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imnotshua · 2 months ago

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who's your worm guy? - wjh | part 1 of 2

٠࣪⭑ pairing: wen junhui x fem reader ٠࣪⭑ summary: your final project is due far too soon and you’re stumped for ideas. that is until you pick up a part time job in the ticket booth at your local water park and you meet the most– uh– interesting employees. this includes a wen junhui, food and beverage supervisor, whose creativity sparks most when he’s hazy and slacking off. ٠࣪⭑ genre: coworkers au. smut (eventual), fluff, crack ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: stoner junhui, drinking, swearing, possible violations of health and safety regulations ٠࣪⭑ smut contents: catch 'em at it in part 2 (posting asap) if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑ wc: 11.3k ٠࣪⭑ a/n: thank u to my loves @100vern and @starlightkyeom who always chat with me about my silly little guys and read my shit before u see it. and thank you again to jewel who made the banner! ily both always ٠࣪⭑ written for: the carat bay collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you both for letting me join in! please look out for the rest of the fics 💕

edit to add: my italics have disappeared after posting?? but it’s 1:40am so i’ll fix that tomorrow night because i’m picking up my puppy tomorrow morning 😭

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · You’re going to kill Mingyu for dropping you off a whole hour early.

“I’m going to kill Mingyu,” you complain.

“It’s not his fault he has a meeting,” murmurs Soonyoung, trying not to yawn.

“You should drive us,” you say.

“Pay for my car to be fixed and I’ll think about it.”

Soonyoung said he’d introduce you to everyone this morning, but apparently you two are the first staff on site today, save for the one elderly security guy who grumbled about unlocking the gates for you on arrival, so now it’s your job to take over the staff sign-ins. Soonyoung is sitting on your desk, legs swinging below him, and grumbling about not having had time for breakfast.

“I’m gonna waste away,” he whines. “Can I have some of your banana?”

You shovel the remaining half in your mouth and Soonyoung scowls. “Sowee.”

“Dickhead.”

You grin around the banana mush and Soonyoung pushes himself off the desk.

“I’m gonna raid the snackbar– oh no, do not look at me like that. You’re not getting a thing.”

You swallow thickly, it makes a gross sound. “We get to raid the snackbar? There’s a snackbar?”

“Are you an idiot? Of course there’s a snackbar. And officially, no we don’t get to raid it, but unofficially Junhui doesn’t care.”

“What do they have?“

“Snackbar stuff, I don’t know.” Soonyoung shrugs. “Leave me alone now, I’m leaving.”

You grab at him. “Please please please can I have something bready. I need carbs or I’ll die. I need coffee. Please Soonyoung, please.”

“Ew oh my God, get off me, freak.”

Thirty minutes later, he still isn’t back, and you’ve got your head in your arms on your desk. You’re famished. You’re wasting away. You’re–

“Hi.”

You lift your head to see there’s a blonde man outside your booth. You’re stunned, is what you are. He’s maybe the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. You blink, still sleepy, and say, “Sorry, we’re not open yet.”

He blinks comically slow. “Uh– no. I work here.”

He points to the little visor with Carat Bay’s logo printed on the front, perched atop his head. Red and white. Makes him look like a Pokemon trainer.

“Oh. What’s your name?”

“I’m Jun– Junhui.” He goes to shake your hand but stops when he seemingly remembers there’s a pane of glass separating you. Oh my God, he’s cute.

You make your eyes go big. “No fucking way, dude,” you exclaim. “That’s my name too.”

You have no words to describe his expression, but you have to work hard to keep your face straight.

“Really?”

“Really. You wanna see my birth certificate?”

His eyes narrow. “Your name isn’t Jun.”

“No, it’s Jun Junhui.” The corners of your lips twitch.

“Are you new?”

“Yup,” you say. “Started yesterday.”

It’s April, and the water park adjoining the area’s most popular resort is just opening up again for the season. The only reason you got this job is because you were bullied into it by your roommates, Soonyoung and Minghyu, who would really really like it if you didn’t go into debt this time to make your share of the rent (they never listen when you tell them that’s what your student loan is there for) and both of whom have been working here for years.

Your place is supposed to be (strictly) a student let, but Soonyoung dropped out within the first two months of university, and has since worked two jobs most of the year, and somehow fits in a lifeguarding position at Carat Bay April through October. Mingyu worked the hotel reception for a while, graduated two years ago, and now he works as the resorts’ LFTS Coordinator. Whatever that means. He’s well paid and could move into somewhere much nicer, but he says he likes the company (for some reason) and he’s saving to buy a house in a nicer part of the city, so he’ll stay so long as your landlord keeps avoiding all contact. Anyway, what’s crucial here is that they’ve forgotten what it’s like to live as a poverty stricken film student. (You’re fine, just a little broke.)

The turn of winter into spring has been marred by your lack of 1) funds, 2) social life, and 3) inspiration. You’ve got a few months before your final project is due but it’s supposed to be half done by now, and you’re struggling to find a drop of creativity. Your last attempt fell through as you were two thirds into filming thanks to your useless fuck of a partner, and you spent weeks trying to work through it by yourself before giving up entirely. There were too many plates for one person to keep spinning. Your notebooks are a mess of scratched out ideas and fragmented thoughts. It doesn’t need to be long– in fact, shorter is probably better. Quality over quantity and all that. You thumb through Mingyu’s books, love letters your grandparents wrote, Soonyoung’s softcore porn collection (why does he have them in magazine format anyway? Is he from the 80s?) and the old photographs tucked away in your parents garage for inspiration– but it doesn’t come. You had wanted something romantic, something sweet and full of feeling, but everything came to a standstill. Maybe you’re just bitter that you’ve been left to pick up the pieces of a failed start.

Maybe you’re bitter about Jiho. It was fun while it lasted, but he is precisely the reason you had your preference for crushes over relationships in the first place. It’s not your fault he slipped in during the night. It’s not that your feelings are hurt, per se. It’s more that the chance for something real wasn’t there for the taking like you’d come to think. It’s more that you’d rather have just kept it light like always, and he didn’t, and then you didn’t, and the safety net wasn’t there when you needed it. It’s something of a relief that he got himself kicked off the course when he did. You haven’t spoken since.

Back to the point– item 1 is how you end up working (just part time, you’re not as ambitious (read: insane) as your roommates) in the ticket booth at Carat Bay. You didn’t get to meet many of your coworkers yesterday, since the morning was eaten up by induction (not much to induct, you think, since all there is to do is take the money, push a few buttons, give customers their wristbands, and make sure to upsell the goggles.) and lunch was taken in a break room that was completely empty, save for a few harvest spiders and one dead wasp.

You learned quickly (from Joshua, the other ticket staff who sits across the entryway) that the shifts are long and boring, since you’ll be sitting in a single occupancy booth for four to eight hours. Apparently it’s a rush of people at opening, having barely-there interactions with most of the patrons, and they come in dribs and drabs throughout the day. Occasionally a lost kid will wander over, and you’ll get to make a call for their adult over the tannoy. Before you knew it, Mingyu was scolding Soonyoung for leaving handprints and kiss marks on your window (someone has to clean that, Soonyoung!), and it was time to go home.

“What’s your real name?” says Jun Not Junhui, leaning in through your open window to look for the name badge that you’ve forgotten to put on. He smells like your type- good weed and expensive soap.

You tell him the truth this time, since he’ll find out soon enough anyway, and he repeats it for confirmation. Twice. You roll your lips between your teeth in effort not to laugh.

“Soonyoung’s talked about you a lot,” he says, looking you over. “You don’t seem evil.”

“You should’ve seen me an hour ago,” you grin. “You run the snackbar?”

Jun blinks, surprised. “Food and Beverage Manager. Did I say that already? I didn’t feel my mouth move.”

“No,” you say. “Soonyoung mentioned you. He’s gone to the snack bar to get us breakfast.”

His eyes blow wide. Panicked, he says, “Kwon Soonyoung is in my kitchen?”

“Uh–”

“He’s using my kitchen?”

“Um–”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“Why would I say that?”

He doesn’t reply. He takes off sprinting into the park, yelling Soonyoung’s name, and as he disappears around the corner of the locker rooms, you remember that you’re supposed to check everyones’ staff ID cards. Oops.

Soonyoung walks back over a minute later, one to-go coffee stacked precariously on top of the other, and a couple of paper bags clutched in his other hand.

“I just met Jun,” you say, taking the balanced cup from him as soon as he gets to your booth. You take a sip– it tastes burned, but it’s caffeine. Anything will do.

“Yeah, I figured. I heard him screaming like a banshee and had to hide in the log flume so he didn’t see me,” he grumbles. He tosses a paper bag at you. Inside is an egg and cheese bagel. “My ass is wet.”

“You’re a lifeguard in a water park. You’re wearing board shorts. Isn’t getting wet part of the job description?”

“Not before nine AM.”

“Thought you said he didn’t mind people raiding the kitchen?” You take a bite of your bagel. It’s– uh. It’s edible.

Soonyoung smiles mischievously. “Well yeah, so long as he’s there to supervise. He doesn’t like anyone touching his precious fridge magnets.”

“He didn’t seem like a manager.”

“He’s full of surprises, that one.”

You’re interrupted by the sound of slammed car doors and a rev of the engine as it pulls away, and a moment later, in trudge a bunch of guys in a uniform similar to Soonyoung’s. White polo shirt, pink board shorts, comically small pink visor. You want one too, why haven’t you got a visor? Soonyoung wears a white shirt too, but his has ‘LIFEGUARD’ emboldened on both sides in red. You just get the white polo, three sizes too large because it was either this or one that was clearly from unsold children’s merch stock. Nothing cute in pink, or blue like Joshua.

“Who are they?”

Soonyoung points them out left to right. “Chan, mat racing. Minghao, kiddie slide. Vernon, wave pool. Seungcheol, hot springs.” You’ve heard a lot about these guys at home.

When they get to your booth and Soonyoung starts introductions, Chan hangs back a little.

“Oh my God,” he says, wide eyed. “A woman.”

You stare at him.

“Sorry about him.” Minghao grimaces as he presses his ID against your window. “He didn’t mean that in a weird way.”

“Is there a not-weird way?” you ask, tapping his name on the ipad to mark him signed in.

“There hasn’t been a woman hire in like, eight years,” explains Seungcheol, showing his ID too. “There was a little scandal with the HR guy last season. Turns out he ran some incel subreddit and it bled into his hiring practice.”

There’s a long pause while you wait for someone– anyone– to laugh. No one does.

“You’re joking?”

“He’s been sacked. Don’t worry.”

You rag a hand over your face. “You’re telling me I’m the only woman who’s worked here in nearly a decade?”

The four men stare at you. If this were a sitcom you’d be hearing crickets.

You turn on Soonyoung, who’s trying to escape out of your booth unnoticed. Too slow.

“AH! Let go!”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that, Soonyoung?” You tighten your grip on his hair. He yelps. “Doesn’t that seem like crucial information your best friend should know before taking a job here? It does, doesn’t it?”

“I forgot, you psychopath! Best friends don’t hurt each other!”

You twist and Soonyoung falls into a squat in an effort to break free, smacking at your hand. “Men best friends tell their women best friends when they’re stepping into a testosterone fuelled snake pit.”

“Little harsh,” whistles Minghao. “The snakes are standing right here.”

“There was that one woman,” says Vernon, tongue pushed into the fat of his cheek, eyes up in thought. “The elderly one. What was her name? Jun’s cook from a few years ago?”

“The one he killed?” asks Chan.

“What?” you sputter, releasing Soonyoung, who falls backwards out the door.

“He didn’t kill her,” insists Minghao.

“She’s not even dead,” says Vernon, brow furrowed. “Jun visited her two weeks ago.”

“She had a stroke, didn’t she?” questions Seungcheol.

Minghao rolls his eyes. “It was never proven that it was Jun’s fault though.”

Is everyone working here insane?

You can hear flip flops smacking the pavement and you turn to look– Soonyoung is running away. Fearing premature hair loss, probably. You and the guys watch him go.

“He’ll suffer later,” you reassure yourself.

“So– uh– you live with Soonyoung?” asks Seungcheol. “And the events guy?”

“Events guy?”

“Mingyu,” confirms Vernon.

Events– is that what Mingyu does? What the fuck does FSHL stand for then?

“That’s me.”

“We’re not all incels,” says Chan. “We only had one.”

Everyone turns to look at him. Minghao’s mouth is hanging open and Vernon is wide eyed and tight-lipped, trying not to laugh.

“Okaaay?”

“Well. Only one that we know of,” he blurts. “Although–”

He’s cut off as Minghao elbows him hard in the ribs.

“We’ll be seeing you then!” Seungcheol smiles. “What time is your lunch?”

“Twelve–thirty.”

“Same as me,” Vernon pipes up. “Wanna meet some of us at Sharkbait?”

“Where?”

“Jun’s place–” Vernon taps the spot on the map taped to your window. “Next to the log flume. It’s where we all take our breaks.”

Explains the empty break room. You’re not sure how safe you’ll be in Jun Not Junhui’s territory, given recent revelations, but you’re curious.

“Sure, see you then.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sharkbait is pretty small. The exterior is pastel blue, serves what can only be described as beige food, and there’s a huge plastic shark in sunglasses and bermuda shorts riding a surfboard attached to the roof. It’s nestled amongst a bunch of other themed eateries, and the tables on the veranda outside are spilling over with people. There’s a long line of people queuing, and one bored teenager behind the counter on the left. Soonyoung is at the other end of the bar, pouring himself a drink and chewing on a peperami. He waves you over when he spots you.

“Hey,” he says, as you reach the bar. “We’re friends right?”

“I guess,” you say, shrugging. It’s been eight years, you’re stuck like glue. “Why?”

“Will you settle something for us?”

“Us?” you ask, peering over the counter, because save for the kid working the till, he’s the only one there.

Soonyoung ignores your question. “Is a waffle just a grilled pancake?”

“What?” you say, leaning on the counter and unboxing your sandwich. It’s gone all soggy and gross next to your salad.

Vernon pops his head through a hatch behind Soonyoung. He’s eating a hard-boiled egg.

“Pancakes are waffles– same ingredients, same thing, right?” says Vernon.

Your eyebrows furrow. ��By that logic ice cream is just frozen flavoured butter.”

“Yeah!” shouts Vernon, pointing his egg at you. “See, she gets it.”

“Pretty sure that wasn’t her getting it,” says Soonyoung. “Pretty sure she was saying butter and ice cream are distinctly different things.”

Vernon scoffs and his eyes slide over to you. “Is that what you meant?”

You shrug, too busy inspecting your wet bread, looking for a bit that isn’t mushy. Your stomach rumbles so loud that the guys stare at you quietly for a moment.

“Agree with me and I’ll get Jun to make you a grilled cheese.”

Two cheese heavy meals in a day? Your guts might complain but your mouth certainly won't. “Sold.”

“That’s bribery,” argues Soonyoung. He turns on you. “I’ll remember this, traitor.”

Vernon laughs. “Wanna come hang out back here?”

You nod, and Vernon disappears out of view. You make your way around the bar, and follow Soonyoung through the door to the kitchen.

Jun is already starting on your grilled cheese. He’s slicing the bread and offering you a smile as you walk in and copy Vernon and Soonyoung, pulling yourself up to sit on the only counter not being used for prepping food. Jun is wearing his visor backwards, and there’s flour (powdered sugar?) dusting his nose. Cute.

“Hi Jun Junhui.”

He blinks, confused. “Sorry, it’s just Jun– not Junhui.”

Oh, so he’s easy to fuck with.

“Junnot Junhui?”

He stares at you blankly. “Call me Jun.”

“I’ll try to remember,” you say, with mock-earnest. “But Junnot is pretty cemented in there now.” You rap your knuckles on your head. “Ow.”

Jun glances at Soonyoung. “Is she always like this?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, dramatically. “She’s even worse when you get to know her. Problem is she’s actually pretty useful so you end up keeping her around.”

You grin. “I’m like a bedbug.”

Vernon frowns. “What’s great about bedbugs?”

“Huh,” you say, thinking hard. He’s got a point. You click your fingers– “A rat!”

“If I found a rat in my kitchen I’d get the traps out,” says Jun flatly, and then clarifies– “The no-kill ones. I’m not a monster.”

“Type two diabetes?” offers Vernon.

Soonyoung shakes his head. “She’s not sweet enough.”

“Dandelions,” cuts in a voice behind you, making you jump. Mingyu’s face is peeking through the hatch, he looks so out of place here, in his crisp shirt and expensive blue tie. The others go a little quiet in his presence, so you wonder how often he spends time out of his office in the resort.

“For fuck’s sake,” you groan, scowling. “Could you breathe louder so we in the land of the living know you’re coming?”

“Dandelions are perfect,” Soonyoung agrees, clicking his fingers. “Annoying, everywhere-“

“Can’t get rid of them-“ Mingyu chimes in.

“Suck a dick and die, assholes.”

A wicked grin spreads across Soonyoung’s face. “Kind of ugly until the sun comes up-“

“I’m not ugly,” you say with a petulant pout. “I’m an easy eight, nine on a good hair day.”

