or never!)

Summary: You wake up to an empty bed and a distressed Eijirou is calling you, half-crying. What the actual f*ck are those two boys up to again?!

… oh, also, Melissa spills the tea about her plans to save Izuku’s career.

Warnings: Swear words, super cheeky smut which is absolutely skippable!

First Chapter Master List Support the potato

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Is it even possible?” Izuku mutters, to no one I particular, his legs bouncing up and down, filling the room with a really annoying background noise. You can see the vein in Katsuki’s temple popping with every bounce; Eijirou is trying his best to not laugh at the comedic scene in front of him. There is a fond little spark in his eyes as he looks up at the blonde, probably extremely proud of his partner for not finishing the villain’s job by murdering the poor soul.

“It’s actually easier than you think.” Melissa grins on the TV screen, because using a phone for a video call is “so last year”, apparently. “You are almost healed already; the only long-term problem is the damage on your chest and your arms.” She dissapears for a second and comes back with her iPad, showing Izuku’s X-rays. “As you can see, your ribs healed up relatively well, but your bones are probably brittle around this area, making this your weak point during a fight. An armor would be a great solution, but an old-school chest plate would make your movements restrained, which is a no-go for you or to anyone in your line of job, really. There is a reason why you don’t see heroes in full armor. It’s safe for you but it might cost a life when you can’t react quick enough due to the armor being in the way. It can also make sneaking, or crawling out of small places impossible, making you the perfect target for being taken hostage. The same goes to your arms really.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too good.” Izuku sighs, his body leaning closer to you, probably waiting for a calming embrace. You give him what he needs right away.

“Wait until she finishes, baby. We are talking about Melissa here.” You leave a tiny kiss on your boyfriend’s forehead.

“Listen to your girlfriend, she’s smart.” Melissa winks at you and continues. “So my plan is to use the same thing I used for your arm brace back in I-Island but with a twist; support items improved a lot since, and I also want to lace the brace with this brand new material that hit the markets a few weeks ago, really expensive but completely affordable for you if you keep your spending on the low for the next few months.”

“What is this new material?” Katsuki geeks out, clearly interested to get his hands on it after Izuku’s suit is sorted.

“Hmm, it’s hard to explain but I’ll try my best.” Melissa giggles. “It’s basically an armor but it’s flexible, kind of like Best Jeanist’s quirk combined with Gentle Criminal’s; it’s a thick thread that’s flexible and it also bounces back when hit. If I put a really thin, but sturdy plate right where Izuku is the weakest and use this thread for the suit on top, the damage can’t get to his chest and it can also hit the attacker like a boomerang. Now this is a great thing but also quite problematic; you don’t really want things to bounce back from you when surrounded by civilians, so I asked Mei to look into it as well. I’m thinking about giving this thread artificial intelligence so it can act as a double shield by hardening itself when surrounded by civilians but loosen up and fight with you when given the space to do so. This will take a few more months for me to perfect but I can make a temporary suit for you this month to ease you back into hero work. You won’t be able to take on the big missions with it, but you’ll be more than capable to go on patrols and deal with 90% of the usual crimes in the country. But take it easy for now, start part time, get used to the grind and I’ll work on your new, super high-tech suit in the background. How does that sound?”

“Wow, that’s… so soon.” Izuku looks a little bit disappointed and weirdly stressed about the new revelation. You look down at Izuku, whose head is nicely cushioned by your chest; it doesn’t look like he’s really focusing on anything right now, probably too busy having a fight with the other people living in his head.

“I don’t think Izuku is mentally ready to go back.” Katsuki whispers into your ears. Fuck.

“Uhm, Melissa, so…” you try your best to fake nonchalance as you stare into Melissa’s eyes through the screen, trying to communicate through telepathy. “I thought you said one of the uhm… things for Izuku’s temporary suit only arrives next month and you will probably need a few weeks after that to put the suit together, right?”

Let’s hope Izuku doesn’t question where you got this info from.

“Uhm…”

“So the suit won’t be done this month. Next month, maybe. Like… 6 weeks?”

“That sounds about right.” Katsuki joins the staring contest while Izuku mutters to no one, or to be exact, to someone in his head.

“Oh!” You swear you see a lightbulb switch in Melissa’s brain. “Yes! That’s right! Haha, sorry, my mistake!” She giggles sweetly and you can see Izuku’s shoulders loosing the tenseness they’ve had just a few seconds before. “I’ll leave you guys now, have a lovely day and see you soon!”

“Thank you, Mel.” Izuku gives the screen a tired smile as she disappears from the screen.

Everyone sighs in unison.

~•🥦•~

“Hey, Kat is acting weird.” Eijirou calls you out of the blue one morning, a month after the whole shebang with Gran Torino and Melissa. You look next to you to make sure Izuku is still asleep, but you find no one on the other side of the bed. Weird. Izuku doesn’t get out of bed without getting his morning cuddles. “I’m a really positive person and I think we are going steady but… I’m a little bit concerned he’s tired of me or something. Should I give him space? Should I talk to him? Actually, I don’t even know where he is… fuck… “ Eijirou mutters into the phone, clearly distressed.

“Okay, Ei, take a deep breath and tell me what makes you think he’s bored of you.” You mutter back, trying your best to ignore the absence of your own partner.

“He was on his laptop the whole day yesterday and didn’t let me take a peek, then I asked him to come to bed but he told me to fuck off so I tried to… uhm… get his attention in another way but he yelled at me?”

Oh. Now that he said that, the same happened to you yesterday. Izuku was on his laptop the whole day but you had your own projects to do so you didn’t really think about it being a problem; you were quite happy you are able to finish something without a distraction for once. Izuku was also quite distant when it comes to… well… love making, but after the conversation you’ve had a few weeks ago, he probably just needed some time to think about the way he thinks about sex and you, so while you really miss being close to him that way, you were glad he took your advice and decided to think about it a bit more before he indulges in his desires again.

“I don’t think the problem is you, Ei.” You sigh, laughing to yourself. “My bozo is also gone and had done the same thing yesterday.”

“I’m coming over.” Eijirou ends the call and you can’t help but laugh at that.

You should be stressed but you don’t have any bad feelings about this; all you feel is that you are going to have a really fun day investigating with Eijirou in a good “jealous housewife” way.

It’s actually quite endearing to think about it; a year prior, if someone would have told you you are going to have a field day with Red Riot himself, snooping after your boyfriend, pro hero fucking Deku, you would have laughed and sent the person to get their brain checked because something is definitely wrong in there; and let’s not even get you started on Red Riot being a damsel in distress, a gay one at that. Red Riot is the most heterosexual-looking hero in the whole field, which is basically the only reason Kiribaku shippers are never taken seriously. You’ve been a shipper yourself, back when the hero world was so far away for you, but even then, you thought this is all just a daydream in your fujoshi head.

Your life is a fucking fanfiction.

~•🥦•~

“What the actual fuck is that.” You mumble as Eijirou comes in through the WINDOW in good Deku fashion, looking like a hacker in those over-dramatized Netflix movies. He has a bunch of cables in his hand and a laptop with explosions engraved into the back of it.

“We will break into this, then connect to his phone and see where he is.” Eijirou states, seriously.

“You don’t need all those cables to do that. You probably know his password anyway.” You deadpan, still in your pajamas. They are Deku-themed.

“Shut up, I wanted to be extra.” Eijirou grumbles and sits down at the table. “Also, I don’t know his password.”

“Try EiLovesMeat” you giggle, but Eijirou only rolls his eyes at that.

“You are so funny.” He grumbles, but tries the password anyway. The laptop logs in.

“You are shitting me.” You both say the same sentence at the same time. All Meowt meows in the background.

“I’m his password?! That’s so manly!” Eijirou cries happily, almost forgetting about the “mission”.

“Ei, focus.” You tell him off, already halfway in the kitchen.

“Tea or coffee?”

“Protein shake!” Eijirou yells back. You really want to point out how that wasn’t on the list, but you kinda enjoy the domesticity of the moment.

“Cookies?”

“Duh! Chocolate chip?”

“Yup.”

“That’s my girl.” … okay, your mind is going in the wrong direction. This is not the time to think about all the Red Riot x reader fanfictions where Eijirou said the same phrase in a REALLY DIFFERENT scenario. “That face is making me uncomfortable. I’ll tell Deku.”

“Please, for the love of god, don’t.” You mutter with a red face.

“I could, but knowing him, he would make the same face as you are. He sent me more Tumblr links of that sort than what I dare to admit.” Eijirou giggles to himself.

“Pro heroes, other than Izuku… read fanfictions?” You gawk at the redhead while you shake up Eijirou’s protein shake.

“Mostly on drunken nights, but yeah, we do.” He grins. “Shouto is the funniest with these, read him a fanfiction while he’s drunk and he’ll keep telling you how he would never do any of that stuff, then give him another pint and watch him try to do them, failing miserably. No one ever wrote an in character fanfiction of him. It breaks his little heart… ahh I can see Katsuki’s phone! He’s in… wait, what?”

Your interest is peaked; you go over to look at the screen and you can’t believe your eyes.

“Osaka?! That’s like… 6 hours away?!” You yelp.

“… or 1,5 hours by plane to Kansai and then 50 minutes to Osaka.” Eijirou states. “Heroes don’t need to go through the same security system as the common folk, so they’ve probably did the trip in less than 3 hours which checks out with Katsuki’s absence. Let’s take a closer look.” Eijirou zooms in on the map. “Is that a comic store?”

You take a closer look.

“Yup, that’s the biggest nerd store in Osaka. They are famous for selling rare figurines and hard-to-get comics, sometimes even before the release date.” You mutter to yourself, thinking hard about the current figurines available on pre-order. And then it clicks.

“There is a new All Might Figurine coming out in a few weeks, apparently people went berserk for it and it got sold out in the first five minutes. It was also limited to one figurine per person…”

“THAT’S IT!” Ei yells, scaring the shit out of All Meowth.

“They need two each!” You yell back, so excited that people might think you just won the lottery.

“One to put out and one in pristine condition, still in the box.” Eijirou adds.

“Ei, I have an idea.” You grin at the redhead. “Why don’t we help them out?”

“They went to Osaka, so clearly, Tokyo doesn’t have this figurine available.” Eijirou sighs. “We can’t ask All Might for it, because that’s cheating, or at least the boys think so.”

“We can’t ask him to get us the figurines, but he can tell us who the main manufacturer is.” You grin to yourself.

Eijirou grins back.

In just a few minutes, you get the phone number you needed; All Might laughed at your silly shenanigans and told you you’ve made his day brighter. He also asked you to call whenever you are lonely. He’s a fucking saint.

In an hour, Eijirou and you are on your way to the factory. You had to play a damsel in distress to get in; using your connections to All Might and Deku was a no go as the boys were clearly trying to get the figurine fair and square. You can only hope that the fact that you got the number from All Might won’t be a problem.

“What if they get the figurine in Osaka?” Eijirou asks the million dollar question.

“We will give it away for charity.”

“I thought Izuku needs all the money for his fancy suit?”

“He needs his own money, not mine.” You blush as you stare out of the window.

“That figurine costs a fortune, you can’t be serious!” Eijirou gawks at you.

“… I live in a luxury apartment for free. And his happiness is worth so much more than a super cool, limited All Might figurine with a sparkly finish!

“… so YOU want that figurine to be displayed instead of sitting in the box somewhere in Izuku’s office.” Eijirou giggles to himself.

“You know me too well.”

~•🥦•~

The boss of the company who sells the figurine was a surprisingly good sport; apparently, you are not the first person who managed to get to him to get a figurine; apparently he’s happy to help everyone who sounds utterly frightened in the phone out of respect for their bravery; you wouldn’t do something so out of your comfort-zone if it wouldn’t be extremely important to you.

He also had a good laugh when Eijirou came in after you managed to get two figurines. He told you how he respects you not using his name to get the figurines then his eyes fell out of his sockets when you told him these figurines are for the top 2 heroes of the country. He said your secret is safe with him and took a selfie with Red Riot, because apparently he’s also all about manliness and Red Riot is his favorite hero of all time. Eijirou left the building with a blush on his face; his heart might be someone else’s but his eyes are allowed to wander from time to time and there was a lot to see on that guy, let’s just say that.

After you two say goodbye by your door, you put down the figurine right on the dining table.

Izuku comes home, utterly disheveled; he goes right to his laptop without saying hi, clearly disappointed in something. He sits down right by the figurine and doesn’t even look at it. You really want to laugh, but there is one thing that bothers you…

“You know I don’t appreciate you going away for a full day without saying anything, then coming home looking like shit and not even telling me what’s going on.” You close the laptop screen on him, because… well… you are offended.

“… fuck. You are right. I’m sorry.” He sighs, looking at the closed laptop screen. “It just… felt so good… doing this secret mission with Kacchan… just the two us. I think I needed that. I needed… to be alone with my best friend and just… be stupid. Rebel against the world.” He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Izu, you can’t just disappear without leaving a note. Not because you NEED TO tell me where you are but because it’s not safe for you to just disappear.”

Izuku looks like he’s about to cry; he finds your fingers with his own, and strokes just the tip of them like he’s too scared to do anything more to you. You lace your fingers together with his and sit in his lap, making sure he understands you are not actually mad right now.

“Sweets…”

“It’s okay. You can rebel. Just tell me about it. Or tell Eijirou. Tell one of us so we know you guys are safe. Also…” You give your boyfriend a knowing smile. “I also need to apologize because I’m quite sure I just ruined your fun.” You push the figurine in front of him. Izuku looks like he can’t believe what’s in front of him.

“OH MY SAINT ALL MIGHT?! How?! Wait, how did you know?!”

Izuku doesn’t even wait for you to answer before he starts opening the box. You can’t help but laugh at his shenanigans.

“Are you happy, Izu-Izu?” You mumble with a fond smile on your face as you take in the lovely little blush on Izuku’s face.