“Ten,” says Jun quickly. You give him a thumbs up and he smiles, casting his eyes down to focus very hard on grating cheese. You’re making him your new favourite.

“We’ve seen you drunk with your head in a toilet,” says Mingyu simply. “We’ve seen you when pneumonia bit your ass so hard you didn’t shower for nearly two weeks.”

“You smelled so baaaaad, dude,” nods Soonyoung emphatically.

You pull an affronted face. “I feel like looking like shit while having a life-threatening illness shouldn’t count against me, actually.”

“Every time you coughed you almost peed yourse–”

“Key word being almost–” you interrupt, nearly yelling. You turn to face the people you met just a few hours ago to insist– “I’ve never peed myself.”

Soonyoung laughs, delighted.

“Say something nice about dandelions or I’ll cry.”

Mingyu looks up into his big empty brain to think. “Good for bees…” he trails off.

Jun cuts in- “and for making wishes on.”

“Thanks so much, guys. Way to make a girl feel good.” You roll your eyes. “What are you here for, anyway?” you say to Mingyu. “Are you keeping tabs on me?”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “No,” he says, reaching through the hatch and holding out a sheet of paper for Vernon to take. “We’ve got a crew on site in two weeks, they’re filming the ads for the summer. They’ll want to–”

“Uhh, hello?” you interject. Mingyu looks at you expectantly. “Why are you paying a film crew when you literally have an in-house filmography student?”

“No offence,” he starts gently, and he does actually look like he means it. “But this might be above your pay grade. You know this is a multi-million dollar resort, right?”

“Damn. Fair enough,” you say. You didn’t realise that, actually. You knew it was nice, sure, but Jesus Christ. “Out of curiosity, what’s the budget for the filming?”

“Just the film crew?” he asks. You nod. “Sixty thousand, ish.”

You whistle, low. “Could’ve paid my rent with that.”

Mingyu laughs in a fake way.

“I’ll keep you in mind next time,” he says. “Haven’t they given you your proper uniform yet?”

You glance down at your much too-big polo shirt. “Should I be in something different?”

“You should be in blue. White means you’re first aid trained.”

“Oh shit, yeah,” you say, eyes widening. “No one wants me doing mouth to mouth, I’d be more likely to kill them.”

Vernon cackles and kicks at Jun, who ignores him.

“Yup,” agrees Mingyu. “Call in at reception at closing and we'll get Seokmin to find you the right kit.”

You nod, and with a wave to the group, he’s gone.

“Any allergies? Is there anything you don’t like?” Jun asks.

“No allergies. But a big no to beans. Texture’s weird.”

“Got it.”

Soonyoung makes to leave, his break’s over. As the door shuts behind him, the remaining three of you settle into comfortable conversation. You ask Jun and Vernon how long they’ve worked here– five and three years respectively. Vernon grew up here, like you and Soonyoung, just a different part of the city. Tutors English via Zoom as his main job, but he works the wave pool every year just for the plot, apparently. Jun got a job here during a summer trip and never left. He works in the resort kitchen during the off-season, but he prefers it out here in the park.

“Less eyes on you,” he says, drizzling something red and sticky over your sandwich. He presses the pieces together, and moves it over to the grill.

“How ominous.”

Jun smiles but doesn’t elaborate. “You’re a film student?”

“Yeah,” you say, sighing dramatically. “Until I get kicked out for failing.”

“Why are you failing?” asks Vernon, around a mouthful of fries.

Two months, three weeks, and one day left. You have nothing, nada, zilch. Stumped for ideas, inspiration, and manpower. Fuck Jiho and his absent manpower.

“Got a project due soon that I haven’t even started– well, I did start, but then my partner got kicked out of school and it was too big to keep going by myself. So now I need something new.”

“What’s the brief?”

“We’ve got a lot of creative freedom to be honest. Fiction, non-fiction– doesn’t matter. Just needs to be between twenty and thirty minutes and have a quote-unquote nostalgic feel.”

“Sounds simple enough,” says Vernon, casually.

“Uh huh,” you deadpan. “You come up with something for me then, Mr Spielberg.”

He’s biting his lip, embarrassed, while Jun laughs, plating your grilled cheese next to a much more appealing salad.

“Order up.”

“Ooh thank you, this looks way better than what I had.”

Jun eyes the box sitting next to you. “Not a difficult challenge to beat.”

“Hm, I’m not much of a cook,” you say, pausing to take a bite. Oh God. It’s spicy and sweet and cheesy. It’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten. The best thing you’ve ever eaten from a place called Sharkbait and made by a guy who smells like weed. How tragic. “This is– uh– it’s pretty good.”

Jun scoffs. “It’s really good. They won’t let me put it on the menu though.”

“Fuck those guys,” says Vernon.

Jun smiles. “Yeah. Fuck ‘em.”

You devour your lunch in record time. Jun looks pleased with himself as he rushes out the rest of the orders coming through from out front, and Vernon says his goodbyes as he heads back to the wave pool.

And then it’s just the two of you. Jun works fast and methodically. He doesn’t talk so much as listens to you yap away, but answers a question here and there, laughs at your jokes.

“Hey, how come you’re the manager if you don’t have anyone here to like– manage?”

“It’s usually just me in the kitchen ever since Marnie had an aneurysm, and Jay out front. I can handle it until high-season, and then they’ll hire a temp to see us through.”

You mull this over. “Don’t you get lonely?”

Jun shakes his head. “Everyone comes to visit me, I could use a little more alone time, actually.”

You pout. “So I shouldn’t come back for lunch tomorrow?”

Pink creeps up his neck, and he turns to busy himself tossing the fries in seasoning. “I didn’t say that.”

“Cool,” you say. “Cause I’m gonna need one of those off-menu grilled cheeses for every single shift I pick up.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It turns out everyone who works here is a comedian and/or an idiot, as evidenced when you meet Seokmin, Front Office Manager, and the most sunshine personified dude you’ve ever met.

You turn up at the resort’s reception at closing hours, and now you know why your parents never brought you to the restaurant here for your birthday dinner all these years, because God is it expensive. It’s all marble floors, and gilded details, but in that elegant way that doesn’t throw the money in your face.

Seokmin brings you into the office and motions for you to have a seat while he calls the uniform company.

He smiles brightly as he asks them for your size, then falters.

“You only do unisex clothes?” Seokmin says into the receiver. “Don’t you do unisex for women?”

You poorly disguise your snort as a sneeze as he doesn’t appear to understand whatever the sales rep is telling him.

“Unisex is fine,” you whisper, and Seokmin smiles at you with relief.

He’s still on the phone a minute later, when Mingyu pops his head in the open door.

“Soonyoung’s got a date, I’ve had a day from hell, and you’re my only irresponsible friend,” he whispers. “Wanna come get high with me?”

“Hell yeah,” you say, jumping up as Seokmin waves you off. Wait– “Fuck you, man, who are you calling irresponsible?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your plug’s place isn’t far, a ten minute walk at most. On the way you talk about work, you ask questions about the people you’ve met so far, but Mingyu doesn’t know them as well as he’d like. He’s always shut in the office. You ask what his job title is again, he levels you with a look, and he tells you– LTPS. Or something. He’s in charge of like, resort events and some other really boring shit like– uh– whatever, you’ve already forgotten.

Mingyu concedes he’s buying, since he has been extra snappy lately, but that’s just on account of the extra pressure that comes with the busy season. Once he’s into the swing of summer, he settles down and he’s back to his usual loveable self.

Not long later, you’re standing in Mark’s kitchen, staring at him in disbelief.

Mingyu isn’t sure either. He tugs at your hand holding the bag, sniffs, and immediately recoils. “This smells like shit, man. Don’t you have what we usually get?”

“Frosty Flurkle is so goooood, dude,” Mark insists. “My buddy grew that!”

“Tell your buddy that the people don’t want to smoke lavender and cat vomit. Not for twenty-five a gram.”

He snatches the bag out of your hands. “Well I dunno what to tell you, this is what I’ve got.” Mark puffs out his chest. “I’m his sole dealer.”

“Hmmm.” You draw out the sound. “Maybe you should have a little think about why that is.”

Mark scoffs. “Do you want it or not?”

You look at Mingyu. He looks at you. Your last dealer moved across the country, and you can’t be bothered searching out anyone else at this time of night. Might as well take one gram, you say with your eyes, see if it’s better once it’s in your system. Would be silly to go home empty handed, you assume Mingyu says with his.

“One gram,” you say. “And we’re only paying fifteen.”

“Twenty tw–”

“Sevente–“

One hour and twenty dollars later, you feel sick to your stomach, Mingyu is clutching his head, and you set a reminder to hire an Etsy witch to curse Mark’s entire bloodline. Then you order cheese fries and fall into a restless sleep before they even arrive.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sunday is probably the worst day to be at work. Why would you pick up a shift on a Sunday when you have so many assignments to procrastinate on? Especially this Sunday, when you’re feeling the fuzzy effects of a crappy high, an empty stomach, and a bad night’s rest.

“Woah,” says Jun upon arrival. He smells much nicer than the Foisty Flumple you had last night. Good weed and nice perfume. And pretty. God, he looks amazing. On a better day you’d flirt outrageously with him, but today is one of those days where it was an effort to wash your face, let alone put on makeup. What a cruel, awful world. “You look–”

“If you don’t say some variation of stunning, beautiful, and/or captivating, Jun Junhui, I will eat you alive.”

He grins. “Ravishing.”

Your brows pinch together and a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

“Interesting choice.”

“Uh huh.” Jun rubs the back of his neck. “Hungover?”

You shake your head. “Bad high.”

“Want breakfast?” he asks. You perk up at that. Literally– your face immediately feels less grey. He laughs. “Sweet or savory?”

“Sweet please,” you say, leaning closer to the window. “Just like you.”

You’ve never seen a grown man blush harder. Cute.

He’s back a little later with an iced americano and a warm croissant, filled with raspberry jam, and dusted with sugar.

“Junnot Junhui, you’re the best,” you mumble around a bite. “I could kiss you.”

“Hahahaha,” says Jun, not casually at all. “I– uh– I’d–”

“I’m joking, Romeo.” You wipe the jam from the corner of your mouth. “Settle down, I can smell your adrenaline spiking from over here.”

“Oh, yeah I knew that,” he says, running a hand through his hair in what he must think seems nonchalant and chill. It isn’t. Your grin is akin to the Cheshire Cat.

“I don’t kiss people at work,” you say. And then, meeting his eyes, “You’ll have to take me on a date if you’d like one from me.”

Jun’s adams apple bobs in his throat.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’re having lunch at the snackbar again, and this time it’s so rammed full with staff on their breaks, it takes Jun a little while to get around to handing over your sandwich. He goes silent when he works, only stopping to break the chaos with a sharp yell, anytime someone messes with the cat magnets on his fridge. You like watching him– his arms while he chops vegetables, the way his little muscles flex when he’s carrying a heavy box, the movement of his fingers when he’s sprinkling seasoning over a pan.

Jeonghan, who works the big slide, grins at you with sparkling eyes. You can sense his evil nature bubbling beneath that angelic facade– that’s best friend material. “You know you’re practically drooling, right?”

You pat your stomach. “Really hungry.”

“For the food or for Jun?”

You push your tongue into the fat of your cheek. “Both.”

Jun makes his way through the people crowding his station, plate held high above his head. He’s smiling lovely when he reaches you, and pushes the plate into your hands.

“Thanks, Junhui, you’re so sexy.” He’s immediately bright red, and Soonyoung throws a wet cloth at you. It smacks off your collar and drips dishwater down your shirt. “AH! Soonyoung, what the FUCK?”

“Don’t flirt with him!”

You wave at him dismissively. “I flirt with everyone.”

“You’ll corrupt my sweet, innocent, Junnot Junhui!”

Jun makes a frustrated sound. “Not you, too? How did I get this nickname?”

“You did it to yourself, sweetheart,” you say, fondly stroking his arm. It’s a feeble excuse to touch.

“You haven’t flirted with me yet,” complains Seungcheol.

You play your part and bat your eyelashes. “Oh, darling, would you like me to?”

He nods, making puppy-dog eyes and pouting. You squeeze his bicep and gasp for the drama of it. “Cheollie, have you been working out?”

Soonyoung gags, and you smirk. Jun looks down at his arms.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Despite the last experience, you are back at Mark’s. Mingyu had a particularly bad day in the office, you will do anything for the bit, and Mark has assured you that his supplier has something better.

You have your reservations, but surely nothing could be as bad as Foisty Farmyard. Surely?

It’s whatever. Mark cuts you a deal on account of your bad experience last time, and that should’ve been your first red flag. The second should’ve been that you met his supplier, Johnny, who apparently wears the jeans low enough to hang off his kneecaps and a huge, gold chain with a dollar sign unironically. But what a deal Mark cuts! Two grams for the price of one can’t be that bad.

Dear reader: it is that bad.

Mingyu greens out within ten minutes. You’re not far behind. Soonyoung comes home from his date and finds you both on the bathroom floor, rolls his eyes, and leaves you both to sort yourselves out.

In the morning, Soonyoung says that if you don’t find a witch to curse Mark, he certainly will.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

All of your new colleagues are easy to like (they’re loud, funny, sweet in their own ways), but it’s Jun who quickly becomes your favourite. Your shifts start with a sweet pastry and an iced americano, sometimes left in your booth with a note, sometimes hand delivered with a sleepy smile. You thought he was quiet, and he is, but he’s also sharp, and playful, and funny in that really cool, witty way. He shines brighter in quieter spaces, when fewer staff crowd his kitchen, and when he forgets his shyness. On the days he’s in early enough to deliver your breakfast, he’ll squeeze into your booth and take your chair while you sit on the counter, and he’ll try very hard to ignore the way you flirt with him.

You’ve been thinking about the vanilla danish he left on your desk all day, and with the way you had to skip lunch, you haven’t had a chance to thank him yet. Two minutes before your break starts is precisely when the film crew arrived on site and for some reason the office radioed through to make it your job to organise their visitor passes. There were so many of them it took up most of your break, and Joshua ended up having to bring you a neatly packaged panini from Jun to speed-eat on the floor of your booth. So with Mingyu’s meeting running over, and Soonyoung heading over to the lazy river to persuade Jihoon to come over for drinks, you rush through the park to catch Jun before he heads home.

The park is deathly quiet at this time– no patrons, no staff, no overplayed feel-good pop music playing from the speakers. From outside the snackbar looks spotless and empty, the hatch window firmly closed. It stinks, though. Jun is here, somewhere. Pushing open the door, the kitchen is just as clean as the front, but with a haze of smoke filling the room. You round the corner and find Jun laying on the floor– joint in hand, staring, unblinking, at the ceiling.

You kick his foot and he doesn’t move. “Dude, are you dead?”

“Maybe,” he chuckles. “Hey, did you know the camels in Petra have wifi?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It’s true,” he insists, laughing so hard tears stream from his bloodshot eyes. “It’s shav– it’s shaved into their neck hair.”

You laugh. “That can’t be right.”

Jun pats the floor. “Sit with me, I wanna ask you stuff.”

You roll your lips between your teeth to stop your smile spreading further, and you sink cross-legged on the floor next to him. Jun rests his hand on your shoe, little finger tracing the edge of your sock.

“Can’t stay long, Mingyu’s driving us home,” you say, plucking the joint from his hand and taking a drag. “Holy shit, this is good. You wouldn’t believe the crap we picked up last.”

“Mhm, yeah it’s pretty nice.” Jun looks pleased with himself. “You live far?”

“That’s your question? Borrrrring.”

Jun turns to smile up at you, lazy and slow, with dark half-lidded eyes. God, he’s hot.

“No. I know where Soonyoung lives. And you live with Soonyoung.”

“You’ve been to our place?”

“Just once. You weren’t there. I’d have remembered.”

There are butterflies in your stomach. You let them swirl.

“Ask me something better, then.”

Jun stares at you. Quietly, he says, “I can’t think straight.”

His little finger brushes your ankle, pretty mouth parted, and looking like there are too many thoughts behind his eyes. Can’t sort through them, probably, on account of the weed fogging his brain, but it’s nicer to imagine it’s because of you. The silence hangs, so quiet you can almost hear the cogs turning.

You take another drag before offering up the joint above his mouth– your fingers brush his lips as you place the joint between them as he takes a hit. The softness of them is really fucking with you. Boys' lips shouldn’t be that soft. You should ask him what lip balm he uses.

It’s like this, quiet, and soft, and hazy for a little while, the joint getting shorter and shorter as you pass it back and forth. Your body goes liquid and heavy and Jun laughs along with you when you get the giggles over the feeling of his lips brushing your fingertips again. Feels weirdly intimate for sitting on the floor of an industrial kitchen.

“Question.”

“Hit me.”

“Have you–” A long pause. If he weren't looking directly at you you’d think he’d fallen asleep. “You ever been to the Galapagos Islands?”

“Uh,” you cough. “No.”

“Damn. I wanna know what the big heads feel like.”

“Probably really hard.”

Jun chews on his lip. “Yeah.”

Your phone is ringing. Feels like a million miles away. Mingyu’s name is on the screen, and you know you need to answer, but you’re high as shit and he’ll only give you grief for smoking at work. Something something unprofessional. Something something irresponsible. Something something hypocritical. You don’t want to hear it. You let it ring off, wait for a moment, and send him a text.

Me: hanging out with jun. i’ll get the bus

Gyu: You sure?

Me: yeah, won’t be long <3

Before you forget you look up the time for the bus– there aren’t many at this time of day– and set an alarm so you’ll make it to the bus stop in time.

Gyu: Be good. Don’t kill the guy

Me: would never kill the guy i have a big fat crush on

Gyu: 🙄 you have big fat crushes on everyone

“I’ve got one,” you say, leaning back against the dishwasher. Jun turns on his side to look at you properly. “What did you wanna be when you were a kid?”

The corners of his lips twitch. “Promise not to laugh at me?” You smile and shake your head, you’d never promise such a thing. Jun laughs, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. “I wanted– oh God. I wanted to be Jackie Chan.”

“An actor?”

“No, like actually him.” Jun is the first to start laughing, full body shakes, his hands fly up to cover his face, and you’re near silent with laughter just watching him. It’s not even that funny, but he is. “I wanted– I wanted to like.. morph into his body or something. I wanted become actual Jackie Chan.”

The silence you fall into is easy. There’s nothing left to smoke and the feeling sets in, a soft buzz in your body, heavy arms, heavy eyes. This is so nice.

“Got ‘nother one,” Jun says, after a little while. “What was your project about? The one you dropped.”

It’s hard to explain. “S’about how, like– like how crushes are better than the real thing, y’know?” Just looking at him, you can tell he doesn’t get it. “Like when you get a crush, and it’s fuzzy and silly and exciting, and everything about them feels electric. And you think they’re the best person you’ve ever met, and your stomach is in knots wondering what they think about you. And your imagination runs wild wondering how they like to kiss.”

Jun is staring at your lips. Your breath hitches. There are flashes of Jiho in your mind’s eye. It’s not like you loved him or anything, it was just turning into something a little more than like. Him in the morning, sleepy and soft, texting other girls. Him fresh out of the shower– water in his hair and running down his neck, snapping a selfie in the mirror to use on Tinder– then slipping back into bed just to get annoyed that he couldn’t make you come. More likely that you wouldn’t fake it for him. Whatever. A ‘red-flag’, your friends had called him. It’s okay. A walking reminder of why crushes reign supreme. It’s really okay, you weren’t in deep enough for it to matter.

“But six months later it’s real, and you can touch, but they don’t get you off like you’d hoped, you know? And you don’t like the way they kiss as much as you did in your imagination. And they don’t always say the right thing. They’re always competing with the imaginary version you made up of them, and you’re fighting something invisible to be seen as enough.”

“You keep saying ‘you know’,” he says carefully. “But this sounds like a unique experience.”

The silence hangs between you.

“Was it about you? You prefer limerence over the real thing?”

Yes and no. It’s not that you prefer limerence as such, but nothing you’ve experienced yet has been better than the feeling of almost. If the real thing ever lived up to the make believe in your head you’d snatch it up in a heartbeat. The trouble is that it feels rare, only meant for a few and not the many.

“Crushes are easier to come by,” you say. “It isn’t like that for you?”

Jun shakes his head. “I hardly ever like anyone. No projections when I do, though.”

You gawk at him. “Wah, what a life. What’s that like?”

“Pretty good,” Jun says, smile spreading crooked across his lovely face. His hand isn’t draped across your ankle anymore, it rests by his side on the tile floor, and you miss the weight of it. “Easier than whatever the fuck you’re doing. Your way would give me anxiety.”

You nudge him in the side. “Oh, is your way going well for you, then?”

Jun stretches his arms out, pushes himself up to sit, and says, “I’m still single; so not that well, no.”

Your alarm goes off, and when you say you’ve got to get going, he almost looks a little disappointed. You push yourself off the ground and turn.

“Are my shorts covered in dirt?”

Jun eyes you with suspicion. “Are you trying to get me to look at your ass?”

“Obviously.” You peek at him over your shoulder. “Is it working?”

“You’re not slick,” Jun scoffs lightly, and tips his head back against the cupboard, exposing the long line of his neck. It’d be nice to kiss him there. You pout at him, make moments like these light so you can play pretend in this crush a little longer. He laughs, and his eyes flicker down. “Dust yourself off a little– there, now you’re good.”

“Thanks, pal.”

“You’re welcome, amigo.”

“See you later, alligator.”

“In a while, crocodile.”

“Wait–” Jun grabs your wrist on your way out. The tips of his ears are tinged red. “Gimme your number. In case– y’know, in case you can’t find any good shit again.”

God, he’s cute.

Later, when you get home and find yourself raiding all the snacks in the cupboard, Mingyu catches you in the act, immediately clocks your bloodshot eyes and the stench of weed, and chews you out on the spot for 1) getting stoned in the workplace, and 2) not sharing the good stuff with him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“I met Weird Al Yankovic once,” Jun says, when you ask if he’s ever met any celebrities. “We made eye contact through the hatch and told me to be careful not to chop a finger off. That’s probably when my fear of knives kicked in.”

“Dude, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you’re like the strangest person I’ve ever known.”

Jun plucks the joint from your lips and puts it to his own. You like when he does that. When the smallest brush of skin can be felt all over.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Getting stoned with Jun after work is fast becoming a semi-regular thing. Never anywhere but his kitchen, never organised but it becomes expected. At lunch, if he’s planning on staying late, he’ll ask if you’re riding with Mingyu or getting the bus, and that’s the decider. Sometimes Vernon is there, sometimes Seungcheol.

After the third session you start offering to buy, because you’re smoking all his shit and it seems unfair that you’re probably putting his kitchen at a deficit too. Jun waves you off. He likes to do things for people, apparently. After the sixth, you start asking who his dealer is (mostly on account of Mingyu, who is vehemently against getting dummy high at work, but is just as bitter he’s been left with Mark With The Bad Stash as a supplier.) but Jun won’t say. No amount of flirting will make him fold.

Trading ridiculous questions on the floor of Sharkbait’s kitchen is becoming a semi-regular thing too. The questions are silly, always surface level, could be one of those scripted five minute mock-interviews you see online sometimes, and you know it’s because you hardly know each other to ask the real stuff yet, but you like it. It’s easy. It’s simple.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mingyu is positively grey when you get home from visiting your parents on Thursday evening.

“Do not tell me you went to fuckass Mark again?”

“I went to fuckass Mark,” he wails.

“Whyyyyyyy, Mingyu? Why fuckass Mark?” You start to shake his shoulders but stop short when it looks like he’s about to empty his stomach over your shoes. “Get yourself to bed.”

“Can’t,” he says, ashen face knotted up into a frown. “You’re gonna have to take me.”

“You’re the size of an ostrich, Mingyu, be serious.”

“I’m not an ostrich,” he cries. “Please please please help me.”

Jesus Christ. “You’re a baby.”

He pouts. “A sick baby.”

“Soonyoung—” you yell down the hall. “Come help me drag the baby to bed!”

“Will you curse him this time?”

“Soonyoung? Did he melt a chopping board on the stove again?”

“No,” says Mingyu, screwing his eyes shut. “Mark.”

“Sure, why not.”

Finding the right kind of Etsy witch proves difficult. It’s not the scams you care about as such, but more so one that isn’t too scary looking. You don’t actually want anything serious to happen to Mark, you’ll settle for something like a bad case of halitosis– but all of these Bad Luck spell reviews cite awful occurrences that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, let alone some doofus who overcharged you for shitty weed.

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, freshly showered and drinking leftover wine, while Soonyoung lays across the sofa and peers at your laptop screen over your shoulder. You’re waiting on your food to arrive before starting your show, and figured you’d better find a witch sooner rather than later.

“What about this one?” says Soonyoung, pointing at a listing.

“You want me to buy a curse from someone called LadyEviliansCoven?” you say, incredulous. “The one who literally has Evil Ian in her name?”

Your phone goes off.

Jun: Will you be my guinea pig tomorrow?

Me: depends. what’ve you got in mind for me ;)

Jun: Lol. It’s a surprise.

Me: okaaaaaaay fine

Me: just so long as it’s not cheese again, i fear i’m going to turn into a block of cheddar

Soonyoung reads over your shoulder. “You’re talking to Jun?”

“Yeah, we swapped numbers last week.”

Jun: I like cheddar :)

Me: omg you’re so smooth :)

Soonyoung tuts.

“What’s with you lately,” you ask. “Why are you being so weird?”

He sighs heavy. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way–” and it immediately gets your back up because he’s about to say something offensive and– “but could you not be a– um– a flirt at work?”

You spin around to pull a face at him. “I thought you were going to call me a whore for a second.”

Soonyoung smirks. “I considered it.”

“I’m not flirting with everyone.” Not seriously, anyway. Soonyoung levels you with a look. “I’m not.”

Jun: Wanna come get high with me? I have better shit than your weed guy.

“All I’m saying is don’t toy with Jun for the bit. He’s too soft-hearted.” It’s so rare that Soonyoung goes serious that it’s hard to counter it. He’s right. You have a tendency to take a joke too far, to flirt your way into and out of too many crushes. People get attached quicker than you do and it’s easy to forget when you move like the wind. Maybe it’s the other way around? Move like the wind so it’s easier to forget.

Me: can’t, sorry. it’s gilmore girls night. raincheck?

Jun: I’ll hold you to it :)

“She’s so fucking hot,” drools Soonyoung, reaching across your shoulder to jab at your screen. “Pick her.”

You scoff. “Who chooses an Etsy witch based on her level of hotness–” You stop short as you peer closer to inspect the sellers’ profile picture. “Soonyoung, that’s an AI photo, you fucking imbecile.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sharkbait has been off limits for the last three days for recording. Mingyu said on no account can Jun or anyone else (i.e. you) get high in there until filming has wrapped, and you’re quietly convinced it’s because he wants to be invited to your smoke sessions. You don’t blame him.

This is how you end up sitting on the living room floor with everything feeling pink and golden, and off balance in that really cool, roller coaster moving in slow motion type of way. Mingyu is laying face down on the sofa, fast asleep and drooling. The bowl lays as spent as him on the table, embers fading out. Vernon and Soonyoung are chatting away and you can hardly focus on the words. Jun catches your eye, and he makes this funny expression like he’s making fun of you, and though you’re not quite following it makes you laugh anyway.

You’ve become hyper-aware of his body next to you. The long line of his legs, how he stretches out like a cat, and how you could fit your finger between the part in his lips. Soonyoung is saying something about how hungry he is, and you are too but you can’t get up from the floor as fast as Jun.

“Come help me,” Jun says. “Show me around your kitchen.”

“Ughhhhh,” you groan. But he’s pulling you up by the wrist and you’re thinking how unfair it is that someone so wiry is as strong as he is. Not just unfair but hot. Crushes are evil, you think. He’s tugging you into the kitchen by the hand, and it’s all clammy and warm but not so bad you want to let go.

You’re too high to be of much help, but you direct Jun to where you keep whatever he asks for, hold the ingredients he pulls from the fridge, chop whatever he tells you to chop, and stir whatever he tells you to stir.

“That’s a lot of garlic,” you muse.

“Yeah,” says Jun. “I know how to party.”

You’re not much of a cook, but Jun is, and he’s here with his soft voice and his soft heart, and very occasional soft touches keeping you steady. He doesn’t look at you often, but when he does his smile near breaks his face. God, it’s so nice.

Time moves strange and fluid, and the laughter from your friends filters faintly down the hallway. They sound so much further away. And then Jun is in front of you, holding a spoon up to your lips and telling you to open wide. Hard not to hear the implication behind the words, hard not to look him in the eye as you open your mouth for him and take what he offers. You’re too high for this.

There are butterflies in your stomach, in your eyes, in your mouth. You let them fly.

You swallow, thick. Lick your upper lip, slow. Under his breath, Jun swears.

“This is so good, I’d let it get me pregnant.”

Jun startles. “Uh– I’m not ready to be a dad.”

“The food, Junhui.”

A long pause. Jun stares. “Right. Hahaha.”

Mingyu is in the doorway, white-knuckling the frame. “OhmyfuckingGod, guys,” he says. “I got this vision you were kissing. I think I’m telescopic.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Monday morning rolls around far too quickly and you’re wondering who decided an eight o’clock lecture would be appropriate for the start of the week. Professor Lee talks of how the progress of technology affects aesthetics in her usual soft way of speaking, and you make an attempt at concentrating enough to take notes while ignoring the incessant buzzing in your pocket. At the end of the session, Professor Lee calls your name as you’re packing up your bag. Your friends hang back, but knowing the line for coffee will be miles long if they don’t hustle you tell them not to wait and to grab you a coffee, and you make your way to the front.

Professor Lee greets you warmly. She’s felt sorry for you ever since Jiho left you in the lurch. When it all came to light she’d tried to get you to join another group, but your peers were so far into their projects you’d only disrupt their rhythm if they had to find something for you to do, and your contribution would be next to nothing. You’ve never liked being a burden, but with the deadline edging closer you’re starting to regret not taking Professor Lee’s advice.

“I wanted to check in with you,” she says gently. Bless her. “How’s your assignment coming along?”

One month, two weeks, and five days left. You still have nothing, nada, zilch. Unfortunately, your first instinct is to lie out of your arsehole.

“Good, thank you!” you say brightly.

“I didn’t see your name on the equipment rentals list?”

Fuck. Fucking shitballs.

“Oh, that’s because I’m filming on my dad’s Super 8.” Shit shit shit shit. He does have a Super 8 but there’s not a chance in hell he’ll let you use enough film to make up twenty minutes worth of footage. “Thought it’d give it that authentic nostalgic feel.”

Professor Lee’s eyebrows fly up in surprise. “Super 8? Audio film is hard to get hold of these days. What are you doing for sound?”

“Tascam. I’ll edit it together in post.”

“Are you having someone slate for you? It’s tricky to sync if you don’t.”

“Yeah, one of my friends.”

This lie is already getting too big. You have no time– since for all the days you’re not in lectures, you’re at work, and it’s not like there’s anything to film there. People on animal floaties bobbing down the lazy river? Bored lifeguards messing around by the wave pool? Jun, high as fuck, making you sandwiches and pretending not to have a big fat crush on you and pointedly ignoring how you flirt with him?

Wait.

It’s a moment not unlike all those old cartoons, in which the light bulb flashes above the characters head.

“I’ve got to say– I’m really concerned you’ve bitten off more than you can chew,” Professor Lee says, her voice low and serious. But you’re not paying it mind, because now– now you finally have an idea. And the guys will help, they’re all born entertainers. The trouble will be convincing your dad. The trouble will also be not telling Mingyu and convincing Soonyoung to not give the game away.

“I’m okay, really.”

Professor Lee is unconvinced, but you’re resolute now. You can turn this around.

Out in the hallway, you pull out your phone to see a slew of messages.

Gyu: I need your help

Gyu: I’m FUCKED

Gyu: I also need to get catastrophically drunk and/or stoned tonight, please beg Jun to give up his dealer because I sure as shit am not going back to motherfucking Mark

Jun: guinea pig duties tomorrow? new pancake recipe

Gyu: I’m so fucked CALL ME

Soonsoon: u will never guess what’s happened

Gyu: Never forgetting that you abandoned me in my time of need

Gyu: If I pay you a lot of money will you call me????

Soonsoon: btw mingyu’s about to have a heart attack please call him so he stops crying

Gyu: I think I’m dying, please make sure my family know it was your fault

You call Mingyu back. It’s hard to hear through all the tears and the wailing but eventually Soonyoung snatches the phone from his hand and walks you through the drama of the day. The long and short of it is Mingyu has been scammed out of fifty percent of the filming allowance, a whole thirty-thousand dollars and the biggest budget he’s been tasked with managing so far. The film crew has disappeared into thin air. The deadline for rolling out the summer ad is looming over his head, and now he’s begging you to help him fix it before he loses face, and/or his job.

Well.

Shit.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Okay. The plan is you’ve got the green light for a mockumentary, of sorts– in exchange for a thirty-second ad for television. And you’re being paid. Not the same amount as the scammy crew, of course, but way more than you could’ve hoped for as a filmography student. Sure, you’re good, but this is unheard of. Unbelievable. You’re taking it as a compliment, even though Mingyu was unnecessarily clear about only asking you because it’s too late in the game to ask anyone else.

Truth be told, you had no idea Mingyu had so much power. He’s talked your manager into giving you a half shift off ticket booth duty until filming is complete, and wrangled you an intern from the office to assist.

Seungkwan the intern is apparently grateful to be ‘let out of the dungeon’ and although he doesn’t have the first clue about what he’ll be doing for you, he’s a quick learner and very eager to avoid hot desking and spending his day fetching coffee. You’ve roped in a bunch of your coworkers to act as your characters. Some extreme version of themselves will do, you’d said, but some of them want to bring something new to the table. Seokmin in particular was rather excited.