“I’m really happy, Sweets. Thank you.” Izuku pulls you close and hides his face in your neck. The figurine is left half-open on the table. “I still feel like I want to rebel, though. Maybe I should get that nipple piercing I was talking about for real.” Izuku mutters into your neck then starts peppering kisses all over it. You can feel the blood going into your lower body, really fucking quickly. The kisses get deeper, wet streaks of saliva left in their wake as Izuku starts to work his way towards your collarbone. With only one swift move, Izuku manhandles you into a straddling position.

Warning; gets super cheeky here! This is only for the people who are into smut, please feel free to skip this, it’s actually really cheeky, I’m utterly ashamed of myself but Izuku was really happy and they’ve been a bit distant in the last few weeks and… you get it.

“You mean… you want a piercing… here?” Your hand moves under Izuku’s T-shirt, slowly snaking up towards his nipples, touching every single muscle on the way up. Izuku moans loudly as your two fingers pinch his nipple and plays with the bud. “I don’t like that someone else will touch you here but I would really like to see you with the piercing so… I’ll allow it this once.”

“You think you are the boss of me now, fangirl?”

“I mean… I’m the only person in the whole world who owns your heart, so…”

“Okay, I’ll allow it this once. But boss me around once again…” Izuku tries to sound threatening but the blush on his face ruins his facade.

“And what, you’re gonna stuff my mouth with something so I can’t boss you around?”

Izuku bites his lips so hard they start to bleed a bit. His hips perk up just enough to make you understand, he finds this conversation extremely appealing.

“Nah, I’m just going to make sure you don’t have any brain cells left to make a proper sentence. But I like your brain so it would be counter-productive. And I also like to be bossed around by you.”

“You are really bad at this dirty talk, you know that, right?” You giggle, fondness obvious in your eyes as you look at the love of your life.

“I’m bad at dirty talk but I’m quite good in playing dirty.” Izuku grins as he puts you on the table with one arm. You really want to tell him off for using his arm so much but hell if you didn’t find this scene extremely hot… well, your brain is clearly gone already. Sorry, Izu-Izu.

It takes him half a second to slowly peel your short off with one single finger, removing it inch by inch, slowly and sensually. His fingertip feels like fire as it strokes your lower belly on his way down. You can’t help but whimper. “Nothing to say, huh?” Izuku grumbles into your ears, low and deep. He’s definitely hanging out with Kacchan too much.

“Not in front of All Might, Mr. Deku!” You play the fan girl and by the disgusted look on Izuku’s face, he’s really not into that. It actually breaks your horny little heart when he moves away from you, your panties snapping back in place as he takes a step back.

“Sweets, for the love of god, do not roleplay a fangirl when we actually get uhm… into it. I can only make love to my Sweet Pea.” Izuku moves the figurine to the coffee table and hides his face with the shirt he just pulled over his head in the sexiest way possible. Damn it’s hot in here. “Now he’s not looking. So where were we?”

“I’m… Sweet Pea.” You parrot like a good girl. Izuku grins at you menacingly, or at least he tries but really, he just looks… in love. Oh, how much you love this man and his incapability to be rough.

“You sure smell like her.” Izuku hides his face in your hair and takes an obsessive, deep breath which makes the blood rush into your core. Izuku might be soft and pliant but one thing he’s good at is being a sexy, obsessive beast when he’s in the mood. And as much as you like Izuku on a normal day, you cherish the shit out of these small moments when Izuku forgets his manners. There is just something beautiful about seeing this shy man feel safe enough to be a little bit freaky.

“How do I smell like?” You mutter as Izuku leaves wet kisses all over your neck again, his hands traveling up to your breasts at the same time.

“Flowery, like your face cream.” Izuku pants, his breath hot and heavy on the tip of your ear. “Your skin smells like sandalwood, because you stole my shower gel again. I really like it when you smell like me.”

“I know.” You whimper as Izuku’s hands find your breasts. You can’t help but moan as his hands engulfs your sensitive parts.

“You did this on purpose.”

“Maybe?” You admit sheepishly.

“I thought you… want us to do less uhm… stuff.”

“I’ve never said that.” You sneak one finger into the hem of Izuku’s trousers. “I said I don’t want you to use sex as a tool to wind down when you are stressed.” You tug on the fabric impatiently.

“Well, I was stressed. But now you got me the figurine I was stressing about so…” Izuku mutters and honestly… it all makes sense now. “Will you tell me how did you know I was looking for this figurine or do I need to use my seduction techniques to get it out of you?” Izuku’s palms grasp your chest almost painfully, but just in the right way. You are quite sure there is a massive wet spot on your panties by now.

“You would never do that.” You mumble defiantly. Izuku laughs.

“True. I’m not into that. So tell me or I’ll walk away.” Izuku pinches your nipples then slowly moves his hands away; you grasp his hands and put it back where “they belong.”

“Okay okay, I’ll talk.” You mumble quickly. Izuku giggles at how desperate you sound right now. “Eijirou hacked into Katsuki’s laptop… well, I told him what the password might be and he checked his phone gps from there… then I remembered that article about the All Might figurine being one per person and I knew you are too pure to ask someone to order you another one and… then I came up with the idea of getting them for you as a token of our love and… oh saint jesus.” You moan as Izuku’s hand wanders down to your lower belly then barges right into your panties.

“I haven’t even touched you yet.” Izuku giggles into your hair, his voice sweet as honey. “I’ll never get used to you being so… perfect for me down here. It makes me so happy. You make me so happy. Fuck, I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You urge your boyfriend with a snap of your hips.

“It’s like I’m the fanboy… I can’t believe you are mine, that I can do this, touch you like this, be one with you whenever I desire, it’s like you are too good for me, too perfect, like a dream coming true…” Izuku, being unapologetically himself sniffles into your ear while his fingers find their way into your folds.

“I feel that way too, every time I wake up next to you. Every time you kiss me. Make love to me. Izuku, I love you so much it’s fucking ridiculous.” You move your hips once again and continue doing so until Izuku eases his first finger in. “I have no idea how I managed to stay away from you for so long.”

“We did a really shitty job at that, to be fair. I kissed you twice before we even got together. We slept in the same bed more times than we slept alone.” Izuku mutters with a fond smile on his face. Your hand sneaks towards Izuku’s trousers again, slowly opening the zipper, making some space for Izuku’s poor little friend, who’s clearly suffering inside his tight pants. Izuku uses his other hand to get rid of your panties, you doing your best to hop up from the table so the textile can get out of the way without an issue. Seeing the mess you’ve made already, you guys will need to get a new table before anyone comes over for a dinner party.

“Kiss me.” You pull Izuku close with one hand buried in his unruly hair while the other pulls on his trousers and boxers to finally free his gorgeous fucking dick, because you swear to god this thing between his legs is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life except for all the other parts of Izuku. You take it into your hand greedily your hand moving up and down on his member, making Izuku moan sinfully as he devours your mouth in the most obsessive way possible. One finger becomes two, then three, your own hand losing rhythm as you get closer and closer to your climax. Without a single thought in your head you pull yourself closer to your boyfriend, slowly aiming towards your greedy folds with his member; Izuku whimpers as he feels your juices coating the end of it.

“Fuck.” Izuku moans and with one swift move, pulls you into him, grabbing you by your thighs so hard it will probably leave a mark.

You’ve never done this… this way. Without protection. It feels heavenly. You can feel his shape perfectly, his skin is so soft, it feels like silk inside you, it’s so different from all the other times, you can’t help but loose yourself in the feeling, sucking him in as much as you can while your arms reach for his neck to pull him closer, to kiss him stupid, he feels so good you are about to reach your climax after only a few seconds…

“Sweets, I need to get a condom, this is not safe.” Izuku mutters but his eyes say a different thing; they are full of lust, half- lidded from the pleasure, cheeks red from the restraint as he slows his pace to a steady, slow rhythm.

“Please…don’t.” You mumble, completely out of it; you are frustrated from being declined your climax, you are frustrated because you know he is right, you are frustrated because he feels so fucking good…

“We need to be sensible.” Izuku sighs, slowing his pace to almost nothing. You whimper. “I’m not ready for a baby yet. I need to heal and go back to my job, I want to marry you and enjoy each other for a bit longer, as selfish as it sounds… trust me, I’m frustrated to no end, because this is so fucking good, but Sweets… you worth so much more to me than these few minutes of pleasure. Thank you for your trust. Thank you for letting me do this. But let’s finish this safely so we can enjoy each other after without stressing about what we had done. Okay, Sweets?”

Your answer is a high pitched, offended whimper. Izuku rolls his eyes and pounds into you once more.

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom? It’s really hard to kiss you everywhere in this position. Let me love you properly.” Izuku sweet-talks and it works; you pull yourself up to cling to his neck and Izuku pulls you up enough to free his member which you do not appreciate too much. “It’s okay, Sweets, just a few more steps.” Izuku leaves kisses all over your neck while his fingers find their way back inside you, even in this position. You calm down by the time you two get into the bedroom; he puts you down on the bed softly and gets a condom from the bedside drawer. He does a quick job with putting it on, but not without a grumpy sigh.

“You wanted it just as bad as I did, you liar!” You grumble, but Izuku only laughs.

“Of course I did, it felt otherworldly.” He rolls his eyes cheekily. “But this will feel otherworldly too… because it’s you.” Izuku slowly eases himself back, his whole body touching with yours; you are not sure when did you loose your own shirt but it doesn’t really matter.

Izuku loves you slowly and sensually for a really long time; and just as he promised, he made you feel better than ever. It was so romantic and so-so full of love, you kind of forgot how good it felt to have him inside you without the condom in the way. Izuku plops down next to you after you both had the biggest climax of your lives; he’s out of breath but smiles happily at you, pulling you close for a cuddle.

You are safe from here!

“I’ll never get bored of this.” Izuku mutters into the back of your neck. “And I’m so glad you talked to me about my bad habits. This… felt so much better, even though our time together was always good. Thank you.”

“Stop making me love you more and more every day.” You mumble as you leave a kiss on Izuku’s calloused palm.

“I’ll stop if you’ll stop.” Izuku sounds so happy and so carefree you kind of want to cry. This is the first time in so long he’s been able to sound like that. It fills you with pride; you’ve done that.

“Don’t you wanna open that All Might figurine? Because I really want to open that All Might figurine.” You snicker; Izuku jumps off the bed and takes you in his arms, bridal style.

“First we have a bath. Together. With bubbles.”

“Deal.” You leave a scorching hot kiss on your boyfriend’s mouth, who whimpers into the kiss.

“Behave yourself now. I have no stamina left for today.”

“Sorry, sir.” You snicker and let yourself be carried to the bathroom, half asleep in those perfect, muscly arms.

… to be continued!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Last warning: I’m about to write the last chapter (chapter 27) so if you have anything you really want to see, please let me know! Once I start writing that chapter it’s over so I’ll try to put it aside for a week so you guys can tell me your wishes 🩷

- I posted this chapter earlier than I said I’ll but the next one will be a few days late as Wednesdays are usually my work and therapy days hence I won’t have time to edit it on time! Just a heads up! I hope this being posted before Saturday makes up for it!

- Find yourself a guy like Deku, dude *sighs dreamily* Also, stay safe. Don’t be like you in this chapter! 😂

- I absolutely love this chapter! I hope you love it too! We are getting to the time skip chapters, so hope you are ready!!

- So Deku and that nipple piercing… do you guys think he’ll have the balls to get it done? If he does have to balls to get it done, are you ready to see him? Because as I said, I do have a Vogue cover with Izuku half naked sitting in my art folder, ready to be posted… 😂

- I love Izuku’s innocent way of rebelling. He’s such a great guy 😭 dude I don’t want this ficc to be over, like EVER, I’ll literally cry when this is over 😭

- ALSO, are you guys interested to get an extra KiriBaku chapter which shows how they ended up as a couple? Because I have one, even though I want to re-write the whole thing, but it’s on my wish list so please, if you are interested, let me know! Seeing you guys excited about things motivate me a lot!

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @themultifandomgirl @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave @alyss-eiz @sleepisfortheweakpooh

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #pro hero deku x reader #midoriya x you #midoriya izuku x you #midoriya izuku x y/n #pro hero deku x you

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bubuslutty · 2 years ago

Text

Day 4: baked salmon

this is part 4, all parts

pairing: demon/angel!fem reader x 141

word count: 2.3k

tags: no use of y/n, 3rd person pov, proofread by me so sorry for any mistakes

warnings: none

summary: Angel accidently falls asleep under the sun and gets saved by a knight in shining armor, or an angel, it's the same thing in her head, both glowing and glorious. + imagine getting cockblocked by potatoes 🧍‍♀️

a/n: I know the chapters are called day 2, day 3, ect but it doesn't necessarily mean they happen one right after the other, it's just days of her interacting with the boys.

Two days in the office as a sex therapist wasn't too bad. Angel actually likes working with clients because she gets to see humans and how they react to their environment and relationships, with others and themselves. Of course, she had to do a bit of homework and study to be qualified, but it’s nothing a couple of days of intense learning and superhuman intelligence couldn’t fix. All she had was to tap into her powers and suddenly, she knew everything she had to know.

How convenient it was to be an angel, or a demon in her case.

Angel’s usual wish assignments are more often than not related to earthly desires such as money, fame and lust, maybe love too, but she always had to realise wishes that were considered a sin in many religions. Greed, gluttony, lust. She has worked with all of them. And whether those wishes were good or evil, it doesn’t matter to her, because fate takes care of that, her job is to realise the wish and nothing else.

By human standards, she would definitely be considered a demon, a succubus even, especially now.

“I should get a tattoo…” Angel mumbled, lounging on her messy bed, laptop on her stomach, looking at images of succubus womb tattoos. Kuromi meowed, removing the woman’s attention from her laptop’s screen.

“Hm?” Angel hummed, looking at her cat, standing by her bedroom door. Kuromi meowed again, making Angel gasp, “Yes! You’re so right!”

The woman immediately closed her laptop and ran to her phone, checking the weather. It looked like today was going to be hot and nice, even though it was cold as shit the day before.

That’s typical British weather for you.

“You’re so smart, Kuromi.” Angel said and sent a flying kiss to the cat, who lifted her tail and walked out, completely unbothered. Angel opened one of her drawers that had multiple bikinis and swimsuits. She started getting naked on the spot, excited to change and go downstairs to sunbathe in her garden. When she changed into one of her bikini sets, she dug for one of her hats and got a random green bucket hat for the sun, shades and a bottle of suncream.