You’ve settled on using Super 8 for both projects. You figure you could recycle some of the footage if necessary, and it saves switching between two different styles and sets of equipment. With the payment Mingyu has approved for you, you can afford to buy your own film instead of attempting to persuade your dad to use his, so for all intents and purposes– it’s all systems go.

Except it’s closing hours, and tomorrow will be your first half-day of filming, and you’re laying down in the log flume, not knowing where you’ll start. This is where Jun finds you, legs flopped over the edge of the plastic log, picking at your cuticles and fretting over the enormity of the work you have before you.

“Bad day?” he says. He’s wearing his visor backwards, hair falling in his soft eyes, looking like sugar and all things nice.

“Weird day.” You heave a sigh. “I think I’m not good enough for this.” Jun doesn’t reply, just waits for you to carry on. How could he know what you’re good for? “I think I peaked when I was fourteen, and now it’s all downhill.”

“Fourteen was a nightmare for me, who peaks at that age?” says an unconvinced Jun.

“I could do, like, fuckloads of backflips. Like ten.”

Jun’s eyes bug out. “In a row?”

“Yeah.”

“Woah,” says Jun, under his breath. “So does that make you up-down dizzy instead of circle dizzy?”

You furrow your brow. “I never really thought about it.”

“This isn’t helping?”

You purse your lips and shake your head. “Not at all.”

“Wanna come over and I’ll make you dinner?”

It takes all of 0.3 seconds to mull it over. “Yeah, okay,” you say, stretching out an arm for Jun to pull you up from the log. He wraps his long fingers around your wrist and tugs, setting you on your feet, and as you start to walk he slings his arm, familiar and friendly, to rest across your shoulders.

“Can we have literally anything that isn’t cheese based?”

Jun sucks air between his teeth. “Well– I had planned on lasagne.”

“Jun, please no,” you beg, clutching at his waist. “My heart is two grams of saturated fat away from sending in its resignation letter.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His place is bigger than you expected. But whatever, his finances aren’t your business. Much bigger than you’d thought would be manageable for a guy on a cook’s salary. He gives you the tour. There’s three bedrooms. Two of which are devoid of any character, and his, which is full of it. Very him.

“Are your roommates at work?”

“I don’t have any,” he says. “Just me.”

Oh. His finances aren’t your business.

“I like your cat painting,” you say, pointing to the wiry black kitten sitting in a bodega fridge, hanging above his bedside table.

“Thanks,” he says.

He shows you out the bedroom and back downstairs, for quote unquote the rest– there’s more?

There is more. In the entryway is a door you’d assumed a cupboard, but no– it leads downstairs through to a fucking cinema room.

“Dude are you, like, rich?”

Jun laughs, rubs the back of his neck, goes a little red. Very cute.

“This place belonged to my uncle.”

“Woah,” you marvel. “All I ever inherited was the foot in mouth gene and my granddad’s Hi-Fi system.”

“What’s that?”

“Exactly.”

Much like at Sharkbait, you sit on the counter and yap while Jun cooks. He makes hot pot (thank god, because your body has been crying out for vegetables for too long) and keeps having you taste the stock, and when it’s finally done, he asks you to choose something to drink– “beer, wine, liquor, choose whatever,” he says. “It’s all there.”

You chew on the corner of your mouth as you stare at the selection. There’s too much of it and everything looks expensive. The wine bottles have real corks, for Christ’s sake. It’s starting to feel like you’ve been standing there too long, confirmed when Jun comes to stand beside you and asks if you like red. You do, so he picks up something with a worn label. Pomerol, or something. 1952.

“Do you collect this stuff?” you ask, as Jun pours two glasses, and slides one over to you.

Jun laughs for real this time.

“Nah, it was my uncle’s hobby,” he says. “Feels weird to get rid of it.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say softly, resting your hand on his arm.

Jun blinks at you, confused. You take a sip of wine. It tastes old.

“Were you close?”

“Oh– no, he’s not dead. He’s in prison for tax fraud.”

You nearly choke.

Jun slaps your back so hard you’re sure it’ll leave prints that’ll last long enough for Soonyoung to drag you for, and when you finally get your breath back you leap into scolding him.

“Why’d you make it sound like he died?”

Jun gapes. “Hey, you just assume! I didn’t make it sound like anything!”

“You should’ve led with the prison thing, fucknut! People get the wrong idea.”

Jun’s lips twitch. “You’re right, I should introduce myself like that,” he scoffs. “Hi, I’m Jun– by the way, my uncle is a felon and I live in his obnoxiously large house.”

You laugh. “Solid intro.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, rolling his eyes but he’s smiling. “Want me to top up your glass.”

“Fuck no, it tastes like shit.”

“Oh, thank God. I hate it too.”

“Have you got anything stronger?”

Jun grins like the devil.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your head is throbbing. So sick to your stomach that you can’t stand the smell of the breakfast sandwich Jun had slipped into your bag this morning, before you’d run out the door to get to work early. But now Soonyoung is here being a bother– initially concerned but now delighted.

“Where’d you sleep last night?” he sing-songs.

“Fuck off.”

“Not Jun’s place, surely?” He’s putting on his gross cutesy voice.

“Fuck off, Soonyoung.”

“Did you get dicked down?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Oooooh! You wanna tell me the dirty details so bad!”

“I wanna ram this fucking boom mic up your asshole,” you snap, waving it at him menacingly, and it’s enough to make Soonyoung to take a step back and cover his backside with his hands.

“I hate when you’re hungover,” he mutters. “You’re mean.”

“You and me both, sunshine,” you grumble. “But you’re annoying.”

“Yup,” he says. “Can I have your breakfast? I didn’t eat yet.”

“Go nuts.”

Soonyoung inhales your food, and it doesn’t do much to settle your stomach. Seungkwan, Seokmin, Mingyu, Joshua, and Chan show up– and you try very hard to concentrate on explaining the shots you want for the advert. A walk-through of the entrance, Joshua handing over their tickets, and following them walking into the park. And later, when it’s busier with actual customers, focusing on them on the rides, eating lunch, hanging out on the lazy river. Splashes of water from the slides, etcetera etcetera. Some of this might do for an intro to your mockumentary, too.

You ready the camera, Seungkwan stands there waiting with the slate, Soonyoung is on mic duty, the others are in their positions.

And you try to focus, you really do, but your mind just keeps slipping back to last night– going over the conversations you had on the floor of Jun’s living room, after a bottle of something you can’t begin to pronounce and the shittiest rolled joint you’ve had since you were a teenager. You’d played twenty questions, Jun hesitated, and like an idiot you pushed.

“I really wanted to ask if you flirt with me ‘cause you like me or if it’s the same for everyone.” He sucked in a breath. “But I chickened out. Don’t wanna have my dreams crushed yet.”

“Uh-huh,” you’d said, as you passed the joint back to him. His fingers brushed yours. “Ask me again when you wanna know.”

You’re chicken too.

“Sound?”

Soonyoung nods.

“Camera rolling.”

Seungkwan claps the slate.

“Action.”

#caratbaycollab #jun x reader #junhui x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #jun imagines #junhui imagines #wen junhui x reader #jun x you #svt x reader #svt fanfic #jun fanfic #seventeen fluff #junhui fanfic #junhui fluff #svt fluff #bee writes #fic: wywg?

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uunoia · 6 months ago

Text

Romantic Feelings? Ehh Cringe

Summery: Technoblade tries cheering you up with a greek myth

The cabin was quiet.

Not peaceful. Not comfortable. Just quiet.

You sat at the wooden table, hands wrapped around a half-finished cup of tea that had long since gone cold. You weren’t drinking it. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting here, staring at the knots in the wood grain, listening to the wind howl outside. It had been hours, probably. Maybe less. Maybe more.

It didn’t matter.

Somewhere behind you, Techno sat in his chair by the fire, pretending to read. You could feel his eyes on you—subtle, watchful. He wasn’t obvious about it, but you knew him well enough by now. He had noticed the way you barely spoke today, how you moved slower, how the usual sharpness in your eyes had dulled into something distant and hollow.

You took a slow breath, trying to push past the weight in your chest. It didn't work.

Your fingers trembled. You clenched them into fists. Your thoughts were spiraling and you knew they were. The war, you almost dying, all the good people who got hurt.

Then—before you could stop it—the first tear fell, hitting the table with a barely audible pat.

Shit.

You inhaled sharply, willing yourself to stop, to push it down, to not do this right now. But your body didn’t listen. Your breath hitched. Your shoulders tensed as another tear slipped free, then another.

Behind you, the sound of a page turning stopped.

Techno had noticed.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing the heel of your palm against them. You hated this. Hated crying like this—weak, quiet, with no control over it. You had been fine for so long. You needed to be fine.

You heard the chair creak as Techno shifted. Then, his voice—low, uncertain.

“You uhh…You want me to leave?”

You flinched slightly, shaking your head, voice hoarse.

“No—” A pause. Then, quieter, “No. Just… don’t say anything.”

A beat of silence.

“…Alright.”

And he didn’t.

For a while, there was nothing but the crackling of the fire, the muffled howl of wind against the windows, and the occasional sound of Techno shifting in his seat. He wasn’t reading anymore. Just there. Not saying anything. Not leaving, either.

You sniffled, rubbing at your eyes.

Then, out of nowhere—

“... Pygmalion and Galatea. Ever heard of them?”

Your brow furrowed. You blinked, wiping your sleeve over your red and puffy face as you turned slightly toward him. “…What?”

As if this were the most natural segue in the world. His tone was casual, unaffected. "Some sculptor guy from ancient Greece— I've forgotten where exactly. He was kinda a loner. Didn't wanna deal with real people, especially women— Guy spent ages on this one statue. Carving, supposedly, the perfect woman out of ivory. Like, obsessed over it. Chiseled every little detail, made her perfect in his eyes. And then, uh—he kinda just…fell in love with her." He paused, shifting slightly in his chair.

You blinked at him.

“It was like his life’s work or whatever…” He suddenly found it hard to look in your general direction. “Dude looked at real women and was like, ‘Nahhh, y’all suck, I’ll just make my own instead.’ So, yeah. He starts treating this statue like a real person. Talks to it, gives it gifts, probably took it on dates—I dunno, weird guy behavior. And then, get this—he begs Aphrodite to make her real.” Techno paused, shifting in his chair, gaze flickering away for half a second before he cleared his throat.

“She, uh…actually does it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “She what?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Aphrodite, for some reason, sees all this and goes, ‘Wow, that’s so romantic,’ and just—bam—brings the statue to life. No questions asked. No ‘bro, you good?’ Just—instant dream girl. And then in some versions they have a kid or something, I’ve forgotten.” He suddenly found it hard to look into your general direction.

A beat of silence. Then, in a flat voice, you muttered, “He chose a statue over a real person?” You paused again, “That’s… the most depressing shit i've ever heard.”

Techno huffed a quiet chuckle. “I know right? Isn't it great?” His smile quirked upwards a little as his arms crossed, nudging you with his elbow.

Despite yourself, despite the exhaustion and the weight of everything pressing down on you, a small, tired laugh slipped from your lips. You shook your head, rubbing at your eyes again. “That’s your idea of cheering me up?”

“I mean, it’s a good story.” Techno shrugged, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Figured I’d tell it ‘cause… it kinda reminded me of uhh…” He trailed off, his voice tapering into silence. His gaze flickered away, almost like he had lost his train of thought. He suddenly found his book a whole lot more interesting.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Of…?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear the color in his face deepened just a shade.

“...uhhh—” He cleared his throat, suddenly finding the fire very interesting. “I mean, y’know. It’s, uh… a classic tale! Dedication. Mastery in art. Real inspiring, all that.”

You stared at him. He was so full of shit.

“…Right.” You dragged out the word, tilting your head, a slow smirk creeping onto your lips. “That’s totally why you told it.”

His ears twitched, his jaw tightening. “Hey, don't make fun of me.”

That only made you grin harder. You exhaled through your nose, something almost like amusement breaking through the sadness. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

Another pause. You took a breath, deeper this time. The lump in your throat was still there, but… lighter. A little easier to bear.

Then, to your surprise, Techno stood. You expected him to walk away, to give you space, but instead, he grabbed something from the back of his chair—his red cloak.

Before you could question it, he stepped over and draped it over your shoulders.

The fabric was warm, heavy, smelling like smoke and steel and something distinctly him. Even if it was just the cloak, it held the weight, smell and looked as if he were giving you a hug. Your fingers curled around the edges instinctively. You blinked up at him.

Techno just crossed his arms. “Try not to cry on it. It’s my only one.”

You scoffed lightly, a breathy, half-hearted sound. “No promises.”

He hummed, stepping back toward his chair. Before he sat, he hesitated—then, reaching out, he gave your shoulder a firm squeeze. Just once. Just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Then he plopped back down, flipping open his book.

The fire crackled. The storm raged outside.

You tugged his cloak tighter around yourself, eyes dropping to your cold, untouched tea.

“…Thanks,” you murmured after a long pause.

Techno didn’t look up.

“Don’t mention it.”

#technoblade x reader #dsmp #technoblade #dream smp #dsmp techno #c!techno #mcyt #c!technoblade #c!techno x reader #technoblade fanfic #techno x reader #Only When You Look At Me

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st4rgirllv · 1 month ago

Text

Mean It

Pairings: Tsukishima Kei x Kouhai!Reader | College AU Slow Burn cw: slow burn breaking point, unresolved tension, jealousy, friends-to-lovers turning point, reader teasing—then realizing she shouldn’t have

It’s raining.

Of course it is.

You’re standing under the thin awning outside the college building, backpack soaked, sneakers squishing, phone at 2%. And of course, the only person who responds to your SOS text is Kei.

You: Kei, help. Trapped in the rain and soaked. SOS!!! Grumpy: Stop being dramatic. I’m outside.

You look up just in time to see his tall, hoodie-clad figure walking toward you through the rain, long legs taking even strides, one headphone still hanging around his neck. You almost forget you’re cold.

He stops in front of you, looks you over. “You’re wet.”

“I know,” you say flatly. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

He rolls his eyes, then exhales—like it pains him—but pulls off his hoodie anyway and yanks it over your head, tugging it down rough over your face.

You sputter. “Hey—!”

“Stop whining. You can come to my place. You’ll dry off.”

You blink. “…I can’t just—” He’s already walking. “You will. Or I’m leaving you here.”

You’ve never been inside his apartment before.

It’s neat. Cold tones. Minimal decor. It smells like detergent and mint. Very Tsukishima.

You kick off your soaked shoes, shivering as you glance around. He disappears into his room and tosses you a towel and a too-large shirt that definitely isn’t meant for anyone else.

“You can shower,” he says from down the hall. “I’ll throw your stuff in the dryer.” “…You sure?” “Just go.”

You nod, heart beating strangely fast as you close the bathroom door behind you. "You're an angel, Kei!"

By the time you’re dry and warm in his clothes, you’re curled up on his couch under a blanket, your wet clothes tumbling in the dryer next to his room. He’s on the floor, back against the couch, scrolling on his phone—his leg on top of yours on the couch.

You let your head drop back against the cushion.

“I can’t believe you saved me. You’re such a good senpai~.”

You say it without thinking. Half-asleep. Just teasing.

But Tsukishima goes still. "Don't call me that." he says, then suddenly you felt the shift on air.

How his leg dropped down to the floor. How he's suddenly tense. "Are you okay..?" you sat up in concern. "Yeah totally fine."

'fine' he says, but you don't believe that one bit. His body keeps shifting and his jaw is clenched and he— 'he's into that?' you thought. You almost laughed like a hyena but first you gotta be sure, so what'd you do? Tested his patience.

"So why'd you pick me up?" you abruptly asked. "Cause..I'm nice?" "Uh-uh, you're the meanest person I've ever met." "Fine, don't believe it." he opened his TV, flipping throuh channels. "I don't know, I'd like to think you're being a good senpai to your kouhai." you say nonchalantly, trying not to look at him but there it was.

The shift in his body—the way he froze mid change of the channel. He cleared his throat and stood up. You quickly panicked when you thought he was going to leave.

"Hey, where you are you going?" "Gonna make you soup, so you can go home already." He stared at you deadpan. "Aw, you're such a good senpai." you flashed him an innocent smile.

“…What did you say?” You blink. “Hm? Kei, I was joking—” “Say it again.”

You sit up a little.

His voice is deeper now. His phone is forgotten on the floor. You laugh nervously. “What, senpai? You're into that shit?”

He turns. Looks up at you over his shoulder.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

The room shifts. The air is heavy. Your pulse kicks up—because his eyes are locked on you like he’s finally letting something out that’s been choking him for months.

“…Kei?”

He stands slowly.

You don’t back away.

He sighs like everything's about to burst “Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, “how long I’ve had to sit through your stupid little jokes and fake flirting—just pretending it doesn’t drive me insane?”

You stop breathing.