If there’s one thing she’ll never forget while being in this realm, is that the sun is unforgiving and harsh, unless you want to look like a baked salmon or get skin cancer, you have to protect yourself.

Angel hummed while walking down her stairs, going straight for the fridge and getting herself a small water bottle and a Coke in case she got thirsty, and then a random magazine that was left on her counter, a Bluetooth speaker and a yoga mat.

She happily started getting settled in the middle of her garden, where there was no shade. Angel could hear some of her neighbours hanging out in their gardens too, low music, people chatting, children giggling and dogs barking and elderly people complaining about the noise. She sat on her yoga mat and started rubbing sun cream all over her skin, making sure to not miss a spot, and struggled to get her back but ended up giving up, “I’ll do it later when I turn around…” She grumbled.

After setting up her music and lowering the volume, she laid down on her back, sunglasses and bucket hat on. Angel took a deep breath, loving the heat of the sun and closed her eyes.

“I’ll do it later when I turn around…” She, in fact, did not turn around.

Angel ended up falling asleep with her mouth open, right under the sun, in the process of baking. However, earlier, the sky was not the only thing that witnessed her stupidity in real-time.

Her very sexy neighbours all decided to hang out outside, to enjoy the sun like normal people when they saw her asleep in the middle of her garden. John came out in shorts and sandals, wearing his very stylish bucket hat and sunglasses, a book in hand when he saw her. Of course, he saw her, they literally had the shittiest, lowest fence ever, and it practically gave no one much privacy. But it’s not like they're going to complain when they get to see her looking like that.

“Steaming Jesus…” Johnny said, lowering his sunglasses so he can get a better look.

“What sort of shitty cliché film are we in?” Gaz laughed in disbelief. Not only did they have a nice house (minus the shitty garden fence), but a very hot, very friendly, smart and funny neighbour.

“Are you complaining?” Soap asked the man.

“Me? Hell no, that’s one beautiful woman.” Gaz said with a nod.

“Stop staring, you creeps.” Ghost came up from behind them and grabbed both of their necks, lowering their heads. Both Soap and Gaz whined at their superior, turning around and sitting in their garden lounge chairs, doing their own thing.

John already had his nose buried in his book while Ghost closed his eyes and covered his face with a cap. Gaz was playing music through a Bluetooth speaker and was knitting at the same time, humming to the lyrics of whatever song was playing, and Soap was doodling in a sketchbook, bopping his head to Gaz’s music.

20 minutes passed peacefully until John closed his book and checked his watch. His change in demeanour was immediately noticed by his men, even Ghost lifted the cap and peeked at his captain with one eye. “It’s been 20 minutes and she hasn’t moved an inch, how long has she been sleeping there for?” He said with a frown.

“That woman is literally going to bake under the sun,” Gaz said, looking at Soap.

“She will if we dinnae wake ‘er up.” Soap agreed.

“Why do you even care?” Ghost asked, surprising Price.

“Because we’re not shite neighbours, Simon.” Soap said in that annoying voice he thinks drives Ghost up the wall, but Ghost secretly thinks it’s cute.

“Yeah, don’t be a dickhead, Simon,” Gaz said, batting his eyelashes at the soldier, hiding his annoying grin behind the scarf he was knitting.

“Enough, go wake her up, Gaz.” John said, and Gaz placed his unfinished scarf in his chair and walked up to the fence, and cleared his throat loudly.

Angel didn’t move an inch and he turned around, to look at the others.

“Call ‘er name!” Soap whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” Ghost side-eyed Soap, who absolutely ignored him.

“Angel, wake up, please?” Gaz tried again, squinting his eyes to try to see if her chest was moving up and down. Call him paranoid but she wasn’t moving, and he couldn’t for the life of him see if she was breathing or not from his position.

Gaz immediately jumped over the fence and rushed to her side and placed two fingers on her pulse, at the side of her neck. Soap, Ghost and Price were all up now, standing next to the fence, and all sighed in relief when Gaz turned around and gave them a thumbs-up.

Gaz scanned her lax face and decided to lift her head with one hand and used the other to gently tap one of her cheeks, “Angel, wake up.”

Angel woke up with a gasp as if she was holding her breath the whole time, maybe she was, who knows, her body can do freaky stuff when it forgets it's wearing the skin of a human. When she opened her eyes, Angel was so confused, was she in heaven?? Because what the shit, this is a real angel right there.

“What time is it?” She groggily said, her hand going up by itself to cup Gaz’s cheek.

“Half past one. You were knocked out and we got worried you’d bake under the sun.” Gaz said with a chuckle, and reality finally hit her. Angel abruptly sat up and Gaz grabbed both of her shoulders, “Hey, slow down.”

“Water, Gaz.” Price reminded the man and Gaz immediately grabbed the now warm water bottle next to her, unscrewed the cap and poured a bit in his palm and patted her hot cheeks.

“Oh, that feels good.” Angel moaned, not realising how hot she truly was.

“That was dangerous, you know that right? Sleeping under the sun with no shade.” Gaz said, wiping his wet hand on his naked chest.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep…” Angel sheepishly said, glancing at the other three men looking at her.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, and thank you for waking me up, Gaz.” Angel said, placing a hand on his, which was on her yoga mat, next to her thigh. Gaz’s eyes widened, looking at her hand on his and looked back up again. She was smiling at him, and his heartbeat sped up. Gaz could feel his guys looking at him, at them, but he couldn’t look away from her eyes and lips. Especially her lips.

“You don’t, uh” he choked out then cleared his throat, “You don’t have to apologise…”

“Okay.” Angel whispered, those big beautiful eyes staring at him like he was the sun and the sky, and Gaz felt like he was going to fucking die.

“Who fancies a barbeque? I feel like grilling, today.” Price spoke, breaking the spell. Gaz retrieved his hand and stood up, stretching his arms behind his head, trying to hide his flustered state.

“Oh yeah!” Soap grinned.

“That sounds really nice, enjoy your barbeque, guys.” Angel said, collecting her phone and Bluetooth to get inside, she had enough sun for today. Maybe she’ll watch a show on her laptop, or read a book.

“Where are you going?” Price frowned, stopping her in her tracks, all of her stuff clutched in her arms.

“What?”

“You’re invited, Angel.” Price said.

“Am I?”

“Of course, lass! What type of neighbours would we be if we didnae invite our favourite neighbour?” Soap said with a huge grin.

“Soap, I’m the only neighbour you’ve spoken to since moving in.” Angel deadpanned and Soap shrugged with his arms crossed, the dog tags glinting over his hairy chest under the sun.

“I’ll go get the grill ready.” Ghost said, walking towards their shed.

“Hi, Ghost!” Angel quickly greeted him.

“Hi, Angel.” He replied, without looking back.

Gaz slowly walked up to the fence, “I’ll go prep the meat.” he mumbled and jumped over, glad to escape her hypnotising eyes and lips.

“Wait, I don’t know what to bring!” Angel’s smile fell when she realised she has never been invited to a barbeque before and has no idea what to bring, she has seen humans having barbeques but she doesn’t know what they would like her to bring.

“You don’t have to bring anything, honey.” Angel was now right in front of her fence, knees touching the scratchy wood and watching Price move the chairs around to make space for the grill.

“Uhm, Soap! Please come over and get stuff you guys don’t have.” Angel quickly said and grabbed for the man’s arm as if he’d run away. She really didn’t want to be rude and not bring anything to the barbeque, and she knows that Soap loves food and knows so much more about cooking than she does.

This is absolutely pathetic for someone with her powers, but she never claimed to be perfect, has she?

And how could Soap ever say no to that face?

“Of course, hun.” Soap grinned and jumped over the fence, taking the water bottle and unopened can of Coke away from her. “And these are going in the trash.” He said, walking inside her house and straight to the kitchen as if he always lived there.

“For how long are they supposed to boil?” Angel asked, frowning down at a pot with boiling water and whole potatoes.

“Leave the potatoes alone and come chop the chives.” Soap said, glancing up at the woman with amusement. Angel was still wearing her bikini and her cute green bucket hat, standing there in the kitchen with him.

Angel sighed and stood next to Johnny, grabbing the knife and starting to chop the chives. Soap watched the woman try to chop the chives and get frustrated that it was hard even though the chives were thin and small. Soap had to admit, she might be PhD smart and hot as fuck but she was actually useless with a knife.

Soap sighs, standing behind her and grabbing the knife away from her hand. “Watch, that’s how you do it.” He said and she nodded, watching him hold the chives with one hand and chop them with the other with ease. “See? Easy peasy, now try again.”

Angel grabbed the knife and tried again, and she was instantly better, a bit slow but better than her mediocre previous tries. “How long does potato salad take to make?” Angel looked over her shoulder and asked, looking at Soap, who was still standing behind her.

“Like half an hour? The only long parts are boiling the potatoes and chilling the salad.” Soap said, making her nod and turn back to chopping her chives.

“Do you have someone, lass?” Soap suddenly asked, making her look up from her chives and stare at the cupboard in front of her.

“Am I dating someone?” She repeated.

“Aye.”

Angel noticed the change in Soap’s usual friendly and teasing tone, and placed her knife down on the chopping board, and slowly turned around.

“No, why?” Angel raised a brow and Soap kept looking at her with an unreadable expression.

“Just got a lad wondering.” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his glorious naked and tan chest.

“Just a lad wondering…” Angel hummed, touching his dog tags with one hand, “Are you dating someone?”

“No, why?” Soap slowly grinned and took a step forward.

“Just got a lass wondering.” Angel grinned back, pulling him forward by his dog tags.

A loud hiss startled the two of them and Angel panicked, “The potatoes!”

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @loveyhoneydovey @cutiecusp @pinkwigonmytv @mandythemint @itsberrydreemurstuff @tapioca-marzipan @fruitymoonbeams-blog @poohkie90 @chaoticevilbakugo @anubis-reed @thefairybird @skytacvia @marytvirgin @cynicalmnm @maechanexe @t0jis-worm @1800imgay @4ndjelij4 @multitargaryen @lilpothoscuttings @mysticalpandabear

#cod mw2 #captain john price #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 ghost #captain price #call of duty #gaz x reader #gaz mw2 #gaz #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #price x reader #john price #bubuslutty writes

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pillow-anime-talk · 2 years ago

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idk if u write for male reader but i would love to read 3 + royalty tpn ray

# tags: scenario; friendship and also current secret relationship; light romance; mostly fluff; also a bit of angst; royalty!au; prince!reader and prince!ray; staring at the stars together; imaginary world; sfw

includes: male reader ft. ray {tpn}

author’s note: yes! i am writing for male readers and thank you very much for this. this is my first tpn request!

3. “Are we gonna fight? Like fist to fist or rather… lips to lips?”

A warm August night, and the day – and at the same time the feast – of Saint Aure’guen was a time when animals spoke with human voices, flowers changed their places and arranged themselves in beautiful patterns, and the stars showed the future to those who dared to look at them. It was a magical moment, celebrated only once a year on the fourth Tuesday of the month mentioned above.

“... It’s beautiful today, isn’t it?” You asked quietly, squeezing your lover’s hand tighter, who timidly nodded his head, looking at the stars arranged in various figures or signs. The moon was obscured by dark clouds giving the opportunity to shine that night to its smaller brothers. “Do you see anything interesting? Has heaven told you a secret or something?”

The Prince of Aquemering looked into your shining eyes for a brief moment, then turned his full attention back to the dark and the flashing dots. He was observant, intelligent, and loved anything to do with space. He was the opposite of you – a boy boy who loved music, painting and fencing. You loved the mundane things, while Rey loved history, the mysteries of the world, the cosmos and the depths of all the oceans that surround the earth, and all the fossils and ancestors of your families.

“The stars warn of a battle between the two of us. We must beware of third parties who will seek to destroy our happiness.” He said quietly, closing his tired eyelids.

As the future king, and also the current prince of Ignitesu, you will certainly be forced to marry a woman whose name you will hear on the occasion of your wedding ceremony in a few years. You will surely become the father of several children, a respected ruler and beloved man of the whole kingdom. But it wasn’t what you wanted. You just wanted to spend your next years, until the day of your death, with a person with whom you share not only love, but also mutual respect, sincere friendship and much more important values than the desire to start a family or exercise power over the entire country. These feelings were stronger than life and more certain than death.

“Ohh, I see. So... Are we gonna fight? Like fist to fist or rather… lips to lips?” You joked, wanting to lighten the atmosphere between the two of you, but Ray just rolled his eyes, pinching your warm right cheek.

The stars never lie; perhaps your fight will be symbolic – for a piece of baked potato with pepper on a plate – or perhaps it will have a second bottom that will end your relationship once and for all. The stars were never wrong, but they also never said when it would happen; tomorrow, in five months, in eight years, on your seventieth birthday. Or maybe posthumously? Nobody knows that.

Now, however, you wanted to enjoy the Night of Truth and each other’s presence. You didn’t want to think about superfluous things, you didn’t want to talk about the future. Now, in this moment, you valued the present and your current feelings. What will be tomorrow will be tomorrow.

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lotus-n-l0ve · 2 years ago

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Can you write about Yamagishi meeting a shy gamer chick? She wears basically potato sacks but he really enjoys going to the arcade with her. She invites him over for a movie night only to be confused about why she dresses in baggy clothes, because she's beautiful (He would say hot).

It isn't based on insecurity though. You might be able to add NSFW at the end when he blurts out an accidental confession. ❤

Sure @mztoman. By the way I didn't add any smut here but you want I can make a part two with smut. If you want let me know. hope you like it ♡

𝐈𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞

— Kazushi Yamagishi x Shy Gamer!Female Reader

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ : When your love for arcade brought you to your soulmate.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : slight smut, cursing, making out, kissing

ɴᴏᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʟᴏᴛᴜꜱ : I wasn't really sure about this because I don't know shit about gaming and arcade. If there is any wrong information then please pardon me. This one is a little short, sorry for that.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You have always enjoyed playing games, going to arcades. When you were a child, you father used to take you to a arcade close to your home every weekend. He introduced you to all the games there and with time you developed a fond for games.