“I thought we were just—” “Friends?” He laughs—bitter. “God, you’re so clueless.”

And then—he kneels in front of you. His hands settle on your thighs. Tight. Warm. Trembling slightly.

He looks up at you like he’s about to ruin everything—and doesn’t care.

“Say it again.” “…What—” "Say it again." "Kei, this is insane. I—" "Say it again, please."

His jaw clenches.

“Again.”

You whisper it this time. “Senpai.”

He kisses your thigh. Then higher. Then again—slow, deliberate.

You gasp as his fingers dig into your skin.

“Good,” he whispers, breath hot. “Took you long enough.”

ᯓ★I honestly forgot cause my head's been killing me since thursday | Masterlist

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima haikyuu #tsukishima smut #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x you

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bellaxgiornata · 5 months ago

Note

random jax thought that i must unleash:

a marilyn monroe ‘Happy Birthday Mr.President’ moment with jax?? i feel like that man would lose his mind tbh

Ohhh! Please unleash any and all Jax thoughts you have! And okay, I read this ask from you the other night and I've been thinking about it nonstop because it gave me another thought, so let me add another little layer onto this with a little headcanon of mine--singing happy birthday to Jax in lingerie.

HEAR ME OUT. I have a strangely strong belief that Jax has little experience being able to appreciate actual lingerie, not just a sexy bra and panties set. Think about it--the man never really did relationships after Tara left just after high school besides marrying Wendy. And Wendy probably spent her money on drugs and alcohol instead of legitimate lingerie because why the hell would she? I'm guessing most hangarounds at the clubhouse weren't dressed in lingerie beneath their clothes because it just doesn't seem logical (and that shit is expensive). Now, maybe some of the pornstars from Caracara could've had some sort of costume or something he'd enjoyed, but considering how we've seen them in 'the morning after' scenes in the show, I'm guessing they wouldn't really be wearing any lingerie, either. Most of Jax's sex is just spur of the moment, which just doesn't go hand in hand with dressing for it, you know?

So I'm throwing some headcanon thots on this out below the cut (clearly 18+ like everything on my blog). It's also an idea I want to explore in far more detail in my Jax fic All That I Can Give with my ex-prostitute!Reader who works at Diosa. Because I just want Jax to have some fun with lingerie, alright? I genuinely believe he hasn't had the pleasure of something so simple.

Jax is not the kind of guy who would make a big deal out of his birthday. In fact, he probably forgets it every year. And the guys at the clubhouse probably do, too. It comes and goes like every other damn day to him and he doesn't even think twice about it.

Except you do. Because you wouldn't forget his birthday. You've been planning an evening at home with him when he's finally done dealing with club business for over a week now. And maybe it's not some massive birthday party that you're throwing for him, and you don't have any expensive gift to give him, but you do have something you're wanting to do--surprise him with lingerie.

You're already dressed in it waiting in the bedroom when he comes home, a nervous excitement flooding you the moment you hear him cut the engine on his bike before you hear the front door open a minute later. And then you hear Jax's usual "Where you at, baby?" greeting you from down the hall before you call out from the bedroom.

The moment Jax sees you sitting on the end of the bed, legs crossed in the sexy number you have on with a cake in your lap, his entire demeanor shifts. The tension and exhaustion from his day just disappears from his body instantly and a devilish grin spreads across his mouth instead. His eyes slowly and openly rake over you in clear approval because "Goddamn, baby, where did this little thing come from?"

And when you tell him you bought it just for his birthday, making him sit down on the bed as you set the cake aside on the dresser--where, let's be real, it's going to be forgotten for quite awhile--Jax is practically salivating as his hands keep pawing at you. He's grabbing at your ass and your thighs, your breasts and your back. His eyes don't even know where the hell to focus, just continually roaming all over you as he thinks about how he wants to have you first in that damn thing.

But when you start singing happy birthday to him, sitting down in his lap on the bed, neither of you give a shit whether you can actually sing well or not. Jax is already half-hard, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he waits for you to finish--but he can't even manage that. You don't even get all the way through singing before he's spinning you on his lap to straddle him, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of you like it's the first time all over again.

You can damn well guarantee you won't be leaving the bedroom for the rest of the night. Jax is going to have you over and over in every goddamn position he can fold you into just so he can appreciate every angle of your body in that lingerie set. "Fuck, baby, you're not taking this off tonight. I'm gonna fucking ruin you in it."

#bella answers #jax teller headcanons #jax teller x reader #jax teller smut #some naughty jax lingerie thots #jax teller x you #jax teller

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lullabyes22-blog · 7 months ago

Text

Snippet - A Survivor's Story - Forward But Never Forget/XOXO

Sevika spittin' facts...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"I hear you thinking," Sevika warns, without opening her eyes.

"Thinking?"

"About how to get Jinx away from him."

Despite reflex, Vi doesn't ball her hands into fists. She's getting better at concealment. Not a pro like Sevika. Not a savant like Silco. But she's learning. These past five months, she's learnt enough to last a lifetime. Yet she has so much left to know.

"He's not a monster," Vi says. "I thought he was. Now I understand he's just a fucked-up asshole. But that doesn't mean he's not dangerous."

"He's got his reasons."

"I'm tired of you defending him, Sevika."

"I'm defending—"

"—Zaun?" Vi's jaw grates. "Yeah. That's your big religion. The cause you've given everything to. And he's the messiah. You worship him. The rest of us have to believe too, or be cast out." Her eyes seize Sevika's, daring her to contradict. "It's easy to believe in him, too. I'd like to say otherwise. But I've seen him work in real-time. He's got a mojo. A pull, and he pulls who he wants. But that's not faith, Sevika. That's smokescreen to hide the rot inside. And someone like that, they learn all sorts of strategies to hide it. All that smooth talk, all that drive and charisma—they aren't Silco. They're the bracing that hides the sickness."

"Look—"

"I have looked," Vi snaps, then takes a stabilizing breath. "I get it, okay? If he hadn't fought for Zaun, we'd still be under Piltover. If he hadn't done awful things, the Fissurefolk would be suffering worse. I understand that. He—Jinx—changed the city in ways no one else could've done. You can't scare monsters unless you're the scarier monster." She shakes her head. "Maybe he's the leader the Undercity—Zaun—needs right now. But what about ten years down the line? Twenty? What kind of shape will our home be if it's just a game of whack-a-villain every minute of every day? How do we take care of each other, if we're at each other's throats? How will Jinx take care of herself as she gets older? She doesn't need more monsters in her life, Sevika. She's got enough. She needs to feel safe. To know that her own city won't chew her up and spit her out if she slips up. To know her own home is behind her and not just a snakepit."

Sevika's features hold a deliberate smoothness. She says nothing.

"What people do isn't always who they are," Vi goes on. "Vander always told me that. I think it's true. For you. For a lot of folks who fought for Silco's cause. It's not true for Silco. Living means changing. Someone who can't change isn't really alive. Silco isn't." She swallows. "Not since Vander drowned him."

Sevika takes a swallow of her beer. When she's finished, there's a half-smile on her face. Too old a smile, too knowing.

"You're right," she says. "He isn't alive."

Vi stares.

House odds were that Sevika would argue. That she'd shrug off Vi's outburst. Not that she'd pay it off with plainspoken fact.

"He's not alive," she repeats, "because he's forgotten how to be."

"Forgotten?"

"He's not you, Vi." Sevika's tone holds a weird stoicism. "If he was, he'd have had a different story. Not everyone's so lucky."

"Lucky?" Resentment creeps under Vi's skin. "I grew up in the Lanes. Same as you and Silco. I lost my family. My sister was stolen. I spent six years in Stillwater."

"A hard-knock life."

"What's that mean?"

Sevika shrugs. No sarcasm. Just blunt fact. "People in the Lanes—hell, people all over—go through all kinds of shit. They survive wars and famines. They get sold to slavers. They wake up one morning and a crazy Mage burns their village down. Or Noxus rolls in and salts all their fields. It's disaster after disaster. A life of hardship. Some learn early on how to cope. How to deal with pain. Others... it's like they just stop. Stop in time. Stop living completely." Her eyes go heavy-lidded. "Nobody has a perfect childhood. But some kids learn how to be happy, or at least float on when things aren't happy. A lot of it's down to nature. The rest? That's how you grow up. Who teaches you to be strong, and smart, and resilient. For you, it was Vander and your folks. Whoever gave you hope and kept you sane. For me..."

Belatedly, Vi understands.

"It was your sister."

Sevika doesn't flinch. Withdrawing a cigarillo from her pocket, she lights up perfunctorily. Brightleaf drifts in Vi's airspace.

"Don't recall mentioning Nandi to you," Sevika says.

"Silco did." Vi's eyelids droop. She feels tired all of a sudden. Torpid with the humidity; the slanting sunrays. With the surreal passage of time and the inexorable weight of history. "So did Vander, when I was a kid. She was the Priestess at Janna's Temple. Mom liked her." She looks away. "Mom was a believer in the old gods. Said they were a part of us, same as blood. She'd always visit the Temple for the Priestess' prayers. She'd stay for her stories. I remember those stories. I didn't understand 'em much, but I liked listening to her voice. I just never connected..."

That you two were family.

That you lost someone, same as me.

Vi's eyes are dry. But she feels the emotion lodged inside: half-processed.

"I didn't connect the dots," she repeats. "I'm sorry."

A plume of smoke rises pensively from Sevika's lips.

"She was a good woman," she says at length "Better one than me. I've made a career out of breaking bones. Nandi made a calling out of binding them back together. But it was just a different kind of faith, y'know? She had faith in the divine. I had faith in me and mine. So I took care of her. She took care of me. We were family."

"Like me and Powder."

Sevika says nothing. She tips her chin back, staring at the sun-spangled sky.

"After she passed," Vi says, more tentatively, "you took up with Silco?"

The orientation of Sevika's body shifts. "Don't recall mentioning that either."

"I—I saw you two."

"Saw us?"

"Last night." Vi’s tongue burns as the confession slips past. " At the penthouse."

The cigarillo smolders in Sevika's prosthetic fingers: spark and flint. Smoke drifts over her face. Her hair's tied in a high tail today. There's nothing to conceal her expression. Not that there's an expression to conceal. Her eyes, meeting Vi's, reflect nothing in the metalhazy glints.

She is a monolith, and monoliths don't flinch.

Neither does Vi. This isn't a place for shame. They've known each other too long and too bitterly for that.

"I know," Vi mutters. "I know it wasn't my business."

"Then why make it your business?"

"Because—" It's an effort to match Sevika's stare "Because you and him... it's like you're stuck. Stuck on him. Stuck to him. He's bad news, Sevika. Not just for you, but everyone." She takes a shuddery breath, trying to keep the kneejerk anger out. "Whatever you're getting out of it, you can get better elsewhere."

"You offering, Vi?"

The near-flinch becomes a flush. "That's not what I—"

Except Sevika's not challenging her. Her demeanor's the same as when she and Vi used to spar: calm, level, blunt.

The bond between them doesn't go deep. Can't—given their convoluted history. Yet territorial as Sevika is, she takes care of her turf. Looks out for her own. Since Vi's return to the Lanes, she's treated her... not as an ally, but as a fellow Trencher.

They've both known hardship and come out stronger. They both understand that when disaster hits, it can make enemies out of friends—and friends out of enemies.

Vi and Sevika are neither. They inhabit a shadowy zone in between. But that zone has its own language, and it's a clean one. No deadweight. No dredged-up debts.

Just the give-and-take of hard-hitting truth.

"It's funny," Sevika says. "The way folks throw that word around. Better. They're always thinking of what-ifs. What could be, instead of what is. Me, I like the facts. What's real, not what may come to pass."

"What's real is he's using you," Vi snaps. "Same as he uses everybody. He doesn't love you, Sevika."

"Love." Sevika's lip curls up at one corner. "What’s love got to do with it, little girl?"

"I—what?"

"You say Zaun's my big religion? Well, let me tell you. Love's yours. And it's got you—you, Jinx, Silco—so twisted up in knots, you're a fucking mess."

"I'm not a—"

"A fucking mess," Sevika repeats, and the tone brooks no argument. "All of you. That's the problem. You've got no perspective. No sense of self. No clue what's what. Everything's love, and you tote that word around like junkies with a fix. As if it's the answer to everything. The cure-all. Well, let me break it to you: it's not. Not even close."

"But—" Vi is stunned. "Then what's it for? What's the point?"

"There is no point," Sevika snaps. "Love's not a solution. It's not even a problem. It's just an emotion. And it's not the only one. There's rage. There's grief. There's hate. And they're just as real. Just another part of living." Her jaw hardens. "I loved my sister, Vi. Loved her enough that I'd strangle anybody who'd put a hand on her. Not because she was the best woman in the world—and she was—but because she was the best part of me. She was my family, same way Jinx is yours. When I lost her, I went to war. Didn't care if it was Enforcers, or Topside, or the whole goddamn world. I was ready to tear the planet down. Because I'd already been torn apart. I didn't have anything left."

"Sevika," Vi says, but doesn't finish.

She's been where Sevika has. She understands.

"I was broken," Sevika goes on. "I thought, without love, I'd stay broken. I was wrong. There's a whole lot more to life than that. And Silco..."

Her cadence doesn't waver. But there's a different undercurrent. Something raw, and blisteringly real.

"We had a thing, once," she says. "A shortlived thing. But that's the least of our history, Vi. It's not why I follow him. And it's not why I was with him last night."

"Why, then?" Vi's throat is tight. "Why stay with him?"

"Because… when I was broken, he knew what to do with the brokenness. He didn't ask me to be someone else. Didn't try to put me back together. He took me as I was. Because he understood that grief doesn't just end. It can't. There's no escaping it. But you can't let it end you, either. People have it worse; they have less. Me? I had more. When I had Nandi, I had everything. When I lost her, I lost it all. And what's left was an empty space, and filling it with something. Something that'd last the distance." She lets off a breath. A single strand of smoke uncurls. "Silco gave me that. He put his life in my hands. He laid his cause at my feet. He had faith in me. And that faith meant something."

"A way to go on," Vi says.

"That's the best anyone can ask for." Sevika smiles, and her hard face fills with soft lines. "Love's a fine thing, Vi. But it can't protect your family. It can't keep them safe. You gotta fight for that. And when you've fought as long as I have—taken more lives than you've seen years—it's not about the love. It's about what's left. About doing your part to keep it standing."

"Even if it means dying?"

Sevika doesn't miss a beat. "It's never about dying, Vi. It's about the life you choose before that."

"Silco can't give you a life."

"I know." Sevika's smile dwindles. The softness and hardness don't. "But he's given me everything else. The rest? I'll make do. My sister taught me how."

Vi says nothing. She's run out of arguments. Run, too, out of anger.

They sit in silence, watching the afternoon unfold.

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restricted-on-13th · 2 months ago

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Okay, I've never seen anyone ponder over this problem and try to find a solution over it:

Shinichi being someone without relative pitch yet has perfect pitch

Disclaimer: I am in anyway not a musician and if I get anything wrong about this, I'm very sorry.

I tried to think of ways to make Shinichi be able to sing yet still retaining his original quality of being unable to produce the exact sound (I think it's being unable to do relative pitch) and still having perfect pitch.

This was low-key for several of my Kaishin Singer/Idol au's that I have half way forgotten and have never written (lmao) and I got reminded of this conundrum when I saw a reblog here in tumblr of an official Idol Shinichi art for his birthday. Yet again, disclaimer: not a musician so Tumblr music side, if you can and will try to verify this idea. Also I'll be yapping after this so be prepared cause it's long.

Why not give Shinichi a musical score for a song that he could sing?

Now don't get me wrong, I know it'll be a bitch to transition from C minor to some note for Shinichi if he doesn't have relative note. But but, hear me out, if someone crazy enough to write an overly technical musical score of a song (I'm looking at you Kaito) complete with a timing of the notes and their lyrics AND AND A SEQUENCE OF EACH INDIVIDUAL NOTES MADE TILL IT HITS THE TARGET NOTE (basically minimise the notes till the milliseconds to replicate a fucking harmony which is a group of notes that form a chord and is the progression of chords)

If someone made this (KAITO) and made it an overly technical musical score like "C" but instead it would specify "C at 440 Hz, then 440.5 Hz, then 439.8 Hz" for every fraction of a second of the damn song, breaking the oscillation into each notes that's squeezed inside a second and timbre shifts being added to the musical score and everything freaking else into a humongous, herculean task of a musical score, would Shinichi be able to sing a song?

Now, I know it will be tough for Shinichi (but it's my damn fucking Au so sing Shinichi) but the guy has a damn good memory and I'm sure he could read a score like this, reference by using his violin and be able to sing a song after memorising the monstrosity of a musical score.

So naturally, I did the thing. I went to Gemini AI (cause your bitch don't know or have musical friends and yes I have only realised that I should have asked Ai if I don't have friends who understand this, I'm sorry if I offended someone by asking AI but google wasn't giving me any answers when I researched about this)

And you know what the AI said?