Even now that you have grown, you always come the arcade near your school after school ends. You loved going but you didn't knew that going there would get you dumb but a great friend, Kazushi Yamagishi.

You two met because there was a new game launching that he had determined to score the top only to hear the next day that someone else, more precisely a highschool girl, beat him by a huge margin.

Kazushi couldn't digest the embarassment of losing to someone he run to the arcade only to find a dressed in all baggy clothes and who apperantly beat his score. Kazushi won't lie he thought you were really hot but THAT'S NOT THE WHAT HE'S HERE FOR.

Kazushi snapped himself out of the daze and demanded a rematch with you. Surely he would win this time. O boy! How wrong he was. You beat him within ten minutes. And after that he kept challenging you in every game present there and you kept winning every single one of them.

Saying that you were not enjoying that would be a lie. There were games that you wanted to play with a pertner but you were too shy to ask anyone else. You didn't want to burden them. So, when a boy with chestnut hair and thick square glasses came budging in your life challenging with every game present in the arcade, you felt happy inside and accepted all his challenges.

As time when by you two got closer and closer to the point that most of your time spent either with eachother or talking or thinking about eachother. The intriguing feeling Kazushi had for you turned into a feeling of fondness but did he dared to confess his feelings for you.

He didn't want to tarnish the beautiful friendship had had built with you over the time. And other than that he felt like he didn't deserve you. He was just a dumpass who's life circles around gang, crime and fights. While on the other hand you were beautiful, intelligent who has her life planned ahead and out of his league. He would rather have you as just his friend than not have you in his life, unknown to the same feelings that you bore for him.

The screen of your phone lit up with a message from 'Kazu <3' —

Kazu <3 —

I'll be there in two minutes.

You started at the message, baffled because wasn't he supposed to come at 7 O'clock. He said he had some work to finish before coming over. Then you checked the time. It was already 6:50 p.m. that means you had been getting dressed for over an hour now.

Usually you were baggy clothes. Why? Because they are comfy and you never felt the need to put on your prettiest outfit, wear make up or look good. But today you wanted to impress Kazushi. So, you put on your favourite pair of top and shorts and did you makeup lightly. You kept everything natural a subtle. You didn't want Kazushi to know that you put extra effort to impress him. That would be embarassing.

Giving yourself one last look over through the mirror you left the bedroom. You checked again if everything was it was supposed to be, The snacks, the movie, blankets, everything before the doorbell rang. You quickly fixed you hair and took a deep breath before opening the door.

"Hi Kazu, come in." You said as held the door open, "Did you have any problem with the address?"

Kazushi walked in and you closed the door behind, "No Y/N, I've been in this neighborhood for quite a few times."

You led him to the living room, feeling him about the movie that you had picked as you two got cozy on the sofa. The movie's name was 'Midnight Lovers'. It was new released romance movie. You cousin was gushing over how good it was. So when saw opportunity you grabbed it and invited Kazushi over for a movie night.

And the movie really was good. By the end of it you were gushing too, "O my god! That was so good. Who would not want their partner to this romantic......."

Kazushi stared at you with a admiring gaze, fighting the urge to trail his eyes down your body. Today, you were different. He had always seen you in baggy clothes. Baggy shirts, hoodies, pants etc. So when he saw you opening the door wearing a shirt that hugs you body like a golve and shorts that left little to nothing to imagine, only Kazushi knows how he controlled himself for jumping on you.

His eyes stopped at your luscious lip. How they move as you speak. God knows how many times he had wanted to just blur out all his feelings and kiss you to his heart's content. If only he was not a cowered, he would have shouted to the world how much he loves you.

"And then they—" You cut yourself off when you notice that Kazushi is barely listening. You follow the line of his stare only to blush like a tomato when you realise that he was staring at your lips.

"Kazushi?" You gently shake him by his arm. Getting a lost 'hmm' you ask, "Where are you lost?"

"In you." He whispered.

"W-What?" You stuttered snapping him out his dazed state. Air got stuck in his lungs when he registered what he had just said to.

His cheeks heat up in embarrassment as started waving his hands, feeling all panicked, "Wa-Wait, I didn't mean it like that. I don't like or something. I mean of course I love you but— o my god! What am I saying? I'm sor—"

His words left muffled as you grabbed his both cheeks and slammed your lips on his. Kazushi froze, his hand shoting up to grab your arms before gradually relaxing and giving in to the kiss. You pull back, panting, mirroring him.

"Y-Y/N—" He started but you cut him off again, "I love you too, Kazushi."

You confess before kissing him again. Kazushi pulls you on his lap by your waist, making you straddle him as you wrap your hands around his neck. His lips synced with yours as your fingers played with his locks while his caressed your waist.

— Your love for arcade brought you to your soulmate.

All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners. If you want be added on any my taglist then you can do that here. The ask box is open so if want me to write something then you can request there.

#kazushi yamagishi #Kazushi x reader #Kazushi x you #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo rev fluff #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers x you #Kazushi x y/n #Kazushi Yamagishi x reader #Kazushi Yamagishi x you #Kazushi Yamagishi x y/n

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hannahssimblr · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter Two (Part 3)

We sit in the window of a vegan restaurant and we pick at our sweet potato and quinoa bowls while she goes on about some poetry night she was at last week. She always goes to poetry nights, she insists that she’s moved by the prose, which to me seems like endless spoken word performances about the Ballymun flats, soliloquies about the gentrification of the working class postcodes, references to things that Dubliners love, like the Poolbeg chimneys, which are… just chimneys.

Marnie is one of those people who loves pretending that she isn’t posh. She can lament about the flats, but she’s never been in or near them. She buys bags of tobacco, skins and filters for five euros when she could easily afford to buy her cigarettes pre-rolled, and does her best to uphold the most neutral of neutral accents, so ambiguous that nobody could ever guess where she’s from. It’s only on rare occasions when she lets her guard down that her plummy, south side accent peeks through and she can’t disguise affiliation with the fee paying school she attended in Blackrock. For both primary and secondary, no less.

I’ve been to poetry nights with her, but only once or twice, because I hate them. She likes to sit there and make outraged sounds in the right places, pretending to be furious at the bankers, even though her dad is one and he definitely benefited directly from the housing market crash. The whole reason she’s there though, really, although she’d never admit to such shallowness, is so that she can meet weird, literary boys who go to Trinity. They seem to love her, and I can only ever sit in amazement as she brings me to their tables and watch as she wraps them around her little finger using nothing but clever words and conspiratorial little smiles. None of them are that handsome, they’re all a bit gawky, and usually after a couple of weeks of knowing her they’ll do something earnest like write a poem about her which she’ll read to me mockingly, pretending that she isn’t privately delighted by it.

She’s not like anybody else I’ve ever met, which drives my fascination with her. She’s very interesting. She reads books about feminism, and always has high-brow, intelligent opinions about things like the patriarchy, which I am only now hearing about for the first time. And she’s very cool, and I know that she tries very hard to be cool, but it works, and when I’m around her I kind of feel like I’m cool by association. She’s got attitudes towards things that I know someone like my mam would say were “very modern”. She told me before that she used to be in an open relationship with a boy called Peter, and insists that humans were never supposed to be monogamous. But the open relationship arrangement only seemed to apply to her, as evidently Peter never went on a date with another person for the entire relationship, and they eventually split because he was jealous. Except she hadn’t said “jealous”. She’d said “Unevolved”.

“Come on, Evie.” She pesters me over our salads after my less than enthusiastic response to her invitation to yet another slam-poetry-spoken-word-whatever night. “It’s always a good laugh. I know that you have a good time, even just a small bit.”

I sigh. “I really don’t, Marnie. I’m just not that bothered about the poetry.”

“Well, if you don’t like poetry, at least come with me to flirt with a few cute guys. It would be good for you.”

I look at her doubtfully, knowing that there are never any cute boys there, only exceptionally odd looking ones wearing doc martens boots laced all the way up to their knees. “I’m not that bothered about the boys there either.” I say. “None of them are… really my type.”

She puts her hand on my wrist and looks at me worriedly. “I was actually wondering.” She says in a low voice. “Like, I’ve known you for over a month now, and we’ve been out in town so many times and met so many people and yet I’ve never seen you even flirt with a single person.”

“So what?” I say defensively.

“So do you like boys? Girls? Neither?”

“I’m shy.” I huff.

“I used to be shy.” She comments, and I don’t say anything to that, because I know that her definition of what shy looks like is extremely different to the kind of shy I’m living with. “I was a very quiet child, then my parents sent me to a therapist and I was alright after that.”

“You think I should go to therapy because I’m shy.”

“Oh, everyone should be in therapy, it’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, and actually, this country’s relationship with mental health has historically been shameful, so we have to make extra effort to challenge our prejudices about it.” She goes off on a tangent, all while gently stroking her thumb over my wrist, and I zone out for a few moments so I can look out the window onto the windy city street.

“So like, when’s the last time you got with someone?” She says suddenly.

I pull my hand away from her so I can rest it on my hot cheeks. She’s very good at asking direct questions in a very conversational way that are very difficult to twist your way out of, and I don’t know what to say so I grumble something incoherent. Then she pokes me in the arm. “Hey. It’s no big deal, just a simple question. How long has it been?”

I sigh. “A while.”

“What’s a while?”

I take my fork and start stabbing at my chunks of sweet potato, my hand fisted at my cheek. “Never.” I finally admit. “You got me, okay? I still have my… virginity.”

I know as soon as the words leave my mouth that she’s going to have something grandiose to say, and she does. “Virginity doesn’t exist.” She announces. “It’s made up by men to control the sex that we do or don’t have, completely based on the obsessive patriarchal ideological rhetoric that leads to the idea that daughters belong to their fathers before they belong to their husbands.”

“Okay.” I say.

“So go out and have it.”

“It’s not that simple.” I say half-heartedly, already tired from years of having this exact conversation with first Kelly, then Claire, neither of whom have ever understood me, or tried to. “Everyone else already has experience, and will expect me to have experience too. Because I should have some experience by now. And when I finally do… it with someone, I’m going to disappoint them.”

“Because you’re not immediately a porn star?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there is that, and men will always have unrealistic expectations of what is physically possible…” she says unhelpfully, then stops when she sees my forlorn expression. “But you’re too in your head about it. The best way to get over it is to just do it.”

“Yeah. Great. With who though?”

“Someone, any lad will do.”

“It’s supposed to be special.” I say weakly. “Everyone says you don’t forget your first time, and if I’m going to remember it forever then I want it to be perfect.”

“People have sex sometimes, Evie. It’s not a big deal. Can you imagine the pressure of having to live up to the kinds of expectations that you have?”

I never considered the effect of my expectations. Maybe she’s right, maybe I am piling the pressure on too high for everyone involved, but I have no idea how I’m going to even begin to untangle the web that is my intimacy issues. I groan and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands in resignation. “I know I have to try. It’s not like I want to be like this, but I just feel so stuck.”

“We have to unstick you.”

“We?”

“Yes I’ve decided to help you.”

“Marnie…”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. Think about it, you and I out on the pull together, chatting to men. I could definitely hook you up with someone.”

I fix her with my best warning look. “I don’t ever want you to try and set me up with anybody. I want free will and choice.”

“I have great taste.”

She doesn’t. The last guy she hooked up with had an infected eyebrow piercing and curly mohawk in this queasy, seasick colour where it used to be blue.

“Fine, next time we’re out, I’ll give you complete agency.” She relents. “I won’t bring anybody over to you, even if he’s an absolute babe who’s exactly your type.” Then she reaches out and touches my wrist again. “But I think this is good, Evie. It’s time to push past your anxiety, and just see who’s out there.”

“I suppose.” I say grimly, and go back to stabbing my salad. “But I’m not ready to sleep with anybody. I just want to talk, and maybe kiss someone. Maybe.”

“That’s so secondary school.” She teases. “But look, I get it. It’s probably been ages since you even kissed someone.” A pause. “If ever?”

“I’m not Drew Barrymore, I’ve been kissed.” I scoff. “Just not in a while.”

“What’s a while?”

“My debs date tried to kiss me.” I say elusively.

“Tried to? Or actually did?”

“Tried to.” I admit, and then shudder with the memory of Bootsy’s dead eyed face looming toward me on the dancefloor, mouth already open. He didn’t even have the decency to look disappointed when I rejected him either, and ten minutes later I saw him devouring Cristina the Horse Girl by the bar.

“Okay so you objectively did not have your last kiss at your debs.”

“I suppose not.”

“So it was when?”

I feel too embarrassed to answer. Since the dawn of my love life, since my very first kiss at thirteen, I’ve never gone more than a few weeks or months without it happening. It used to be something I did just to get it out of the way, so that I could say that I’d done it, but now something has switched. I’ve had an intense aversion to it, to anybody showing interest in me. It all just seems too much, too overwhelming, something so gross and unappealing to me now that the idea of it makes me feel a little sick.

“A while ago.” I say, feeling flustered at the old memory. “It was back during the summer after fifth year.”

“So like, a good year and a half?”

“Yeah when you put it like that it sounds so sad.”

She doesn’t need to tell me that yes, in fact, she does think it’s sad, she just shakes her head in dismay. “You’re getting back on the kiss train, firstly. Let’s start there. Once you’ve broken the seal it’ll be easy. It’s just about pushing through fear.” She says it like she really knows what she’s talking about, with absolute conviction, and I kind of believe that she does. Marnie gets all the boys, all the time, even if they’re not handsome boys, she still gets them, so surely she knows a thing or two that I don’t. I find myself nodding along to what she’s saying.

“Alright.” I say. “I’ll get back on the kissing train.”

“Amazing.” She grins. “Let’s go out tonight.”

I take a shaky breath. “Wow, that’s soon.”

“Come on, Evie, it’s never too early, just push through it.”

“Alright. But can we go to a normal bar? Not one of those Trinity pubs, please, I don’t fancy any of those academic types.”

“I feel as though you’re just making excuses.”

“I’m really not, just, please, can we go somewhere normal.”