"Then, a human with perfect pitch and exceptional memory, relying only on those two abilities, could technically reproduce that exact sequence of sounds with astonishing precision. They would hit every single micro-note, every peak and trough of the vibrato, exactly as written." and also that "The singing might sound clinically perfect, but potentially robotic or dispassionate, lacking the organic, fluid quality that comes from a singer's internal feeling for the music's continuous flow."

That if this person, was given a song without preparation, was asked for interpretation or needed spontaneity, they would not be able deliver a compelling song that most of the singers today use. (sorry baby Shinichi but that just means you gotta stuff multiple monstrosities of a musical score in you)

And last of all, the thing I loved the most after getting an answer from Gemini AI:

"The "Uncanny Valley" of Sound: It might fall into an "uncanny valley" of sound – technically flawless in every detail, yet lacking the warmth, human imperfection, or subtle "give" that contributes to what we perceive as emotionally resonant singing."

But here's the thing people, Uncanny Valley goes both ways. It either unnerves you or pulls you in a way that shouldn't be.

FEATURES HATSUNE MIKU

So would Shinichi be able to sing if he was given a musical score like that?

Yes, he would be able to, terrifically perfect at that that he doesn't sing like a human, and quoting Gemini AI:

"A human with perfect pitch and prodigious memory, given such an unimaginably detailed score, would be an unparalleled replicator of sound. They could produce exactly what is written, hitting every micro-pitch with incredible precision.

But "singing nicely" often implies not just hitting notes, but feeling them, understanding their relationships instinctively, and injecting that understanding with human emotion and nuance. Without relative pitch, that intuitive musical understanding would be absent. So, while it would be a technical masterpiece, its "niceness" in terms of emotional connection and organic musicality might still be compromised. They'd be a perfect sonic copy, but perhaps not a perfect musical interpreter."

Emotional Complexity? If there's one thing I've learned from Hatsune Miku, you could fake that SHIT.

So stand up Kaito, get you're damn pen and save your boyfriend's singing ability (luv u baby Kaito)

So yes people, use this for your Idol/Singer/Musician au's for Shinichi, if you want to preserve the original setting. That is all, thank you!

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bonesandpoemsandflowers · 22 days ago

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after many many months, I finally got back to my true detective rewatch, by which I mean: I watched half of episode 2. and they're just. they're so fucking funny.

Not saying anything new here, but they are so truly, briefly, inhabiting separate genres. Rust IS actually the only guy who gives the appearance of thinking about the case, brain circling the killer and motives and the victim and same.

THE LOCKER ROOM SCENE...how did i forget how funny it is.

rust is actually so cutting and fucking funny on purpose, i don't understand how so many of you people think he's one note socially awkward. sometimes he's distracted, but that's not the same thing. when he's in the moment that's actually happening to him? he's FUNNY. he is a little SHIT. he is saying shit ON PURPOSE. does he expect to get shoved into a locker about it? no, i don't think so, which is why he backs down with saying he's not commenting on the particularities of the scent, but like. he's not TOO surprised by anything here, either, imo.

and marty!!! marty. marty in that scene, in all scenes! maaaarty.

marty, rust's not saying anything about your wife and you know this. marty, you're fronting so hard! you're doing this elaborate flimsy bit to bluff your sidepiece into not leaving her house! you're paraphrasing rust as you do it!

every interaction marty has with a woman is like. hysterical, actually

like, they both get scenes with women that are interspaced with each other and the scenes are so different in tone. marty's having mildly kinky sex with a fresh faced smoking hot babe with huge tits. he's having a great time. she's so comfortable with him she cuffs him without really asking and he goes with it, only complains a little. meanwhile, Rust is having PILLS, is what he's having. I do not buy ANY interpretation that says he feels lust for Lucy here. He is there to BUY DRUGS (and ask about The Case). And Lucy is uncomfortable! bruised up thighs, uncertain of Rust's motives. she is attracted to him--uncertain as she is, she displays a willingness, an active interest--but she's still kind of scared of him. And he is, as ever, aware of her precarious position here, aware of what all this can mean to her, and he's never threatening but he's not too comforting, either. "Of course I'm dangerous. I'm police. I can do terrible things to people, with impunity."

Rust is so much cooler around sex workers than Marty...we love a man who's comfortable in this space. It's just so much more reliable. I've said it before but part of the magic of TD s1 is that it opens with Rust as a mythic figure but also kind of a nerd, right, and they show us busted old man rust, and Marty's talking so Marty's the cool guy, right? and then the show's like: hahah, SUCKERS, this nerd? he bad. in the best way possible, which is to say: he legitimately belongs here in all these sex and drug and crime spaces, he's fluent in everything here.

and marty is, meanwhile, having such a sanitized time, despite being senior detective, homicide, etc.

what if the nerd was actually the COOL guy but also the BAD BOY but a SAD DAD but also the only honest man to be found in the entire world? that is what true detective asks and offers. and then, meanwhile, for contrast: marty.

marty is easier to love when you forget some of the stuff marty does, but he's so delightful, too, in the ways he's awful, in the way he's so--pitiable, and I don't even mean that in a bad way. I love Marty Hart and he is, in a way, trying hard, trying, in fact, way too hard. he just also sucks so bad! it's amazing! rust is human but fundamentally heroic and aspirational. marty hart, whether we like him or not, is much closer to where most of us live: a little clueless, a little selfish, desperate to understand what's going on and desperate to be loved, and pretending to be in charge, pretending like we're qualified.

etc etc

I'd forgotten how delightfully distressed Rust looks when he sees those roiling lights in the sun drenched clouds, how obviously he's trying so hard to not show too much dread, how he shuffles himself around and closes his eyes and hopes and hopes and hopes that will keep him together

and Marty's there in the driver's seat, looking over but not until Rust's closed his eyes, does Rust even know? Does Rust know and that's worse, that's why he keeps his eyes closed?

and this isn't even getting into the @ticklingyourcatastrophe theory that we're actually meeting Crash in the frame story interview. like, I've been turning this idea over in my head since I saw it, and sometimes I agree and sometimes I don't, but the idea of Crash as something bigger that Rust wears? that makes PERFECT sense in a lot of these scenes.

they also give you SO much about Rust so quickly! so much tragic backstory! they don't hold on to it! they don't play those cards close to the chest! they make you wait like 1.5 episodes before he's not finishing his sentences and he's skipping to casually saying how him and his ex-wife resented each other being alive. and that's not even near the top ten saddest rust cohle moments. amazing writing and I'm still not sure how much anyone involved here understood what they were doing.

however also delightfully insane that this show has these dudes discussing scent of pussy and fighting each other and then having to get in a car together and drive. i would kill my coworker within the hour.

"that a down payment?" rust cohle is the meanest girl in the world and I love that for him.

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presleyluvschris · 1 year ago

Note

Hey I got a request for jj

That jj is a single dad to a baby girl and he is to scared to hold because he will think he will drop her and John b everyday will try and get jj to hold her then one day jj was holding her on his chest then he takes her everywhere With him hope that make sense

Koala Care

dad!jj x fem!reader x daughter

a/n ahh this is so cutie! thank you for the request anon, love you bunches!

desc JJ holds his baby girl for the first time

wc 1.2k

warnings cursing, grammar, fluff

"Peaches?" JJ comes in through the back door of the chateau, carefully shutting it behind him as he walks through the kitchen to set down a box full of baby supplies.

The usual. Diapers, baby food, her favorite yogurt melts, more of his old band & surf t-shirts to wrap her up in.

He notices Aria crying her eyes out behind him in between the white rails of her bed. he must have forgotten to change her when he left. He also noticed it was pissing off John B who was trying to work on something probably useless and he caught the hint that he's been listening to her cry for at least an hour.

"Shit," he mutters, messing with his backwards hat as he turns his attention away from Aria for a split second to glance at John B. Turns out he was fixing a cooler for the boat.

"Bro." he goes over to him, kicking him in the leg slightly, "You seen Y/n? I really need her help knowing what measurements of tit milk I'm supposed to feed mini me."

John B rolls his eyes to the ceiling as he screws in the side of the cooler handle.

"First of all," he says through a gritted tone from a bolt in between his teeth.

"You gotta stop with the teenage boy, language wording shit."

He spits out the bolt and screws another nail into the bottom.

"You're like a dad now. Its your dick and your daughter, buddy. You really want your kid to go around saying, tit milk?"

JJ tuts. "Bro she cant even talk yet. Plus, I don't remember half the shit i said as a fucking baby. Maybe thats cause my dad probably beat the shit out of me where I like- lost half my cells, but i ain't changing. Plus, daddy will raise her to be the best hooker of man kind. Shes a Pogue, shes not gonna be a goody two shoes if my life depends on it."

John B turns his head around and gives him a look.

"Jesus Christ JJ, did anything click when your girlfriend popped a living thing out of her ass?" He purses his lips.

JJ points his lips downwards and shrugs.

"Or are you always gonna be known as the dad who raised a stripper?" John B rolls his eyes again, taking a weird clear plate out of his box, "Y/n is a doctor for fucks sake, she's the only hope for raising her I swear to God."

John B shakes his head, "I've told you everyday now. You haven't even held her yet."

JJ grips his hat, "Thats because im gonna drop the kid!"

John b slaps his forehead.

"You're litterally her DAD, JJ! Y/n popped a baby out of her kitty sack and you seriously didnt even touch her the day she was born." John B raises his eyebrows. "Do you remember that? Y/n cried in Kie's room FOR AN HOUR thinking you didnt want the kid!"

JJ opens his mouth to respond then stops.

"Whatever. Go back to fixing your cold box and shit," He turns his back to walk away.

John B changes the tip on his screwdriver, "You're gonna have to hold your own ass daughter eventually, dude."

"I hope you screw a nail in your dick!" JJ calls out and tuts again, mumbling under his breath, "teaching me how to handle my own kid..."

"im the one fixing this goddamn cooler so you can drink your shit ass blue moon chilled!" John b yells back, JJ opening the door and slamming it shut to try and find you again.

"y/nnnn," he groans, calling out your name, finding you sitting on the steps outside.

He kneels down and wraps his big arms around you, kissing the side of your head gently.

"Hi baby," he mutters, "How was work?"

you felt your head pulsating before forcing yourself to give a response.

"Hmmm fine. it was busy."

"Yeah?" he strokes your head, "Real quick."

You sigh slightly, "Hmm?"

"how much ti-" He stops, and clears his throat.

"How much milk do I need to feed Ari?" He says in a soft voice, knowing you had a blaring headache from your shift.

You exhale, leaning your arms on your knees.

"theres about 7 oz in the fridge."

He nods, "thank you sweets," he kisses your hair one last time before leaving you in peace to rest your mind.

He goes back inside the chateau, opening the fridge and taking out the bottle, reaching over Aria's crib and putting the tip to her mouth.

"there we are, sweet girl.." he holds the back of her head while she drinks gently, her cries settling down.

After Aria is finished, he stares at her for a moment.

Why was it so hard for him to hold his own daughter? He feels a wave of guilt floods over his spine.

He reaches his hands out, then stops.

"God damnit," He sighs.

"Okay." He stares at Aria one more time. "3, 2.."

"Fuck this."

He picks Aria up gently in his arms, his heart jumping as he does so.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "Oh my God."

He holds her to his chest, making sure to support her back, something he learned in a parenting book he found online as he feels his soul melt in his stomach.

"There we go," he coos softly, rocking her up and down gently.

"Hi love." he holds her up to look in her eyes with the biggest grin on his face.

"You have your mommas eyes, don't you?"

It's like he fell in love with you all over again. Just this time, it was a baby. And it was his baby.

He holds her to him again, hearing you opening the screen door to come back inside the chateau as he looks at you with the stupidest smile on his face.

"JJ.." you breathe, a grin full of your white perfect teeth filling the room as you jog over to him.

You rub his arm gently as you stare at Aria in JJ's arms.

"im so glad." You said, tears slightly filling the bottom of your eyes as your breath catches in your throat.

"She has your eyes," He repeats the observation he made earlier.

You nod with a sniffle, chuckling slightly.

"She has your lips."

JJ presses another soft kiss into the side of your neck.

A few days later, you noticed that JJ dorkily bought one of those baby carrier things to attach to your chest, and you had to admit it was pretty cute seeing Aria giggle with him, taking her everywhere he went.

John B was relieved her finally built up the balls to hold his kid, and if you were honest, you were relieved too.

Kiara bullied him everyday for taking Aria with him everywhere because the baby holder he chose was literally hot pink. Really hot pink.

He was so happy everyday. To be the dad that he never had. The one he had prayed and wished for everyday as a kid.

JJ was such a tough guy, tough face, tough love, tough soul.

but I guess not when it came to you and Aria. You and her were his new world and there was nothing in the entire universe that could take that away from him.

☆ divider & gif credits to @viixcyre @baby-bearie

my navigation ♡

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echoingbirdsofprey · 5 months ago

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Delicate (Jake's Version)

31 - Jake's Dog

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: EXPLICIT (MDNI!)

Warnings: SMUT, oral (m receiving), angsty!Jake, angry!Jake, stressed AF!Jake, panic attack, argueing, make up oral? protective/aggressive dog behavior from Ballast

A/N: SMUT, sort of...angsty!Jakey and Sam because why not, and Ballast has some shit to sort out with his human. Also Jake is about to kill Rooster again. Also, I researched for like a half and hour about Air Traffic control and other jet related things. I did my best. Sorry if it's crap.

(note: aus is the command in German for ‘out’ or ‘let go’)

Again, thank y'all for reblogging, commenting, liking, etc. I really appreciate it tons! <3

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03 @coloraturadiva @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @khouse712 @kaleysbookshelf @rootedinrevisions @crossskylinesandcontrails

It was the first time in a long time that Jake’s nerves were on fire as he strapped himself into the cockpit of the jet . His jet. He was sweating in his flight suit. It felt great to put the helmet back on again. It had felt even better when he went through the NATOPs competency test. He had aced the simulator, and the written test on the manual, and now was his first day officially back up in the air.

Maverick climbed up the ladder and patted Jake on the back. “You’ll do great. It’s just a straight shot, easy flight.” Mav said, tapping his hand on the outside of the jet.

“I thought you were going up with me?” Jake asked, and Maverick shook his head.

“No. Rooster is. He needs some more hours before he can apply to be a tester.”

“Tester?”

“He wants to do what I've been doing. There's an opening at Oceana for it.”

“So he's supervising me?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes, but only for emergency purposes. You know how this goes, Jake. You've done these flights a million times. Standard Op. Enjoy yourself.”

Jake would most certainly enjoy himself, as long as Rooster kept his damn mouth shut. His breath quickened and he felt his head spin slightly. He brushed the feeling away as they signaled for him to taxi.

“NKX Tower, Hangman F/A-18, East Ramp, VFR/IFR Composite Loop, Standard Op.” Jake said, and he suddenly felt at ease.

“Hangman F/A-18, NKX Tower, taxi to Runway 3.” The air traffic controller responded.

“NKX Tower, Hangman F/A-18, Runway 3, ready for takeoff.” Jake took a deep breath after and a huge smile crept across his lips.

“Hangman F/A-18, Runway 3, you are cleared for takeoff. Glad to have you back!” The tower replied and he could hear some cheering in the background.

“Thanks. Hangman F/A-18, Runway 3, cleared for takeoff.” Jake confirmed, saluting to the ground crew. He’d nearly forgotten how much he was pushed back into the seat as the jet sped down the runway, the downward force as the jet lifted off as he pulled back on the stick, and the feeling of absolute euphoria that spread throughout his entire body as he felt him relax as the blue of the sky unfurled before him. Besides when he was with Sam, this was his home.

Once up in the air, he heard chatter over the radio, of Rooster taking off. Jake was already over fifty miles out at this point, comfortably cruising at around three hundred knots. He knew Rooster was supposed to be his back up, his wingman, but he doubted he was going to catch up.

“Hey Hangman. You look good up here.” He heard Rooster say through the radio, knowing he was somewhere far behind him.

“I am good. Rooster. I’m very good. Nice to be back up here.” Jake murmured, trying his best to ignore Rooster but failing.

“Have a nice vacation?” Rooster asked casually.

“Yeah.” Jake's response was short, making it clear he wasn't interested in talking.

“How’s the office work?” Rooster asked, almost hinting at humor.

“It's shit. Been waiting to get back up here.” Jake was getting annoyed now, wishing Rooster would just shut the hell up.

“How's...Sammy?” He asked and Jake's cheeks heated. He felt anger bubble up.

“Samantha is fine.” Jake said through gritted teeth.

“Aright, don't get pissy.” Rooster chuckled.

“I'll get as pissy as I want when you talk about my girl .” Jake growled.

“Must've been nice, while we we're all busting our asses, Sammy was your personal nurse, and whatever else you used her for. You decide on a date for the wedding yet? You are still getting married right? You didn't scare her off?”

“Rooster... shut the fuck up .” Jake nearly yells into the radio. For the rest of the flight, Jake was silent as the grave. On the landing, Jake headed in first, fumbling with the stick as he landed. He lost his grip for a millisecond as the landing gear was making contact with the runway, The jet touched down hard, the front gear snagging slightly on the tarmac and sending a jolt through Jake's entire body.

When he taxied off the runway, his heart was pounding in his chest and he hadn't realized just how hot he was in his flight suit. When he climbed down out of his jet, he realized just how much his head was spinning, as he lost his balance coming down off the ladder. One of the ground crew happened to notice and asked Jake if he was okay. He just murmured ‘yeah, fine,’ and headed down the tarmac, toward the locker room.

“Fucked the landing, huh, Bagman?” Rooster yelled, a loud laugh leaving his stupid mouth. Jake shot a middle finger back at him, continuing toward the locker room.

Jake nearly ripped his flight suit off. There was no one around, so when he removed his t-shirt, he threw it and his boxer briefs harshly against his locker, before grabbing his towel and heading to the shower. He just needed to rinse himself off. His brain was going a million miles a minute. His heart was fucking jumping out of his chest. His breath was coming out hard from his nostrils. He was fucking angry.

Rooster just continued to get under his skin and as he let the warm water wash over him, his mind traveled to Sam. Did he tell her what Rooster said? Surely he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t add to her stress, now knowing that she was pregnant. It had been a huge relief, but it had added so much more on top of everything. Especially where they both agreed on a quick wedding. Jake almost suggested just going to the courthouse and taking Javy as a witness. Or Nat. But he knew Sam wouldn’t want that. Sam wanted a beautiful day with friends and family.

Jake owed it to her to make the day as nice as possible. Jake placed his hands on the wall of the shower, letting his head drop, his tags jingling. All he could think of was how the one mistake he made at the end of the flight, losing his grip for a second, could’ve killed him. Then where would Sam and his kid be? Without him, that’s where.

Jake’s heart kept up its pace, through the rest of his shower, through drying himself off, dressing himself in a clean shirt and his khakis, with his cowboy boots. He needed to stop at his office for something and then he just wanted to go home. He was pissed off, and he knew what was building inside of him. He thought for sure he had been through all the mental strife, but now it seemed he wasn’t.

One bad day and Jake goes back to a crumbling mess in the truck on the way home. His heart felt like it was going to pop out of his chest. He was sweating again, nearly through his shirt and his muscles ached more than he’d ever felt them ache before. It was almost worse than when he came back home. He needed to get his emotions in check before he stepped inside, for fear of what he might say in a moment of high anxiety.

🛩️⚓🛩️

Jake had never been scared of a dog, and he never thought his own would be the one he’d be scared of, however, he couldn’t blame Ballast.

Jake was having a panic attack. A pretty drawn out one too. It ebbed back and forth in intensity over the course of the day. He’d felt it beginning when he’d stepped on base that morning. He felt it come to a head when he stepped in the door at home. Sam had just found out she was pregnant, after they’d finally come home from Oklahoma. She was sitting at the kitchen island sifting through some mail.

“How was it?” She asked and he nodded. Jake was silent and this had been bugging Sam immensely. They had gone through all of the trouble of talking out nearly every aspect of their relationship and then it seemed that Jake had shut down again. She knew it didn’t have anything to do with her, that it was all stress and related to his job, but she felt like part of it was her being pregnant. She hadn't wanted that to change their relationship, but it was inevitable that it would.

“It’d be nice if you talked to me...” Sam said and Jake felt anger boil up inside him. They’d been arguing on and off the past couple of days, trying to figure out where they were going to settle. An argument that he thought they had hashed out before they came home, but since finding out Sam was actually pregnant, it seemed like she’d developed a bit of a short fuse and quite suddenly. Jake knew it was the hormones, and Sam admitted as such. She wanted to stay in California, but it was Jake who, once he’d gotten a taste of his old country life, he wanted it back so bad, and Sam just wasn’t budging.

“I will when it’s not an argument.” Jake affirmed and Sam shook her head in disbelief.

“You’re still mad at me for wanting to stay here? Jake, this is what I know and it’s where I’m comfortable...”

“Yes, and you’re being fucking selfish! I’m supposed to be where I’m comfortable while I’m getting over bein’ fuckin’ tortured half to death and it’s not here! I’m not okay here anymore! I knew I wouldn’t be!” Jake had raised his voice, slamming his hand on the counter, and he immediately regretted it, as a flash of black charged into the kitchen. He jumped back and Ballast stood crouched in front of Sam, growling.

At Jake .

No...he was snarling at Jake, drool dripping from his mouth as he barked fiercely at the man who fed him and walked him daily. The man who taught him every command, everything that the dog knew. Jake noticed just how sharp the dog’s canines were then. He knew Ballast was fiercely protective of Sam, and Jake had made the mistake of showing physical aggression, and while he didn’t mean it at Sam, Ballast thought he did. In fact, Ballast was so sure that Jake might hurt Sam, that he began to step toward Jake.

“Ballast, no!” Sam yelled, going to grab the dog’s collar, but Jake stopped her, putting his hand up. He was afraid Ballast might mistakenly take that as a cue to actually attack Jake now that he was locked in guard mode.

“Ballast, aus .” He said sternly and the dog growled and laid at Sam’s feet. The dog wasn’t convinced. He stood again and snarled at Jake once more, barking several times before baring his teeth again.

“BALLAST. AUS .” Jake lowered and deepened his voice and pointed toward the living room. Ballast lowered his ears and his head and slinked around Jake and into the other room. The dog stood at the threshold, ready to go after his handler again if he needed to. Jake was careful, stepping toward Sam but keeping an eye on Ballast. The dog growled as Jake’s hands wrapped around Sam’s waist, but he recognized that Jake’s intentions were pure, not aggressive at all. Ballast laid down and placed his head on his paws, still focused on Jake, but calm now.

“He’s never done that before, Jake. What the hell was that?” Sam asked, hugging him tightly.

“He’s only doing what I trained him to do. He thought I was going to hurt you...or something. You know I wasn’t, right?” Jake asked, leaning down to kiss her. She nodded.

“Of course you weren’t. I’m sorry. I keep pushing you and I know you’re stressed being back at work...” Sam admitted and he rubbed her lower back, as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I was having another panic attack...I thought I had it under control in the truck before I came in but...” He trailed off.

“I’m so sorry, Jake...maybe...maybe you’re right about moving closer to your brother...at least for a little while.” She conceded, glancing around Jake to see that Ballast was yawning and stretching. He had cooled down and Jake let go of Sam.

“No, I’m sorry I lost my shit. But...even Ballast knows I’m not right in the head...I just feel like I’m regressing for some reason..” He said and he knelt down in front of Sam, taking her hand and kissing the back. He then turned and called his dog over. Ballast wagged his tail and cautiously walked to Jake, then crawled in front of him and rolled over onto his back, showing Jake his belly. Jake reached down and rubbed the dog’s chest and belly and when Ballast rolled back to stand up he was careful as he pushed his nose toward Jake.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to protect her from me, buddy. It’ll never happen again, I swear.” He said, rubbing the top of Ballast’s head and his ears. The dog welcomed this, panting and reaching to lick Jake’s face. Jake allowed it, even though Ballast had scared him, he still trusted the dog, especially since he was so dutiful to protect Sam. Sam meant more to him than anything.

“Why do you think you’re regressing?” She asked, as Jake stood and placed his arms around her waist. She studied him, seeing concern take over his expression, the sage green of his eyes unsteady.

“I don’t know if I’m stressed from...from you being pregnant...I’m..I’m worried about you.” He, as always when he was unsure, or disquieted, stumbled over his words. But he never did that outside of their little bubble of trust.

“Why are you worried about me?” Sam asked, stretching up to touch her lips to his. She saw a wave of exhaustion pass over him, something that she had noticed had been happening more frequently. Jake’s resolve was so thin and it had been like that for months on end. Sam didn’t know how to fix it either.

“I don’t know, I just am. I’m just...I don’t...I don’t know...” Jake’s voice broke and Sam was quick to pull him into her arms. Ballast was still at his feet and he felt Jake’s emotions heavily, placing his head against his leg. Jake reached down to run his hand over the dog’s head, while pulling Sam in for a needy kiss.

“Well...when you figure out why it’s stressing you out so much, you’ll tell me, right? Because we’re telling each other everything.” Sam’s affirmation as they parted was one that he’d heard enough times now, and he couldn’t even begin to tell her how much it meant to him that they could share the level of vulnerability they had. But sometimes, Jake still didn’t want to delve that deep into his brain. Sometimes he just needed to shut it off.

“Yes. I will, I promise. I just need to think about it. Ugh...I feel like shit. I need to lay down.” He dragged his hand over his face and Sam reached up to cup his cheeks. Her thumbs wiped fresh tears from them, that Jake hadn’t even noticed had been there.

“Here...I’ll come with you.” She said softly, letting her hands drop to his, intertwining their fingers.

“No, no, you keep doing what you were doing.” Jake offered, but Sam wasn’t budging.

“You’re worked up. I can go over that stuff later. I don’t need to do that right now. You need me right now.” She said, his brows knitting as he began to back up. He guided her to the couch, and pulled her over his lap. She straddled him, his hands landing on her waist and winding around to her lower back. Muster jumped up on the couch next to them, putting her face in Jake’s for a moment and then glancing up at Sam. She whined and Sam laughed and shook her head. Jake bit his lip and chuckled as well.

“I think she’s worried about you too.” Jake murmured, reaching up to pat the smaller dog. She allowed it and that made Jake smile wide. “And apparently she likes me now.”

“She’s always liked you. She just hasn’t been okay with you touching her. You needed her consent.” Sam smirked and leaned down to kiss Jake and she could feel his smile spread more.

“Do I still need your consent?” He asked, as Sam pulled away slightly to watch the slyness seep into his smile, and the lust that clouded over his pupils as his lids lowered.

“Muster, Ballast, Rocco, crate.” Sam said softly, and the jingling of tags and cacophony of nails on the floor dissipated as the dogs went to lay down in their kennels. Then there was silence for a beat before Jake’s voice, deep and gravelly, permeated the space between him and Sam.

“You didn’t answer my...”

“No, Jake. You don’t. You can have me...do whatever to me...anywhere, anytime.” Sam’s voice grew sultry and low, as her hands ghosted over his cheeks. “You know that.”

“Mmm, but I feel like I should ask anyway.” He said softly, his breath quickening slightly. “And thank you...”

“For what?” Sam asked, letting her hands travel down to the hem of his shirt.

“Loving me, even when I’m a shit head. Even when I’m struggling. Because I don’t fuckin’ know who would put up with my sorry ass.” Jake’s fingers made their way under the waistband of Sam’s yoga pants, finding she wore no panties. She shifted above him.

“I don’t put up with you. Jake, I don’t feel like I can exist without you. You’re the single best thing that has ever happened to me. And I know we’ve been fighting and we’re at a weird place right now, but after all we’ve been through in the short time we’ve been together, I know we can make it through this. I know we’ll come out the other side. All I keep asking is that you don’t shut back down on me. Please don’t.” Sam inhaled sharply as his warm hands cupped her ass, and squeezed gently.

“I won’t. I don’t mean to. It’s just worked for me in the past. But now, now I know it doesn’t work with you. That’s why I love you. Because you’ve seen me at my worst...and you still want me. And you want kids with me. I never in a million years thought I’d have anyone like you, Sam.” His lips found hers once again, this time in a kiss full of desire and longing. He wanted more. He always wanted more, and she was all too happy to oblige. All too willing to give him what he needed most.

Release.

Sam backed away and slid down to her knees in front of him, her hands resting on his thighs. She waited, looking up expectantly at him. He could see the hunger in her eyes as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops. As he unbuttoned and unzipped his khakis and slid them down just enough to free his length. And as he ran his fingers gently through her hair, grabbing at the roots and tugging lightly so that she had to make eye contact with him.

“You’re so good to me, Sam. Such a fucking good girl for me.” He purred, then gathered her hair into a ponytail to help her. She rubbed her hands up and down his thighs painfully slow, then took him in her mouth, beginning to pleasure him. He let his head fall back and his jaw worked as he enjoyed every bit of what she did for him.

#glen powell #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x oc #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun #top gun hangman #top gun movie

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kitmarlowe · 4 months ago

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stage/fright spoilers for 3rd april matinee

first of all this is what my dad decided to send me on the train

what a choice.

anyway, absolutely delightful show as ever

still mourning the loss of len’s little leg movement at the start of his mime. bring it back, steve!

at the start of the kidnappers sketch reece decided the best way to check the scene/set the stage was to leap from side to side like a crab on a pogo stick. so at that point i thought: oh he's going to lose his mind later.

today's hostage was MY EDGE JUMP - miles jupp! (now i've finally got the right last word) you know, the guy from the thick of shit / the thick old git / whatever the other one was

he played it in the standard but very funny way the scene always goes. his "I love you, you love me" song went on to something like "if we invite the neighbour, that makes three" and very much continued on that theme, which took the lads by surprise in the best way. I don't know if the trumpet deliberately doesn't work anymore (because it defintiely used to, but i'm sure i've seen someone else say it didn't) but he tried his best and no noise came out of it. i'm guessing it is supposed to work because reece had to hold his moustache in place as he laughed.

speaking of reece, i'm sure he did something funny when he made his exit but i cannot remember now because it's been pushed out of my mind by my absolute favourite thing ever:

the celery line. (I already made a separate post but it's going here too.) steve, clearly seeing reece was going to break whatever he did, chose to go completely over the top with this. he slid towards the front of the stage on his knees, threw his arms in the air and screamed "IT'S ONLY A STICK OF CELERY!!!!!" and reece was gone. just had to clap his hand over his mouth and turn to the back of the stage for ages. when he looked back, steve still had his arms in the air and he shook them in anguish which made reece laugh even more. god it was joyous. i wish i could watch that bit again. he was still half laughing when he had to deliver the lines about len being a liability.

when miles jumped out of the wardrobe after len got the name wrong again (this is the one i've forgotten) he did the classic rant and said the thick of it was a seminal piece of television that never did a stage show because it was too dignified (both steve and reece laughed at this). and miles's exceptional parting line: "you two couldn’t organise a blow job in a cock factory." they were both a bit like "I can't believe that's where you went..."

does len always say "I just want you back by my side"? i always remember it without the back but he really stessed it here, poor guy. he just wants tommy back

bit of a malfunction of the brown bottles wall. tommy dropped down, we got the sound effect for the legs and the spotlights but no legs. until tommy got up again and out they came for the rest of the sketch!

oh tommy. his voice when he opened len's letter cracked so much and the "thank you old pal" was barely audible he was so emotional.

weird moment when tommy turned off the lights and some of the audience started applauding because they thought that was the interval. got a big fright to come yet!

we had a technical issue during the interval so that gave us an extra few minutes. the safety curtain eventually raised and we were sat in the silence so long everyone started nervously giggling but we all knew they were going to make us jump again. the people around me were very jumpy/screamy.

i love anna as mrs cragg (and maggie). she's so good. as is miranda as suzette/sherrie. love them.

i'm sure there was something particularly weird reece did as hugo (of course...) but i cannot for the life of me remember what it was. if i ever do, i'll slot it in here. just generally completely off the wall, hilarious and clearly enjoying himself. always great fun to watch.

I don't know if this was always in the line and i just missed it in the laughter, but i noticed after steve says "you can't walk down shaftesbury avenue without meeting some cunt with a camera" there's also a bit about constantly being filmed at stage doors. it's nice to see people enjoy their time at the stage door but i do hope people don't feel the need film every little interaction. or if you do, it doesn't have to go online for it to have happened.

bonus of rewatches: when steve freezes because he's seen reece you really can tell that he's obviously missed his cue. they give him a quick look and then anna covers for him, bless her. and i noticed when he hugs reece, miranda looks over at bhav with a sad/worried expression aw. quite a few confused giggles over that hug and steve trying to keep close to him. he did a lot of sniffling here too. poor steve, as ever.

i always love the bit with the cameras because there's such a great atmosphere in the audience. genuine fear all around you, always people whimpering like "nononono. what's going to happen?" i love it.

everything else is the same from what i could see. fantastic show. during the fake curtain my friend just turned to me like "I hate them." :) also a detail i've always loved about this part is that my friend and i once sat through four hours of a show before we realised we'd been watching an understudy for the whole thing. so, you know, finding out at the end that reece was never in it is not as far fetched as it sounds! in our defence, we were very high up.

lots of awws for steve when he was talking about reece, calling him his best friend and saying how much he misses him. they also got a lot of awws in the afterlife scene, again when they said they missed each other and when steve said he couldn’t do the song without reece ❤️ surprisingly not at the "maybe every ghost story is really (long pause) just a love story." they were very sweet in that bit anyway, I enjoyed it. little coffee raise, little look. lovely.

and play ends. this is too long.

#ramble ramble ramble...apologies for anyone who actually reads #inside no 9 #inside no. 9 #stage/fright spoilers #stage/fright write up #that was my last trip so goodbye #we also spotted henry shields by his theatre which was nice #and james norton and imogen poots later on

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lucagray813 · 6 months ago

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Knock 'Em Dead - Epilogue

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,800

Characters: Wukong, Macaque

Relationships: Wukong & Macaque (Could be interpreted as Shadowpeach)

Summary: Wukong and Macaque have a heart to heart. It goes about as well as you might expect.

CW: Alcohol, swearing, references to MCD and violence

Link to AO3 Version

Chapter Navigation: First | Prev

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The cellar door was open and, combined with that gift of a glass of wine, it felt like an invitation. An invitation to what he didn't actually know but there was no turning back now. Macaque would have heard the moment he started heading in this direction - walking away would have him branded as a coward or worse.

He walked in to find Macaque lounging in a setup that definitely wasn't usually here - two comfortable looking chairs with a small table between them hosting a bottle of peach wine and an empty wine glass.

Macaque acknowledged him with a raise of the glass in his hand and a nod towards the empty chair.

He cautiously made his way over and picked up the open wine bottle before frowning slightly at it, "How much have you had?"

Macaque shrugged, "Like half a bottle."

Wukong poured the last of the wine and raised an eyebrow at him when it only filled half the glass.

Macaque just rolled his eyes and pulled a new bottle from the small collection on the floor. Shadows easily removed the cork before he handed the bottle over to him, "Thought I'd wait and see if I was getting a drinking buddy before going all out."

Drinking themselves to oblivion did sound far better than a sober, dire attempt to talk about what had just happened so he topped up his glass, drained it and then refilled it before putting the bottle down.

It was Macaque's turn to raise an eyebrow but he thankfully said nothing as Wukong took his seat, wine in hand, trying to determine how brave he felt.

He sighed heavily before asking, "Why'd you tell MK?"

Macaque shrugged, "He asked."

He scowled, "Cut the shit, Macaque. You don't do anything unless it benefits you so why'd you do it? What are you getting out of this?"

Macaque's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment but he clearly made a conscious decision to bite back whatever vitriol he wanted to spit and instead laughed cruelly, "You know, Wukong, I've read that little book of yours, the story of how you came to be China's darling and, I get it, a life as long as yours isn't easy to summarise - you've got to focus on what's important, right? But could you imagine my surprise when I realised that I didn't fall into that category? That I wasn't important enough to be so much as mentioned in the story of your life?"

Adamantly, he denied, "That's not why you're not in the book! I- You-"

As he struggled to get the words past his teeth, Macaque sneered, "Then what was it, Wukong? Did I just not fit in with your heroic narrative? Would my inclusion have made you look bad? Was that enough reason to let me be forgotten?"

"No! It wasn't like that! I didn't-!" He cut himself off with a frustrated sound before taking a steadying breath and trying again, "Look, I didn't write the book, ok? It was mostly based on Shā Wùjìng and my master's journals and on hearsay. You didn't get a mention because-"

He grit his teeth as he forced himself to admit, "When I got out from the mountain I was too angry to talk about you to anyone and then- and then after I couldn't bring myself to talk about you because I... I just couldn't, alright? The others had their own reasons for not wanting the world to know about what happened on the Journey. That's why you're not mentioned. Not because you weren't important. Macaque, you have to know how much I regret what happened that day, how much I've always regretted it."

He would never be able to put into words the neverending grief that he'd experienced after Macaque's death and unfortunately he hadn't drank nearly enough to even try, his wariness of the Macaque that existed in the present enough to stop him totally bearing his heart and soul.

Macaque's response was underwhelming. He just sighed, sat back in his chair and had another sip from his glass before commenting, "Yeah, I heard the sob story you fed MK. I suppose I should be honoured my death was a monumental enough occasion for the horse to be moved to take action - you know it must have been bad if Áo Liè actually felt compelled to do something."

Disbelief and anger made themselves known in his tone, "That's all you have to say? I'm trying to have a genuine conversation with you about what happened and your response is to insult my friend?"

Macaque continued to act unaffected, "Oh, I could say more, trust me. But what's the point? I already know how this "genuine conversation" is going to go."

That gave him a moment of pause, "... You Listened?"

Macaque had always been pretty reserved about using his Listening as it left him vulnerable for the duration he used it and his Future Hearing, in particular, wasn't one hundred percent foolproof. But that didn't mean he couldn't or wouldn't use it if he thought the payout was worth the risk.

Macaque scoffed, "As if I had time between talking to MK and listening to him interrogate you."

He still wasn't ruling out that Macaque had manipulated the situation somehow - he could have Listened well before talking to MK and orchestrated this whole thing - but he decided to take him at face value for the moment and see where that took this conversation.

Knowing Macaque though, probably nowhere good.

He crossed his arms, "Yeah, thanks for that. Nice of you to give yourself the upper hand - don't suppose you'd care to tell me exactly what you told MK?"

Macaque's grin was petty, "Sorry, only one show per day and you missed it. Such a shame. Though I'm not sure you would have been a fan."

No, he definitely wouldn't have been but if they were finally addressing what had happened then he wanted them to be on a level playing field.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat back, "I don't want to play these pointless games, Macaque. If we're talking about this, then let's talk about it."

Macaque regarded him for a long moment before quietly chuckling to himself and when he addressed him there was a slightly manic look in his eyes, "Alright then, Wukong, let's cut right to the chase, shall we? You regret what you did? Good. You should. But I don't regret what I did."

His voice came out as a hoarse whisper, "What?"

Macaque made a show of reconsidering, "No, wait, actually I do have a couple of regrets. Getting caught? Very disappointing oversight on my part. And the monk? What I wouldn't give to go back and make sure he suffered like he had truly deserved."

The wine glass in his hand never stood a chance but the shards of glass barely even registered as he slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair and gripped it as if it could hold him back from lunging forward, "For as long as he lived, he never fully recovered from what you did to him! He didn't deserve the torture you put him through!"

He didn't know exactly what Macaque had done to him, but he knew what he was capable of and just the thought of it was enough to have his nails digging into the arms of the chair, the whole thing threatening to crumble under his anguish and fury.

Macaque wasn't intimidated by his show of anger and drawled, "Well, that's a matter of perspective, isn't it? Would you like to hear what kind of person your master was from my perspective?"

He didn't but unfortunately he was going to have to if they wanted to make any progress and Macaque took his hostile silence for the go ahead it reluctantly was.

Macaque took a long drink before telling him with conviction, "Your master was a cold and indifferent man, that switched between viewing you as a burden and a tool at his disposal. He cared nothing about who or what you were and yet he expected you to obey him without question. He was a man undeserving of your love and devotion. And if that changed, it only changed because of my intervention."

He resisted the urge to lash out in response to his self-importance as well as his shallow understanding of the situation and his master's character. However wrong or hurtful Macaque's words though he knew he had to hear them through to the end, so through gritted teeth he bit out, "Explain."

Gesturing to his ears, Macaque responded, "Obviously, I couldn't Listen to every second of the years you spent with him before I found you that day, there could well have been fleeting moments of civility that you let yourself believe was something more that I missed but I Heard his disregard for you and I Heard how he punished you."

There was no denying that the earlier years with his master had been difficult and painful. Supposed opposites forced together, they struggled to understand one another and that led to more conflicts than he would care to admit but he didn't blame his master for not always listening to him or for being heavy-handed in his retaliation.

His master had been young and mortal and thrust into a perilous journey with a dangerous, morally grey and bad-tempered demon that could kill him in an instant. Could you blame him for being a little on edge or for being unsure of how best to handle every situation?

And while he had initially been the unwilling muscle for this operation, his master had always treated him as his student. And even if he'd had no idea how to be a teacher to someone like him, he, ultimately, had never given up on him.

Even in those early years, when quite frankly, Wukong had neither wanted to or believed there was any need to change his ways.

But he knew that sort of nuance meant nothing to Macaque, just as it meant nothing to himself at the time and how it would have meant nothing to him if he and Macaque's positions had been reversed.

He could hear the undercurrent of fury in Macaque's voice as he continued, "But even if I hadn't Heard all I had, the way you pathetically latched onto any hint that he actually cared about you when I was the one wearing his face would have been enough to seal his fate."

He wasn't ready to face that ugly truth just yet and so he took hold of the embers fanned by that statement and glowered, "You mean when you lied to me? When you manipulated me?"

Macaque laughed incredulously, "Oh, of course, how fucking vile of me to listen to you, to treat you as if you're feelings mattered! Not once did I ever even tell you that you were in the wrong! Or that you had to forgive me!"

Despite the truth of it, he still growled, "That doesn't make it right! And it doesn't change the fact that your ultimate plan was to get me out of the picture long enough for you to torture an innocent man for information he didn't have!"

Macaque's eyes were filled with venom, "And whose fault was that, Wukong? Did you really fucking expect me to just go home, to sit patiently and wait for you? After everything I'd Heard? After all the time you'd already been gone? What choice did you give me but to take matters into my own hands?"

He knew now that it had been stupid to believe that Macaque would ever have listened to him back then. And even half-crazed from his time under the mountain, he should have known that.

And moreso, if he put himself in the mindset of pre-Journey Wukong and thought about Macaque's actions then they were entirely justifiable. Maybe a touch crueler and calculated than he personally would have gone with but hey, everyone had their own style.

That sort of violence was normal, especially against an outsider who had wronged you and your own. It wasn't considered bad and it wasn't considered wrong.

He obviously knew better now but it had been a lesson hard earned, and one that required a fourteen year journey, with a dedicated teacher at that. But both then and, arguably, now Macaque hadn't been given that same chance to grow or learn the error of his ways. Could he truly blame him for what he'd done?

And as twisted and terrible as what Macaque had done was, Wukong couldn't ignore the fact that he'd done it out of love and loyalty.

And when he'd responded in kind, with the single minded desire to avenge his master, he'd declared to the world that those feelings weren't returned.

That they belonged to another.

And the worst thing was, that he had meant it.

All the fight left him, and shakily he responded, "You're right... You responded how any demon would have. How I would've. How I did."

He desperately wanted to tell him that he hadn't meant for things to end the way they had, to go as far as he did, but the truth was Macaque had been dead the moment Wukong had seen what he'd done to his master.

Regret didn't feel a strong enough word for how he'd felt afterwards but Macaque's death had been no accident.

He took a breath before offering, "Look, there's not a single thing I don't regret about what happened. Our reunion after the mountain, how I- how I responded to what you'd done. I understand why you did what you did, that doesn't make it right but... I can understand why you don't regret it and I... I don't blame you for that."

Macaque sneered at his sincerity, "Oh, you understand, do you? You understand what it is to dedicate your life to someone and be told it's not enough? You understand how it feels to have the person you love most only return those feelings when you're wearing the face of the human who abused him?"

Macaque was on his feet, the glass that had been in his hand now shattered on the ground. His eyes glowed violet as he lunged forward and dug his nails into the arms of Wukong's chair, "You know what it's like to spend centuries suffering in the Dìyù? You know what it's like to crawl out of your grave with a gaping hole in your skull? Do you!?"

His stomach turned at the gruesome imagery.

Beyond the fact that the Lady Bone Demon had been involved he knew nothing about how Macaque had been resurrected. He should have known that twisted witch would have made it as agonising a process as possible.

He fought to keep control of his expression however, even without the alcohol, there was no telling what would make the situation worse and Macaque's teeth were already dangerously close to his face.

He was sure the undercurrent of turbulent emotion could be heard as he quietly responded though, "No. Of course, I don't."

Macaque's eyes flicked over his face, his breath coming out in unsteady bursts before he let out a gutteral growl and raised a fist that went right through the back of the chair, deliberately missing Wukong's face.

Wukong could only watch as he turned away, his tail thrashing furiously behind him.

He knew that the true depths of Macaque's suffering would always be beyond his comprehension. In the same way that no words could ever communicate the maddening agony of his isolation under the mountain, he knew that no matter how willing he was to listen, he would never truly understand all that Macaque had been through.

Despite that, there was an overwhelming urge to do the impossible and somehow make amends, to somehow make all of this right.

Macaque stood with his back to him and with a wavering voice said, "You didn't even bring me home."

Sick with shame, he still tried to explain, "I was going to! Your magic- I couldn't move you until it- I promise you, I was going to bring you home. But the- the Lady Bone Demon got to you first and I-"

"When?"

"What?"

Through gritted teeth he heard Macaque clarify, "When were you planning to bring me home? When was the last time you even went to visit my grave?"

He swallowed thickly, his tongue felt like lead and the ensuing silence said it all.

Macaque's laugh was a bitter, tortured thing, "I really didn't mean anything to you, did I?"

Wukong hunched over himself, his forehead leaning against clasped hands, "Macaque, I didn't..."

Macaque turned around sharply, "Didn't what, Wukong? Didn't think you'd ever have to see me again? Didn't think you'd have to face up to what you'd done?"

Of course, he hadn't thought he'd ever see Macaque again. Of course, he'd never thought he'd ever be in this situation.

While his guilt had seen him haunted by visions of Macaque, he'd never believed he would actually rise from the dead. Wished for it, on occasion, maybe but had never conceived an enemy of his could, or would, go to such lengths to torture him.

And yet, still he responded emphatically, "No! I- I mean I didn't mean to leave you there! Or to go so long between visits. It just... hurt to be there. To remember what happened."

Macaque's grin was unhinged, "And that's excellent why I'm here now, Wukong! To make sure you never forget, to make sure you never know peace for what you did!"

A part of him believed that it was no less than he deserved.

But he hadn't forgotten his master's teachings, or his responsibility to MK, and he knew that drowning in self-loathing and guilt would benefit no-one.

And even if he did accept such a punishment - what kind of life was that for Macaque? Consumed by hatred and pain and obsession? He deserved better than that. At the very least, he deserved the same opportunity he'd had to change and grow.

He was no more irredeemable than Wukong had been, of that he was sure.

In fact, he'd already seen the signs that he was capable of better.

He couldn't fully rule out that Macaque was playing some sort of long game but he'd gone above and beyond during the calamity involving Azure and they'd been cohabiting the island with relative civility for months since. They'd even successfully collaborated on MK's training recently.

He wanted that to mean something.

He didn't dare hope for a relationship of any kind to be rekindled from the ashes but they could have some semblance of peace if they both wanted it, if they both dedicated themselves to achieving it.

But peace was clearly the last thing on Macaque's mind right now. The alcohol no doubt adding fuel to the agonising fire that always burned within him.

Now wasn't the right time to tell Macaque that he wanted to help him work through this. There might never be a right time to tell him that to be honest - he could already envision the offence taken at suggesting he could "fix" him.

So, taking a steadying breath, he responded, "I can't ever expect to be forgiven for how I wronged you but I won't run from the consequences. I deserve to know the full extent of the suffering I caused you and you're right, I deserve to never forget it."

In hindsight, there was no way this evening ended well, no matter what he'd said just now, but still he was caught off guard by Macaque's furious scream as he brought a shelf full of bottles crashing to the floor.

He sat frozen as Macaque viciously spat, "You're so fucking pathetic! The old you, the real you, wouldn't just roll over and let someone else tell him what he deserved! He would have killed anyone that fucking dared! He never would have just sat there and accepted his fate!"

It wasn't the first time Macaque had brought up the "real" him and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.

He resolved himself as he stood up, and Macaque's suddenly wary expression at the action spoke volumes. Firmly, he retaliated, "Is that really what you want? The "old" me? The one that never listened to you? The one that responded to everything he didn't like with violence?"

Macaque took a step back as he took a step forward, "You want me to be the me that didn't hesitate to kill the only person that had loved him unconditionally? Because we both know how that will end."

He held Macaque's gaze unflinchingly until the terror he was met with became too much for him.

His expression softened, "But I'm not that person anymore, Macaque. I'll never be him again. I'm going to listen to you. I'm going to treat you with the regard you deserve. And the only reason I would ever cross that line again was because I was given no other choice."

He wished he could promise that he would never be the one to cut his second life short but if it was a choice between him and MK...

Then he would do what he had to.

Macaque seemed to find his reassurance just as terrifying as his reminder of what he'd once been capable of and Wukong wasn't at all surprised that he sank through a shadow portal seconds later and fled.

He stood for a moment and stared at the spot Macaque had been before sighing and rubbing at the back of his neck.

Well, that could have gone worse...?

They hadn't devolved into violence, at least.

He looked around at the mess on the floor and the damage to the chair he'd been sitting on.

Well, mostly anyway.

Normally, he would have a clone tidy it all up but the weight of everything that had happened had him rolling up his sleeves with little complaint.

He didn't doubt that this had been only the first in a long line of difficult and messy conversations that would be needed to try and move past everything that had happened. And he knew he was going to need every scrap of wisdom, patience and tact he possessed if he wanted to help Macaque find a semblance of peace.

But right now, he willed himself to focus only on cleaning up the mess right in front of him, to allow his heart and soul a moment of respite before they were overwhelmed with the grief and guilt of everything he had learnt.

--End--

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#lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk fanfiction #my fanfiction #originally posted on ao3 #tumblr fic #lmk macaque #lmk sun wukong #lmk monkey king #shadowpeach #lmk shadowpeach #complete fic

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